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diff --git a/75506-h/75506-h.htm b/75506-h/75506-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f9c4b63 --- /dev/null +++ b/75506-h/75506-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,22663 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + Asphodel | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em; + text-indent: 1em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} + +hr.r5 {width: 5%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 47.5%; margin-right: 47.5%;} +hr.r65 {width: 65%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} +table.autotable { border-collapse: collapse; } + +.tdl {text-align: left; padding-left: .5em;} +.tdr {text-align: right;} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + text-indent: 0; + color: #A9A9A9; +} /* page numbers */ + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.allsmcap {font-variant: small-caps; text-transform: lowercase;} + + +/* Images */ + +img { + max-width: 100%; + height: auto; +} + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + +/* Poetry */ +/* uncomment the next line for centered poetry */ +.poetry-container {display: flex; justify-content: center;} +.poetry-container {text-align: center; font-size: 85%;} +.poetry {text-align: left; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;} +.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em auto;} +.poetry .verse {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} + +/* Transcriber's notes */ +.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; + color: black; + font-size:small; + padding:0.5em; + margin-bottom:5em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif; +} + +.fs70 {font-size: 70%} +.fs80 {font-size: 80%} +.fs90 {font-size: 90%} +.fs120 {font-size: 120%} +.fs150 {font-size: 150%} +.fs200 {font-size: 200%} + +.no-indent {text-indent: 0em;} +.bold {font-weight: bold;} +.wsp {word-spacing: 0.3em;} + + +h2 {font-size: 130%; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.6em; word-spacing: .3em;} + +/* Poetry indents */ +.poetry .indent0 {text-indent: -3em;} +.poetry .indent1 {text-indent: -2.5em;} +.poetry .indent2 {text-indent: -2em;} +.poetry .indent3 {text-indent: -1.5em;} +.poetry .indent4 {text-indent: -1em;} + +.pageborder {width: 400px; border: 2px solid; padding: 10px; margin: auto;} +.lh {line-height: 1.5em;} + + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75506 ***</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 85%"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt=""> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h1>ASPHODEL</h1> +<br> +<br> +<p class="center no-indent wsp fs120 bold">A Novel</p> +<br> +<br> +<p class="center no-indent wsp fs90">BY THE AUTHOR OF</p> + +<p class="center no-indent wsp">“LADY AUDLEY’S SECRET,” “ISHMAEL,”</p> + +<p class="center no-indent wsp fs90">ETC. ETC.</p> +<br> +<br> +<p class="center no-indent wsp bold">Stereotyped Edition</p> +<br> +<br> +<p class="center no-indent wsp fs90">LONDON:</p> + +<p class="center no-indent wsp">SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, HAMILTON, KENT & CO., <span class="allsmcap">LIMITED</span>,</p> + +<p class="center no-indent wsp fs90">STATIONERS’ HALL COURT</p> + +<p class="center no-indent wsp fs90">1890.</p> + +<p class="center no-indent wsp fs70">[<em>All rights reserved</em>]</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter pageborder"> +<p class="center no-indent bold fs150 wsp">MISS BRADDON’S NOVELS.</p> + +<hr class="r65"> + +<p class="center no-indent wsp"><span class="smcap">Now Ready at all Booksellers’ and Bookstalls,<br> +Price</span> 2<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em> <span class="smcap">each, Cloth gilt</span>.</p> + +<p class="center no-indent fs120 wsp">THE AUTHOR’S AUTOGRAPH EDITION +OF MISS BRADDON’S NOVELS.</p> + +<hr class="r65"> + +<p class="fs80">“No one can be dull who has a novel by Miss Braddon in hand. +The most tiresome journey is beguiled, and the most wearisome +illness is brightened, by any one of her books.”</p> + +<p class="fs80">“Miss Braddon is the Queen of the circulating libraries.”</p> + +<p class="right fs80"> +<cite>The World.</cite><br> +</p> + +<hr class="r65"> + +<p class="center no-indent"> +<span class="fs80">LONDON:</span><br> +<span class="fs120">SIMPKIN & CO., <span class="smcap">Limited,</span></span><br> +<span class="fs80">Stationers’ Hall Court.<br> +<em>And at all Railway Bookstalls, Booksellers’, and Libraries.</em></span><br> +</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_iii">[Pg iii]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</h2> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 9%"> +<img src="images/005_deco.jpg" alt=""> +</div> + +<table class="autotable lh"> +<tr> +<td class="tdr fs70">CHAP.</td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdr fs70">PAGE</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">I.</span></td> +<td class="tdl">‘<span class="smcap">And she was fair as is the Rose in May</span>’</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">5</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">II.</span></td> +<td class="tdl">‘<span class="smcap">And this was gladly in the Eventide</span>’</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">15</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">III.</span></td> +<td class="tdl">‘<span class="smcap">And Volatile, as ay was his usage</span>’</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">25</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">IV.</span></td> +<td class="tdl">‘<span class="smcap">Curteis she was, discrete, and debonaire</span>’</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">41</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">V.</span></td> +<td class="tdl">‘<span class="smcap">Thou lovest me, that wot I wel certain</span>’</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">52</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">VI.</span></td> +<td class="tdl">‘<span class="smcap">Love maketh all to gone misway</span>’</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">64</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">VII.</span></td> +<td class="tdl">‘<span class="smcap">His Herte bathed in a Bath of Blisse</span>’</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">78</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">VIII.</span></td> +<td class="tdl">‘<span class="smcap">God wote that worldly Joy is sone ago</span>’</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">89</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">IX.</span></td> +<td class="tdl">‘<span class="smcap">Of Colour pale and dead was she</span>’</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">101</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">X.</span></td> +<td class="tdl">‘<span class="smcap">And spending Silver had he right ynow</span>’</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">111</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">XI.</span></td> +<td class="tdl">‘<span class="smcap">Yeve me my Deth, or that I have a Shame</span>’</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">123</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">XII.</span></td> +<td class="tdl">‘<span class="smcap">And to the Dinner faste they hem spedde</span>’</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">133</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">XIII.</span></td> +<td class="tdl">‘<span class="smcap">After my Might ful fayne wold I you plese</span>’</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">144</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">XIV.</span></td> +<td class="tdl">‘<span class="smcap">Love is a Thing, as any Spirit, free</span>’</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">154</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">XV.</span></td> +<td class="tdl">‘<span class="smcap">Not for your Linage, ne for your Richesse</span>’</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">165</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">XVI.</span></td> +<td class="tdl">‘<span class="smcap">No Man may alway have Prosperitee</span>’</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">174</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">XVII.</span></td> +<td class="tdl">‘<span class="smcap">And in my Herte wondren I began</span>’</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">184</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">XVIII.</span></td> +<td class="tdl">‘<span class="smcap">Love wol not be constreined by Maistrie</span>’</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">194</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">XIX.</span></td> +<td class="tdl">‘<span class="smcap">I deme that hire Herte was ful of Wo</span>’</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">205</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">XX.</span></td> +<td class="tdl">‘<span class="smcap">Al sodenly she swapt adown to Ground</span>’</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">216</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">XXI.</span></td> +<td class="tdl">‘<span class="smcap">For Wele or Wo, for Carole, or for Daunce</span>’</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">227</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">XXII.</span></td> +<td class="tdl">‘<span class="smcap">For I wol gladly yelden hire my Place</span>’</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">239</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">XXIII.</span></td> +<td class="tdl">‘<span class="smcap">And come agen, be it by Day or Night</span>’</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">250</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">XXIV.</span></td> +<td class="tdl">‘<span class="smcap">Ay fleth the Time, it wol no Man abide</span>’</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">260</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">XXV.</span></td> +<td class="tdl">‘<span class="smcap">But I wot best wher wringeth me my Sho</span>’</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">271</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">XXVI.</span></td> +<td class="tdl">‘<span class="smcap">Forbid a Love and it is ten Times so wode</span>’</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">285</a><span class="pagenum" id="Page_iv">[Pg iv]</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">XXVII.</span></td> +<td class="tdl">‘<span class="smcap">I may not don as every Ploughman may</span>’</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">295</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">XXVIII.</span></td> +<td class="tdl">‘<span class="smcap">Love is not old, as whan that it is new</span>’</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">305</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">XXIX.</span></td> +<td class="tdl">‘<span class="smcap">I meane well, by God that sit above</span>’</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">319</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">XXX.</span></td> +<td class="tdl">‘<span class="smcap">Ther was no Wight, to whom she durste plain</span>’</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">330</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">XXXI.</span></td> +<td class="tdl">‘<span class="smcap">I wolde live in Pees, if that I might</span>’</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">342</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">XXXII.</span></td> +<td class="tdl">‘<span class="smcap">For Love and not for Hate thou must be ded</span>’</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">349</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">XXXIII.</span></td> +<td class="tdl">‘<span class="smcap">Is there no Grace? Is there no Remedie?</span>’</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">358</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">XXXIV.</span></td> +<td class="tdl">‘<span class="smcap">Sens Love hath brought us to this piteous End</span>’</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV">373</a></td> +</tr> +</table> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</span></p> + +<p class="center no-indent fs200">ASPHODEL</p> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 9%"> +<img src="images/005_deco.jpg" alt=""> +</div> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.<br> +<span class="fs70">‘AND SHE WAS FAIR AS IS THE ROSE IN MAY.’</span></h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">‘Oh</span>, you glorious old Sol, how I love you!’ cried Daphne.</p> + +<p>It was a day on which common mortals were almost fainting +with the heat, puffing and blowing and complaining—a blazing +midsummer-day; and even here, in the forest of Fontainebleau, +where the mere idea of innumerable trees was suggestive of +shadow and coolness, the heat was barely supportable—a heavy +slumberous heat, loud with the hum of millions of insects, perfumed +with the breath of a thousand pines.</p> + +<p>Daphne revelled in the fierce sunshine—she threw back her +crest of waving hair, bright as yellow gold, she smiled up at the +cloudless blue, she looked unwinkingly even at Sol himself, the +mighty unquenchable king of the sky, glorious yonder in his +highest heaven.</p> + +<p>She was lying at full length on a moss-grown block of stone +at the top of a hill, which was one of the highest points in the +forest, a hill-top overlooking on one side a fair sweep of champagne +country, fertile valleys, church steeples, village roofs, +vineyards and rose gardens, and winding streams; and on the +other side, woodlands stretching away into infinite distance, +darkly purple.</p> + +<p>It was the choicest spot in a forest which, at its best, is a poor +thing compared with the immemorial growth of an old English +wood. Here there are no such oaks and beeches as our Hampshire +forest can show—no such lovely mystical glades—no such +richness of undergrowth. Everything seems of yesterday, save +here and there a tree that looks as if he had seen something of +bygone generations, and here and there a wreck of an ancient +oak, proudly labelled ‘The Great Pharamond,’ or ‘<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Le Chêne de +Henri IV.</i>,’ with a placard hung round his poor old neck to say +that he is not to be damaged ‘on pain of amend.’ Such Pharamonds and +Henris abound in the forest where Rufus was killed, +and nobody heeds them. The owls build in them, the field-mice +find shelter in them, the woodpecker taps at them, unscared by +placards or the threat of an amend.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</span></p> + +<p>But in the Fontainebleau woods there are rocky glades which +English forests cannot boast—wild walks between walls of +gigantic granite boulders—queer shapes of monsters and animals +in gray stone, which seem to leap out at one from the +shadows as one passes; innumerable pine-trees; hills and hollows; +pathways carpeted with red fir-needles, mosses, ferns, +and wild-flowers; and a bluer brighter sky than the heaven +which roofs an English landscape.</p> + +<p>‘Isn’t this worlds better than Asnières?’ asked Daphne of +her companion; ‘and aren’t you ever so grateful to those poor +girls for catching scarlet-fever?’</p> + +<p>Asnières was school and constraint, Fontainebleau was liberty; +so if the forest had been a poorer place, Daphne, who +hated all restraints, would have loved it.</p> + +<p>‘Poor girls!’ sighed Martha Dibb, a stupid, honest-minded +young person, whose father kept an Italian warehouse in New +Oxford street, and whose mother had been seized with the aspiration +to have her daughters finished at Continental schools; +whereby one Miss Dibb was being half-starved upon sausage +and cabbage at Hanover, while the other grew fat upon <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">croûte +au pot</i> and <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">bouilli</i> in the neighbourhood of Paris, and was supposed +to be acquiring the true Parisian accent. ‘Poor girls; it +was very bad for them,’ sighed Martha.</p> + +<p>‘Yes; but it was very good for us,’ answered Daphne +lightly; ‘and if it was a part of their destiny to have scarlet-fever, +how very nice of them to have it in the term instead of +in the holidays, when we shouldn’t have profited by it.’</p> + +<p>‘And how lucky that we had that good-natured Miss Toby +sent with us instead of one of the French governesses.’</p> + +<p>‘Lucky, indeed!’ cried Daphne, with her bright laugh. ‘That +good simple Toby, with whom we can do exactly what we like, +and who is the image of quiet contentment, so long as she has +even the stupidest novel to read, and some acid-drops to suck. +I tremble when I think of the amount of acid-drops she must +consume in the course of a year.’</p> + +<p>‘Why do you give her so many?’ asked the practical Martha.</p> + +<p>‘They are my peace-offerings when I have been especially +troublesome,’ said Daphne, with the air of a sinner who glories +in her troublesomeness. ‘Poor dear old Toby! if I were to give +her a block of sweetstuff as tall as King Cheops’s pyramid, it +wouldn’t atone for the life I lead her.’</p> + +<p>‘I hope she won’t get into trouble with Madame for letting +us run wild like this,’ suggested Miss Dibb doubtfully.</p> + +<p>‘How should Madame know anything about it? And do you +think she would care a straw if she did?’ retorted Daphne. ‘She +will get paid exactly the same for us whether we are roaming at +large in this lovely old forest, or grinding at grammar, and +analysis, and Racine, and Lafontaine in the stuffy school-room at<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span> +Asnières, where the train goes shrieking over the bridge every +half-hour carrying happy people to Paris and gaiety, and +theatres and operas, and all the good things of this life. What +does Madame Tolmache care, so long as we are out of mischief? +And I don’t see how we can get into any mischief here, unless +that lovely green lizard we saw darting up the gray rock just now +should turn into an adder and sting us to death.’</p> + +<p>‘If Miss Toby hadn’t a headache we couldn’t have come out +without her,’ said Martha musingly.</p> + +<p>‘May Toby and her headache flourish! If she had been well +enough to come with us we should have been crawling along the +dusty white road at the edge of the forest, and should never +have got here. Toby has corns. And now I am going to sketch,’ +said Daphne in an authoritative tone. ‘You can do your crochet: +for I really suppose now that to you and a certain class of intellects +there is a kind of pleasure to be derived from poking an +ivory hook into a loop of berlin wool and pulling it out again. +But please sit so that I can’t see your work, Dibb dear. The +very look of that fluffy wool on this hot day almost suffocates +me.’</p> + +<p>Daphne produced her drawing-block and opened her colour-box, +and settled herself in a half-recumbent position on the +great granite slab, and surveyed the wide landscape below her +with that gaze of calm patronage which the amateur artist bestows +on grand, illimitable, untranslatable Nature. She looked +across the vast valley, with its silver streak of river and its distant +spires, its ever varying lights and shadows—a scene which +Turner would have contemplated with awe and a sense of comparative +impotence; but which ignorance, as personified by +Daphne, surveyed complacently, wondering where she should +begin.</p> + +<p>‘I think it will make a pretty picture,’ she said, ‘if I can +succeed with it.’</p> + +<p>‘Why don’t you do a tree, or a cottage, or something, as the +drawing-master said we ought to do—just one simple little thing +that one could draw correctly?’ asked Martha, who was provokingly +well furnished with the aggravating quality of commonsense.</p> + +<p>‘Drawing-masters are such grovellers,’ said Daphne, dashing +in a faint outline with her facile pencil. ‘I would rather go on +making splendid failures all my life than creep along the dull +path of mediocre merit by the lines and rules of a drawing-master. +I have no doubt this is going to be a splendid failure, +and I shall do a devil’s dance upon it presently, as Müller used +in the woods near Bristol, when he couldn’t please himself. But +it amuses one for the moment,’ concluded Daphne, with whom +life was all in the present, and self the centre of the universe.</p> + +<p>She splashed away at her sky with her biggest brush, sweeping<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span> +across from left to right with a wash of cobalt, and then +began to edge off the colour into ragged little clouds as the +despised drawing-master had taught her. There was not a cloud +in the hot blue sky this midsummer afternoon, and Daphne’s +treatment was purely conventional.</p> + +<p>And now she began her landscape, and tried with multitudinous +dabs of gray, and green, and blue, Indian red, and Italian +pink, ochre, and umber, and lake, and sienna, to imitate the +glory of a fertile valley basking in the sun.</p> + +<p>The colours were beginning to get into confusion. The foreground +and the distance were all on one plane, and Daphne was +on the point of flinging her block on the red sandy ground, and +indulging in the luxury of a demon-dance upon her unsuccessful +effort, when a voice behind her murmured quietly: ‘Give your +background a wash of light gray, and fetch up your middle-distance +with a little body colour.’</p> + +<p>‘Thanks awfully,’ replied Daphne without looking round, +and without the faintest indication of surprise. Painters in the +forest were almost as common as gadflies. They seemed indigenous +to the soil. ‘Shall I make my pine-trunks umber or +Venetian red?’</p> + +<p>‘Neither,’ answered the unseen adviser. ‘Those tall pine-stems +are madder-brown, except where the shadows tint them +with purple.’</p> + +<p>‘You are exceedingly kind,’ said Daphne, stifling a yawn, +‘but I don’t think I’ll go on with it. I am so obviously in a +mess; I suppose nobody but a Turner ought to attempt such a +valley as that.’</p> + +<p>‘Perhaps not. Linnell or Vicat Cole might be able to give +a faint idea of it.’</p> + +<p>‘Linnell!’ exclaimed Daphne. ‘I thought he painted nothing +but wheat-fields, and that his only idea of Nature was a blaze of +yellow.’</p> + +<p>‘Have you seen many of his pictures?’</p> + +<p>‘One. I was taken to the Academy last year.’</p> + +<p>‘Were you very pleased with what you saw?’</p> + +<p>‘Delighted—with the gowns and bonnets. It was a Saturday +afternoon in the height of the season, and I plead guilty to seeing +very little of the pictures. There were always people in the +way, and the people were ever so much more interesting than +the paintings.’</p> + +<p>‘What picture can compare with a well-made gown or the +latest invention in bonnets?’ exclaimed the unknown with good-humoured +irony.</p> + +<p>Daphne hacked the spoiled sheet off her block with a dainty +little penknife, and looked at the daub longingly, wishing that +the stranger would depart and leave her free to execute a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">pas +seul</i> upon her abortive effort. But the stranger seemed to have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span> +no idea of departure. He had evidently settled himself behind +her, on a camp-stool, or a rock, or some kind of seat; and he +meant to stay.</p> + +<p>She had not yet seen his face. She liked his voice, which +was of the baritone order, full, and round, and grave, and his +intonation was that of a man who had lived in what the world +calls Society. It might not be the best possible intonation—since +orators and great preachers and successful actors have +another style—but it was the tone approved by the best people, +and the only tone that Daphne liked.</p> + +<p>‘A drawing-master, no doubt,’ she thought, ‘whose manners +have been formed in decent society.’</p> + +<p>She wiped her brushes and shut her colour-box, with languid +deliberation, not yet feeling curious enough to turn and inspect +the stranger, although Martha Dibb was staring at him open-mouthed, +as still as a stone, and the image of astonishment. +Daphne augured from that gaping mouth of Martha’s that the +unknown must be somewhat eccentric in appearance or attire, +and began to feel faintly inquisitive.</p> + +<p>She rose from her recumbent attitude on the rock, drew herself +as straight as an arrow, shook out her indigo-coloured serge +petticoat, from beneath whose hem flashed a pair of scarlet stockings +and neat buckled shoes, shook loose her mane of golden-bright +hair, and looked deliberately round at Nature generally—the +woods, the rocks, the brigand’s cave yonder, and the stalls +where toys and trifles in carved wood were set out to tempt the +tourist—and finally at the stranger. He lounged at his ease on +a neighbouring rock, looking up at her with a provokingly self-assured +expression. Her supposition had been correct, she told +herself. He evidently belonged to the artistic classes—a drawing-master, +or a third-rate water-colour painter—a man whose little +bits of landscape or foreign architecture would be hung near the +floor, and priced at a few guineas in the official list. He was a +Bohemian to the tips of his nails. He wore an old velveteen +coat—Daphne was not experienced enough to know that it had +been cut by a genius among tailors—a shabby felt hat lay on the +grass beside him; every one of his garments had seen good service, +even to the boots, whose neat shape indicated a refinement +that struggled against adverse circumstances. He was young, +tall, and slim, with long slender fingers, and hands that looked +artistic without looking effeminate. He had dark brown hair cut +close to a well-shaped head, a dark brown moustache shading a +sensitive and somewhat melancholy mouth. His complexion +was pale, inclining to sallowness, his nose well formed, his forehead +broad and low. His eyes were of so peculiar a colour that +Daphne was at first sorely perplexed as to whether they were +brown or blue, and finally came to the conclusion that they were +neither colour, but a variable greenish-gray. But whatever their<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span> +hue she was fain to admit to herself that the eyes were handsome +eyes—far too good for the man’s position. Something of their +beauty was doubtless owing to the thick dark lashes, the strongly +marked brows. Just now the eyes, after a brief upward glance +at Daphne, who fairly merited a longer regard, were fixed +dreamily on the soft dreamlike landscape—the sun-steeped valley, +the purple distance. It was a day for languorous dreaming; +a day in which the world-worn soul might slip off the fetters of +reality and roam at large in shadowland.</p> + +<p>‘Dibb,’ said Daphne, ever so slightly piqued at the unknown’s +absent air, ‘don’t you think we ought to be going home? Poor +dear Miss Toby will be anxious.’</p> + +<p>‘Not before six o’clock,’ replied the matter-of-fact Martha. +‘You told her with your own lips that she wasn’t to expect us +before six. And what was the good of our carrying that heavy +basket if we are not to eat our dinner here?’</p> + +<p>‘You have brought your dinner!’ exclaimed the stranger, +suddenly waking from his dream. ‘How very delightful! Let +us improvise a picnic.’</p> + +<p>‘The poor thing is hungry,’ thought Daphne, rather disappointed +at what she considered a low trait in his character.</p> + +<p>Martha, with her face addressed to Daphne, began to distort +her countenance in the most frightful manner, mutely protesting +against the impropriety of sharing their meal with an unknown +wanderer. Daphne, who was as mischievous as Robin Goodfellow, +and doated on everything that was wrong, laughed these +dumb appeals to scorn.</p> + +<p>‘The poor thing shall be fed,’ she said to herself. ‘Perhaps he +has hardly a penny in his pockets. It will be a pleasure to give +him a good meal and send him on his way rejoicing. I shall +feel as meritorious as the Good Samaritan.’</p> + +<p>‘Is this the basket?’ asked the painter, pouncing upon the +beehive receptacle which Martha had been hugging for the last +five minutes. ‘Do let me be useful. I have a genius for picnics.’</p> + +<p>‘I never heard of such impertinence!’ ejaculated Miss Dibb +inwardly; and then she began to wonder whether the valuable +watch and chain which her father had given her on her last +birthday were safe in such company, or whether her earrings +might not be suddenly wrenched out of her ears.</p> + +<p>And there was that reckless Daphne, who had not the faintest +notion of propriety, entering into the thing eagerly as a capital +joke, and making herself as much at home with the nameless +intruder as if she had known him all her life.</p> + +<p>Miss Dibb had been Daphne’s devoted slave for the last two +years, had admired her and believed in her, and fetched and +carried for her, and had been landed in all manner of scrapes +and difficulties by her without a murmur; but she had never<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span> +been so near revolt as at this moment, when her deep-rooted, +thoroughly British sense of propriety was outraged as it had +never in all Daphne’s escapades been outraged before. A strange +man, fairly well-mannered it is true, but shabbily clad, was to be +allowed to hob and nob in a place of public resort with two of +Madame Tolmache’s young ladies.</p> + +<p>Martha looked despairingly round, as if to see that help was +nigh. They were not alone in the forest. This hill side at the +top of the rocky walk was a favourite resort. There were stalls +for toys and stalls for refreshments close at hand. There were +half-a-dozen groups of idle people enjoying themselves under the +tall pines and in the shadow of the big blue-gray rocks. The +mother of one estimable family had taken off her boots, and was +lying at full length, with her stockings exposed to the libertine +gaze of passers-by. Some were eating, some were sleeping. +Children with cropped heads, short petticoats, and a great deal +of stocking, were flying gaudy-coloured air-balls, and screaming +at each other as only French children can scream. There was +not the stillness of a dense primeval wood, the awful solitude of +the Great Dismal Swamp. The place was rather like a bit of +Greenwich Park or Hampstead Heath on a comparatively quiet +afternoon in the middle of the week.</p> + +<p>Miss Dibb took heart of grace, and decided that her watch +and earrings were safe. It was only her character that was +likely to suffer. Daphne was dancing about among the rocks +all this time, spreading a damask napkin on a smooth slab of +granite, and making the most of the dinner. Her red stockings +flashed to and fro like fireflies. She had a scarlet ribbon round +her neck, and the dark serge gown was laced up the back with a +scarlet cord, and, with her feathery hair flying loose and glittering +in the sun, she was as bright a figure as ever lit up the foreground +of a forest scene.</p> + +<p>The unknown forgot to be useful, and sat on his granite +bench lazily contemplating her as she completed her preparations.</p> + +<p>‘What an idle person you are!’ she exclaimed, looking up +from her task. ‘Tumbler!’</p> + +<p>He explored the basket and produced the required article.</p> + +<p>‘Thanks. Corkscrew! Don’t run away with the idea that +you are going to have wine. The corkscrew is for our lemonade.’</p> + +<p>‘You needn’t put such a selfish emphasis on the possessive +pronoun,’ said the stranger. ‘I mean to have some of that +lemonade.’</p> + +<p>Daphne surveyed the banquet critically, with her head on +one side. It was not a stupendous meal for two hungry school-girls +and an unknown pedestrian, whom Daphne supposed to +have been on short commons for the last week or two. There +was half a roasted fowl—a fowl who in his zenith had no claim<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span> +to be considered a fine specimen, and who seemed to have fallen +upon evil days before he was sacrificed, so gaunt was his leg, so +shrunken his wing, so withered his breast; there were some +thin slices of carmine ham, with a bread-crumby edge instead of +fat. Of one thing there was abundance, and that was the staff +of life. Two long brown loaves—the genuine <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">pain de ménage</i>—suggested +a homely kind of plenty. For dessert there was a +basket of wood-strawberries, a thin slab of Gruyère, and some +small specimens of high-art confectionery, more attractive to +the eye than the palate.</p> + +<p>‘Now, Dibb dear, grace, if you please,’ commanded Daphne, +with a mischievous side-glance at the unknown.</p> + +<p>That French grace of poor Martha’s was a performance +which always delighted Daphne, and she wanted the wayfarer +to enjoy himself. The ‘ongs’ and ‘dongs’ were worth hearing. +Gravely the submissive Martha complied, and with solemn +countenance asked a blessing on the meal.</p> + +<p>‘You can have all the fowl,’ said Daphne to her guest; +‘Martha and I like bread and cheese ever so much better.’</p> + +<p>She tore one of the big brown loaves in two, tossed one half +to Martha, and broke a great knob off the other for her own +eating, attacking it ravenously with her strong white teeth.</p> + +<p>‘You are more than good,’ replied the stranger with his +pleasantly listless air, as if there were nothing in life worth being +energetic about; ‘you are actually self-sacrificing. But, to tell +you the honest truth, I have not the slightest appetite. I had +my second breakfast at one o’clock, and I had much rather carve +that elderly member of the feathered tribe for you than eat him. +I wish he were better worthy of your consideration.’</p> + +<p>Daphne looked at him doubtfully, unconvinced.</p> + +<p>‘I know you’re disparaging the bird out of kindness to us,’ +she said; ‘you might just as well eat a good luncheon. Martha +and I adore bread and cheese.’</p> + +<p>She emphasised this assertion with a stealthy frown at poor +Miss Dibb, who saw her dinner thus coolly confiscated for the +good of a suspicious-looking interloper.</p> + +<p>‘You doat upon Gruyère, don’t you, Martha?’ she demanded.</p> + +<p>‘I like it pretty well,’ answered Miss Dibb sulkily; ‘but I +think the holes are the nicest part.’</p> + +<p>The stranger was cutting up the meagre fowl, giving the wing +and breast to Daphne, the sinewy leg to Martha, who was the +kind of girl to go through life getting the legs of fowls and the +back seat in opera-boxes, and the worst partners at afternoon +dances.</p> + +<p>Finding the unknown inflexible, and being herself desperately +hungry, Daphne ended by taking her share of the poultry, while +her guest ate a few strawberries and munched a crust of bread, +lying along the grass all the while, almost at her feet. It was a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span> +new experience, and the more horrified Martha looked the more +Daphne enjoyed it.</p> + +<p>What was life to her but the present hour, with its radiant +sun and glad earth flushed with colour, the scent of the pines, +the hum of the bees, the delight of the butterflies flashing across +the blue? Utterly innocent in her utter ignorance of evil, she +saw no snare in such simple joys, she had no premonition of +danger. Her worst suspicion of the stranger was that he might +be poor. That was the only social crime whereof she knew. +And the more convinced she felt of his poverty, the more determined +she was to be civil to him.</p> + +<p>He lay at her feet, on a carpet of fir-needles, looking up at +her with an admiration almost as purely artistic as that which +he had felt an hour ago for a green and purple lizard which he +had caught asleep on one of the rocks, and which had darted up +a sheer wall of granite, swift as a sun-ray, at the light touch of +his finger-tip. With a love of the beautiful almost as abstract +as that which he had felt for the graceful curves and rainbow +tints of the lizard, he lay and basked in the light of this school-girl’s +violet eyes, and watched the play of sunbeam and shadow +on her golden hair. To him, too, the present hour was all in all—an +hour of sunlight and perfume and balmiest atmosphere, an +hour’s sweet idleness, empty of thought and care.</p> + +<p>The face he looked at was not one of those perfect faces which +would bear to be transfixed in marble. It was a countenance +whose chief beauty lay in colour and expression—a face full of +variety; now whimsically gay, now pouting, now pert; anon +suddenly pensive. Infinitely bewitching in some phases, it was +infinitely provoking in others; but, under all conditions, it was a +face full of interest.</p> + +<p>The complexion was brilliant, the true English red and +white; no ivory-pale beauty this, with the sickly tints of Gibson’s +painted Venus, but the creamy fairness and the vivid rose +of health, and youth, and happiness. The eyes were of darkest +gray, that deep violet which, under thick dark lashes, looks +black as night. The nose was short and <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">retroussé</i>, nothing to +boast of in noses; the mouth was a trifle wide, but the lips were +of loveliest form and richest carmine, the teeth flashing beneath +them absolutely perfect. Above those violet eyes arched strongly-marked +brows of darkest brown, contrasting curiously with the +thick fringe of golden hair. Altogether the face was more +original in its beauty than any which the stronger had looked +upon for a long time.</p> + +<p>‘Have you any sketches to show us?’ asked Daphne when +she had finished her dinner.</p> + +<p>‘No; I have not been sketching this morning; and if I had +done anything I doubt if it would have been worth looking at. +You must not suppose that I am a grand artist. But if you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span> +don’t mind lending me your block and your colour-box for half +an hour I should like to make a little sketch now.’</p> + +<p>‘Cool,’ thought Daphne. ‘But calm impudence is this gentleman’s +leading characteristic.’</p> + +<p>She handed him block and box with an amused smile.</p> + +<p>‘Are you going to paint the valley?’ she asked.</p> + +<p>‘No; I leave that for a new Turner. I am only going to +try my hand at a rock with a young lady sitting on it.’</p> + +<p>‘I’m sure Martha won’t mind being painted,’ replied Daphne, +with a mischievous glance at Miss Dibb, who was sitting bolt +upright on her particular block of granite, the image of stiffness +and dumb disapproval. She was a thick-set girl with sandy +hair and freckles, not bad-looking after her homely fashion, but +utterly wanting in grace.</p> + +<p>‘I couldn’t think of taking such a liberty with Miss Martha,’ +returned the stranger; ‘the freemasonry of art puts me at my +ease with you. Would you mind sitting quiet for half an hour +or so? That semi-recumbent position will do beautifully.’</p> + +<p>He sketched in rock and figure as he spoke, with a free facile +touch that showed a practised hand.</p> + +<p>‘I’m sure you can paint beautifully,’ said Daphne, watching +his pencil as he sat a little way off, glancing up at her every now +and then.</p> + +<p>‘Wait till you see how I shall interpret your lilies and roses. +I ought to be as good a colourist as Rubens or John Phillip to +do you justice.’</p> + +<p>She had fallen into a reposeful attitude after finishing her +meal, her arms folded on the rock, her head resting on the folded +arms, her eyes gazing sleepily at the sunlit valley in front of her, +one little foot pendent from the edge of the greenish gray stone, +the other tucked under her dark blue skirt, a mass of yellow +tresses falling over one dark blue shoulder, and a scarlet ribbon +fluttering on the other.</p> + +<p>Martha Dibb looked more and more horrified. Could there +be a lower deep than this? To sit for one’s portrait to an unknown +artist in a shabby coat. The man was unquestionably a +vagabond, although he did not make havoc of his aspirates like +poor dear papa; and Daphne was bringing disgrace on Madame +Tolmache’s whole establishment.</p> + +<p>‘Suppose I should meet him in Regent Street one day after +I leave school, and he were to speak to me, what would mamma +and Jane say?’ thought Miss Dibb.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.<br> +<span class="fs70">‘AND THIS WAS GLADLY IN THE EVENTIDE.’</span></h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Daphne</span> was as still as a statue, her vanity gratified by +this homage to her charms. There had been nobody to admire +her at Asnières but the old music-master, into whose hat she had +sometimes put a little bouquet from the trim suburban garden, +or a spray of acacia from the grove that screened the maiden +meditations of Madame Tolmache’s pupils from the vulgar gaze +of the outside world. She retained her recumbent attitude +patiently for nearly an hour, half asleep in the balmy afternoon +atmosphere, while the outraged Martha sat on her rock apart, +digging her everlasting crochet-hook into the fluffy mass of +wool, and saying never a word.</p> + +<p>The stranger was nearly as silent as Martha. He was working +industriously at his sketch, and smoking his cigar as he +worked, having first ascertained that the ladies were tolerant +of the weed. He painted in a large dashing style that got over +the ground very quickly, and made a good effect. He had +nearly finished his sketch of the figure on the rock—the indigo +gown, scarlet ribbon, bright hair, and dark luminous eyes, when +Daphne jumped up suddenly, and vowed that her every limb +was an agony to her.</p> + +<p>‘I couldn’t endure it an instant longer!’ she exclaimed. +‘I hope you’ve finished.’</p> + +<p>‘Not quite; but you may change your attitude as much as +you like if you’ll only keep your head the same way. I am +working at the face now.’</p> + +<p>‘What are you going to do with the picture when it’s finished?’</p> + +<p>‘Keep it till my dying day.’</p> + +<p>‘I thought you would perhaps give it—I mean sell it—to +me. I could not afford a large price, for my people are very +poor, but——’</p> + +<p>‘Your looking-glass will show you a better portrait than this +poor sketch of mine. And, in after years, even this libellous +daub will serve to remind me of a happy hour in my life.’</p> + +<p>‘I am glad you have enjoyed yourself,’ said Daphne; ‘but I +really wish you had eaten that fowl. Have you far to go home +to dinner?’</p> + +<p>‘Only to Fontainebleau.’</p> + +<p>‘You are living there?’</p> + +<p>‘I am staying there. I may strike my tent and be across +the Jura to-morrow night. I never live anywhere.’</p> + +<p>‘But haven’t you a home and people?’</p> + +<p>‘I have a kind of home, but no people.’</p> + +<p>‘Poor fellow!’ murmured Daphne, with exquisite compassion. +‘Are you an orphan?’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span></p> + +<p>‘Yes; my father died nine years ago, my mother last year.’</p> + +<p>‘How awfully sad! No brothers or sisters?’</p> + +<p>‘None. I am a crystallisation, the last of a vanishing race. +And now I have done as much as I dare to your portrait. Any +attempt at finish would result in failure. I am writing the +place and the date in the corner of my sketch. May I write +your name?’</p> + +<p>‘My name!’ exclaimed Daphne, her eyes sparkling with +mischief, her cheeks curving into dimples.</p> + +<p>‘Yes; your name. You have a name, I suppose: unless +you are the nameless spirit of sunlit woodlands, masquerading +in a blue gown?’</p> + +<p>‘My name—is—Poppæa,’ faltered Daphne, whose latest chapter +of Roman history had been the story of Nero and his various +crimes, toned down and expurgated to suit young ladies’ schools.</p> + +<p>Poppæa Sabina, thus chastely handled, had appeared nothing +worse than a dressy lady of extravagant tastes, who took elaborate +care of her complexion, and had a fancy for shoeing her +mules with gold.</p> + +<p>‘Did you say Poppet?’ inquired the stranger.</p> + +<p>‘No; Poppæa. You must have heard the name before, I +should think. It is a Roman name. My father is a great +classical scholar, and he chose it for me. And pray what is +your name?’</p> + +<p>‘Nero.’</p> + +<p>The stranger pronounced the word without moving a muscle +of his face, still intent upon his sketch; for it is vain for a man +to say he has finished a thing of that kind; so long as his brushes +are within reach, he will be putting in new touches. There was +not a twinkle in those dubious eyes of his—not an upward move +of those mobile lips. He was as grave as a judge.</p> + +<p>‘I don’t believe it!’ cried Daphne, bouncing up from her rock.</p> + +<p>‘Don’t believe what?’</p> + +<p>‘That your name is Nero.’</p> + +<p>‘Why not? Have I not as good a right to bear a Roman +name as you have? Suppose I had a classical father as well as +you. Why not?’</p> + +<p>‘It is too absurd.’</p> + +<p>‘Many things are absurd which yet are absolutely true.’</p> + +<p>‘And you are really called Nero?’</p> + +<p>‘As really as you are called Poppæa.’</p> + +<p>‘It is so dreadfully like a dog’s name.’</p> + +<p>‘It is a dog’s name. But you may call your dog Bill, or Joe, +or Paul, or Peter. I don’t think that makes any difference. I +would sooner have some dogs for my namesakes than some men.’</p> + +<p>‘Dibb, dear,’ said Daphne, turning sharply upon the victim of +her folly, the long-suffering, patient Martha. ‘What’s the time?’</p> + +<p>She had a watch of her own, a neat little gold hunter; but<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span> +it was rarely in going order for two consecutive days, and she +was generally dependent on the methodical Dibb for all information +as to the flight of time.</p> + +<p>‘A quarter to five.’</p> + +<p>‘Then we must be going home instantly. How could you let +me stay so long, you foolish girl? I am sure it must be more +than an hour’s walk to the town, and we promised poor dear +Toby to be home by six.’</p> + +<p>‘It isn’t my fault,’ remarked Miss Dibb; ‘I should have been +glad to go ever so long ago, if you had thought fit.’</p> + +<p>‘Hurry up, then, Dibb dear. Put away your crochet. Have +you quite done with my block?’ to the unknown. ‘Thank you +muchly. And now my box? Those go into the basket. Thanks, +awfully,’ as he helped her to pack the tumblers, corkscrew, plates, +and knives, which had served for their primitive repast. ‘And +now we will wish you good-day—Mr.—Nero.’</p> + +<p>‘On no account. I am going to carry that basket back to +Fontainebleau for you.’</p> + +<p>‘All along that dusty high road. We couldn’t think of such +a thing; could we, Martha?’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t know that my opinion is of much account,’ said +Martha stiffly.</p> + +<p>‘Don’t, you dear creature!’ cried Daphne, darting at her, and +hugging her affectionately. ‘Don’t try to be ill-tempered, for +you can’t do it. The thing is an ignominious failure. You were +created to be good-natured, and nice, and devoted—especially +to me.’</p> + +<p>‘You know how fond I am of you,’ murmured Martha reproachfully; +‘and you take a mean advantage of me when you +go on so.’</p> + +<p>‘How am I going on? Is it very dreadful to let a gentleman +carry a heavy basket for me?’</p> + +<p>‘A gentleman!’ muttered Martha, with a supercilious glance +at the stranger’s well-worn velveteen.</p> + +<p>He was standing a little way off, out of hearing, taking a last +long look at the valley.</p> + +<p>‘Yes; and every inch a gentleman, though his coat is shabby, +and though he may be as poor as Job, and though he makes +game of me!’ protested Daphne with conviction.</p> + +<p>‘Have your own way,’ replied Martha.</p> + +<p>‘I generally do,’ answered Daphne.</p> + +<p>And so they went slowly winding downhill in the westering +sunshine, all among the gray rocks on which the purple shadows +were deepening, the warm umber lights glowing, while the rosy +evening light came creeping up in the distant west, and the voice +of an occasional bird, so rare in this Gallic wood, took a vesper +sound in the summer stillness.</p> + +<p>The holiday makers had all gone home. The French matron<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span> +who had taken her rest so luxuriously, surrounded by her olivebranches, +had put on her boots and departed. The women who +sold cakes and fruit, and wooden paper-knives, had packed up +their wares and gone away. All was silence and loneliness; and +for a little while Daphne and her companions wandered on in +quiet enjoyment of the scene and the atmosphere, treading the +mossy, sandy path that wound in and out among the big rocks, +sometimes nearly losing themselves, and anon following the blue +arrow points which a careful hand had painted on the rocks to +show them which way they should go.</p> + +<p>But Daphne was not given to silence. She found something +to talk about before they had gone very far.</p> + +<p>‘You have travelled immensely, I suppose?’ she said to the +stranger.</p> + +<p>‘I don’t know exactly what significance you attach to the +word. Young ladies use such large words nowadays for such +very small things. From a scientific explorer’s point of view, my +wanderings have been very limited, but I daresay one of Cook’s +tourists would consider me a respectable traveller. I have never +seen the buried cities of Central America, nor surveyed the world +from the top of Mount Everest, nor even climbed the Caucasus, +nor wandered by stormy Hydaspes: but I have done Egypt, and +Algeria, and Greece, and all that is tolerably worth seeing in +Southern Europe, and have tried my hand, or rather my legs, at +Alpine climbing, and have come to the conclusion that, although +Nature is mountainous, life is everywhere more or less flat, stale, +and unprofitable.’</p> + +<p>‘I’m sure I shouldn’t feel that if I were free to roam the +world, and could paint as sweetly as you do.’</p> + +<p>‘I had a sweet subject, remember.’</p> + +<p>‘Please don’t,’ cried Daphne; ‘I rather like you when you +are rude, but if you flatter I shall hate you.’</p> + +<p>‘Then I’ll be rude. To win your liking I would be more +uncivil than Petruchio.’</p> + +<p>‘Katharine was a fool!’ exclaimed Daphne, skipping up the +craggy side of one of the biggest rocks. ‘I have always despised +her. To begin so well, and end so tamely.’</p> + +<p>‘If you don’t take care you’ll end by slipping off that rock, +and spraining an ankle or two,’ said Nero warningly.</p> + +<p>‘Not I,’ answered Daphne confidently; ‘you don’t know +how used I am to climbing. Oh, look at that too delicious +lizard!’</p> + +<p>She was on her knees admiring the emerald-hued changeful +creature. She touched it only with her breath, and it flashed +away from her and vanished in some crevice of the rock.</p> + +<p>‘Silly thing, did it think I wanted to hurt it, when I was only +worshipping its beauty?’ she cried.</p> + +<p>Then she rose suddenly, and stood on the rock, a slim girlish<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span> +figure, with flattering drapery, poised as lightly as Mercury, +gazing round her, admiring the tall slim stems of the beeches +growing in groups like clustered columns, the long vista of rocks, +the dark wall of fir-trees, mounting up and up to the edge of a +saffron-tinted sky—for these loiterers had lost count of time since +steady-going Martha looked at her reliable watch, and the last of +the finches had sung his lullaby to his wife and family, and the +golden ship called Sol had gone down to Night’s dark sea.</p> + +<p>‘Come down, you absurd creature!’ exclaimed Nero, with a +peremptory voice, winding one arm about the light figure, and +lifting the girl off the rock as easily as if she had been a feather-weight.</p> + +<p>‘You are very horrid!’ protested Daphne indignantly. ‘You +are ever so much ruder than Petruchio. Why shouldn’t I stand +on that rock? I was only admiring the landscape!’</p> + +<p>‘No doubt, and two minutes hence you would be calling upon +us to admire a fine example of a sprained ankle.’</p> + +<p>‘I’m sure if your namesake was ever as unkind to my namesake, +it’s no wonder she died young,’ said Daphne, pouting.</p> + +<p>‘I believe he was occasionally a little rough upon her,’ answered +the artist with his imperturbable air. ‘But of course +you have read your Tacitus and your Suetonius in the original. +Young ladies know everything nowadays.’</p> + +<p>‘The Roman history we read is by a clergyman, written expressly +for ladies’ schools,’ said Miss Dibb demurely.</p> + +<p>‘How intensely graphic and interesting that chronicle must +be!’ retorted the stranger.</p> + +<p>They had come to the end of the winding path among the +rocks by this time, and were in a long, straight road, cut through +the heart of the forest, between tall trees that seemed to have +outgrown their strength—weedy-looking trees, planted too +thickly, and only able to push their feeble growth up towards +the sun, with no room for spreading boughs or interlacing roots. +The evening light was growing grave and gray. Bats were +skimming across the path, uncomfortably near Daphne’s flowing +hair. Miss Dibb began to grumble.</p> + +<p>‘How dreadfully we have loitered!’ she cried, looking at her +watch. ‘It is nearly eight, and we have so far to go. What +will Miss Toby say?’</p> + +<p>‘Well, she will moan a little, no doubt,’ answered Daphne +lightly, ‘and will tell us that her heart has been in her mouth for +the last hour, which need not distress us much, as we know it’s a +physical impossibility; and that anyone might knock her down +with a feather—another obvious impossibility, seeing that poor +Toby weighs eleven stone—and then I shall kiss her and make +much of her, and give her the packet of nougat I mean to buy +on the way home, and all will be sunshine. She takes a sticky +delight in nougat And now please talk and amuse us,’ said<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span> +Daphne, turning to the artist with an authoritative air. ‘Tell +us about some of your travels, or tell us where you live when +you’re at home.’</p> + +<p>‘I think I’d rather talk of my travels. I’ve just come from +Italy.’</p> + +<p>‘Where you have been painting prodigiously, of course. It +is a land of pictures, is it not?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes; but Nature’s pictures are even better than the treasures +of art.’</p> + +<p>‘If ever I should marry,’ said Daphne with a dreamy look, as +if she were contemplating an event far off in the dimness of +twenty years hence, ‘I should insist upon my husband taking +me to Italy.’</p> + +<p>‘Perhaps he wouldn’t be able to afford the expense,’ suggested +the practical Martha.</p> + +<p>‘Then I wouldn’t marry him,’ Daphne retorted decisively.</p> + +<p>‘Isn’t that rather a mercenary notion?’ asked the gentleman +with the basket.</p> + +<p>‘Not at all. Do you suppose I should marry just for the +sake of having a husband? If ever I do marry—which I think +is more than doubtful—it will be, first and foremost, in order +that I may do everything I wish to do, and have everything I +want to have. Is there anything singular in that?’</p> + +<p>‘No; I suppose it is a young beauty’s innate idea of marriage. +She sees herself in a glass, and recognises perfection, and +knows her own value.’</p> + +<p>‘Are you married?’ asked Daphne abruptly, eager to change +the conversation when the stranger became complimentary.</p> + +<p>‘No.’</p> + +<p>‘Engaged?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes.’</p> + +<p>‘What is she like?’ inquired Daphne eagerly. ‘Please tell +us about her. It will be ever so much more interesting than +Italy; for, after all, when one hasn’t seen a country description +goes for so little. What is she like?’</p> + +<p>‘I could best answer that question in one word if I were to +say she is perfection.’</p> + +<p>‘You called me perfection just now,’said Daphne pettishly.</p> + +<p>‘I was talking of your face. She is perfection in all things. +Perfectly pure, and true, and good, and noble. She is handsome, +highly accomplished, rich.’</p> + +<p>‘And yet you go wandering about the world in that coat,’ +exclaimed Daphne, too impulsive to be polite.</p> + +<p>‘It is shabby, is it not? But if you knew how comfortable +it is you wouldn’t wonder that I have an affection for it.’</p> + +<p>‘Go on about the young lady, please. Have you been long +engaged to her?’</p> + +<p>‘Ever since I can remember, in my heart of hearts: she was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span> +my bright particular star when I was a boy at school: she was +my sole incentive to work, or decent behaviour, when I was at +the University. And now I am not going to say any more about +her. I think I have told you enough to gratify any reasonable +curiosity. Ask me conundrums, young ladies, if you please, or +do something to amuse me. Remember, I am carrying the +basket, and a man is something more than a beast of burden. +My mind requires relaxation.’</p> + +<p>Martha Dibb grinned all over broad frank face. Riddles +were her delight. She had little manuscript books filled with +them in her scrawly, pointed writing. She began at once, like a +musical-box that has been wound up, and did not leave off asking +conundrums till they were half-way down the long street leading +to the palace, near which Miss Toby and her pupils had their +lodging.</p> + +<p>But Daphne had no intention that the stranger should learn +exactly where she lived. Reckless as she was, mirthful and +mischievous as Puck or Robin Goodfellow, she had still a dim +idea that her conduct was not exactly correct, or would not be +correct in England. On the Continent, of course, there must be +a certain license. English travellers dined at public tables, and +gamed in public rooms—were altogether more sociable and open +to approach than on their native soil. It was only a chosen few—the +peculiarly gifted in stiffness—who retained their glacial +crust through every change of scene and climate, and who would +perish rather than cross the street ungloved, or discourse +familiarly with an unaccredited stranger. But, even with due +allowance for Continental laxity, Daphne felt that she had gone +a little too far. So she pulled up suddenly at the corner of a +side street, and demanded her basket.</p> + +<p>‘What does that mean?’ asked the painter, with a look of +lazy surprise.</p> + +<p>‘Only that this is our way home, and that we won’t trouble +you to carry the basket any further, thanks intensely.’</p> + +<p>‘But I am going to carry it to your door.’</p> + +<p>‘It’s awfully good of you to propose it, but our governess +would be angry with us for imposing on the kindness of a +stranger, and I am afraid we should get into trouble.’</p> + +<p>‘Then I haven’t a word to say,’ answered the painter, smiling +at her blushing eloquent face. Verily a speaking face—beautiful +just as a sunlit meadow is beautiful, because of the lights and +shadows that flit and play perpetually across it.</p> + +<p>‘Do you live in this street?’ he asked.</p> + +<p>‘No; our house is in the second turning to the right, seven +doors from the corner,’ said Daphne, who had obtained possession +of the basket. ‘Good-bye.’</p> + +<p>She ran off with light swift foot, followed lumpishly and +breathlessly by the scandalised Martha.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span></p> + +<p>‘Daphne, how could you tell him such an outrageous story?’ +she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>‘Do you think I was going to tell him the truth?’ asked +Daphne, still fluttering on, light as a lapwing. ‘We should have +had him calling on Miss Toby to-morrow morning to ask if we +were fatigued by our walk, or perhaps singing the serenade from +Don Giovanni under our windows to-night. Now, Martha +dearest, don’t say one word; I know I have behaved shamefully, +but it has been awful fun, hasn’t it?’</p> + +<p>‘I’m sure I felt ready to sink through the ground all the +time,’ panted Martha.</p> + +<p>‘Darling, the ground and you are both too solid for there to +be any fear of that.’</p> + +<p>They had turned a corner by this time, and doubling and +winding, always at a run, they came very speedily to the quiet +spot near the palace, where their governess had lodged them in a +low blind-looking white house, with only one window that commanded +a view of the street.</p> + +<p>They had been so fleet of foot, and had so doubled on the unknown, +that, from this upper window, they had presently the +satisfaction of seeing him come sauntering along the empty +street, careless, indifferent, with dreamy eyes looking forward +into vacancy, a man without a care.</p> + +<p>‘He doesn’t look as if he minded our having given him the +slip one little bit,’ said Daphne.</p> + +<p>‘Why should he?’ asked the matter-of-fact Martha. ‘I +daresay he was tired of carrying the basket.’</p> + +<p>‘Go your ways,’ said Daphne with a faint sigh, waving her +hand at the vanishing figure. ‘Go your ways over mountain +and sea, through wood and valley. This world is a big place, and +it isn’t likely you and I will ever meet again.’ Then, turning +to her companion with a sudden change of manner, she exclaimed: +‘Martha, I believe we have both made a monstrous +mistake.’</p> + +<p>‘As how?’ asked Miss Dibb stupidly.</p> + +<p>‘In taking him for a poor artist.’</p> + +<p>‘He looks like one.’</p> + +<p>‘Not he. There is nothing about him but his coat that looks +poor, and he wears that as if it were purple and ermine. Did +you notice his eye when he ordered us to change the conversation, +an eye accustomed to look at inferiors? And there is a +careless pride in his manner, like a man who believes that the +world was made on purpose for him, yet doesn’t want to make +any fuss about it. Then he is engaged to a rich lady, and he has +been at a university. No, Martha, I am sure he is no wandering +artist living on his pencil.’</p> + +<p>‘Then he must think all the worse of us,’ said Martha, +solemnly.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span></p> + +<p>‘What does it matter?’ asked Daphne, with a careless shrug. +‘We have seen the last of each other.’</p> + +<p>‘We can never be sure of that. One might meet him at a +party.’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t think you will,’ said Daphne, faintly supercilious, +‘and the chances are ever so many to one against even my +meeting him anywhere.’</p> + +<p>Here Miss Toby burst into the room. She had been lying +down in an adjacent chamber, resting her poor bilious head, +when the girls came softly in, and had only just heard their +voices.</p> + +<p>‘Oh, you dreadful girls, what hours of torture you have +caused me!’ she exclaimed. ‘I thought something must have +happened.’</p> + +<p>‘Something did happen,’ said Daphne; whereupon Martha +thought she was going to confess everything.</p> + +<p>‘What?’</p> + +<p>‘A lizard.’</p> + +<p>‘Did it sting you?’</p> + +<p>‘No; it darted away when I looked at it. A lovely glittering +green thing. I wish I could tame one and wear it for a necklace. +And I nearly fell off a rock; and I tried hard to paint the +valley, and made a most dismal failure. But the view from the +hill is positively delicious, Toby dear, and the rocks are wonderful; +huge masses of granite tumbled about among the trees anyhow, +as if Titans had been pelting one another. It’s altogether +lovely. You must go with us to-morrow, Toby love.’</p> + +<p>Miss Toby, diverted from her intention to scold, shook her +head despondingly.</p> + +<p>‘I should like it of all things,’ she sighed. ‘But I am such a +bad walker, and the heat always affects my head. Besides, I +think we ought to go over the palace to-morrow. There is so +much instruction to be derived from a place so full of historical +associations.’</p> + +<p>‘No doubt,’ answered the flippant Daphne, ‘though if you +were to tell me that it had been built by Julius Cæsar or Alfred +the Great, I should hardly be wise enough to contradict you.’</p> + +<p>‘My dear Daphne, after you have been so carefully grounded +in history,’ remonstrated Miss Toby.</p> + +<p>‘I know, dear; but then you see I have never built anything +on the ground. It’s all very well to dig out foundations, but if +one never gets any further than that! But we’ll see the palace +to-morrow, and you shall teach me no end of history while we +are looking at pictures and things.’</p> + +<p>‘If my poor head be well enough,’ sighed Miss Toby, and +then she began to move languidly to and fro, arranging for the +refreshment of her pupils, who wanted their supper.</p> + +<p>When the supper was ready, Daphne could eat nothing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span> +although five minutes before she had declared herself ravenous. +She was too excited to eat. She talked of the forest, the view, +the heat, the sky, everything except the stranger, and his name +was trembling on her lips perpetually. Every now and then she +pulled herself up abruptly in the middle of a sentence, and +flashed a vivid glance at stolid Martha, her dark gray eyes +shining like stars, full of mischievous light. She would have +liked to tell Miss Toby everything, but to do so might be to +surrender all future liberty. Headache or no headache, the +honest little governess would never have allowed her pupils to +wander about alone again, could she have beheld them, in her +mind’s eye, picnicking with a nameless stranger.</p> + +<p>There was a little bit of garden at the back of the low, white +house, hardly more than a green courtyard, with a square grass +plot and a few shrubs, into which enclosure the windows all +looked, save that one peep-hole towards the street. Above the +white wall that shut in the bit of green rose the foliage of a +much larger garden—acacias shedding their delicate perfume on +the cool night, limes just breaking into flower, dark-leaved magnolias, +tulip-trees, birch and aspen—a lovely variety of verdure. +And over all this shone the broad disk of a ripening moon, flooding +the world with light.</p> + +<p>When supper was over, Daphne bounded out into the moonlit +garden, and began to play at battledore and shuttlecock. She +was all life and fire and movement, and could not have sat still +for the world.</p> + +<p>‘Come,’ she cried to Martha; ‘bring your battledore. A +match for a franc’s worth of nougat.’</p> + +<p>Miss Dibb had settled herself to her everlasting crochet by +the light of two tall candles. Miss Toby was reading a Tauchnitz +novel.</p> + +<p>‘I’m tired to death,’ grumbled Martha. ‘I’m sure we must +have walked miles upon miles. How can you be so restless?’</p> + +<p>‘How can you mope indoors on such an exquisite night?’ +exclaimed Daphne. ‘I feel as if I could send my shuttlecock up +to the moon. Come out and be beaten! No; you are too wise. +You know that I should win to-night.’</p> + +<p>The little toy of cork and feathers quivered high up in the +bright air; the slender, swaying figure bent back like a reed as +the girl looked upward; the fair golden head moved with every +motion of the battledore as the player bent or rose to anticipate +the flying cork.</p> + +<p>She was glad to be out there alone. She was thinking of the +unknown all the time. She could not get him out of her mind. +She had a vague unreasonable idea that he must be near her; +that he saw her as she played; that he was hiding somewhere in +the shadow yonder, peeping over the wall; that he was in the +moon—in the night—everywhere; that it was his breath which<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span> +flattered those leaves trembling above the wall; that it was his +footfall which she heard rustling among the shrubs—a stealthy, +mysterious sound mingling with the plish-plash of the fountain +in the next garden. She had talked lightly enough a little while +ago of having seen the last of him: yet now, alone with her +thoughts in the moonlit garden, it seemed as if this nameless +stranger were interwoven with the fabric of her life, a part of her +destiny for evermore.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.<br> +<span class="fs70">‘AND VOLATILE, AS AY WAS HIS USAGE.’</span></h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Another</span> brilliant summer day, a cloudless blue sky, a world +steeped in sunshine. On the broad gravelled space in front of +the palace-railings the heat and glare would have been too much +for a salamander, and even Daphne, who belonged to the salamander +species in so much as she had an infinite capacity for +enjoying sunshine, blinked a little as she crossed the shelterless +promenade, under her big tussore parasol, a delightfully cool-looking +figure, in a plain white muslin gown, and a muslin +shepherdess hat.</p> + +<p>Poor Miss Toby’s chronic headache had been a little worse +this morning. Heroically had she striven to fulfil her duty, +albeit to lift her leaden head from the pillow was absolute agony. +She sat at the breakfast-table, white, ghastly, uncomplaining, +pouring out coffee, at the very odour of which her bilious soul +sickened. Vainly did Daphne entreat her to go back to bed, and +to leave her charges to take care of themselves, as they had done +yesterday.</p> + +<p>‘We won’t go to the forest any more till you are able to go +with us,’ said Daphne, dimly conscious that her behaviour in that +woodland region had been open to blame. ‘We can just go +quietly to the palace, and stroll through the rooms with the few +tourists who are likely to be there to-day. The Fontainebleau +season has hardly begun, don’t you know, and we may have +nobody but the guide, and of course he must be a respectable +person.’</p> + +<p>‘My dear, I was sent here to take care of you both, and I +must do my duty,’ answered Miss Toby with a sickly smile. +‘Yesterday my temples throbbed so that I could hardly move, +but I am a little better to-day, and I shall put on my bonnet and +come with you.’</p> + +<p>She rose, staggered a few paces towards the adjacent chamber, +and reeled like a landsman at sea. Then she sank into the +nearest chair, and breathed a weary sigh.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span></p> + +<p>‘It’s no use, Toby darling,’ cried Daphne, bending over her +with tenderest sympathy. To be tender, sweet, and sympathetic +in little outward ways, tones of voice, smiles, and looks, was one +of Daphne’s dangerous gifts. ‘My dearest Toby, why struggle +against the inevitable?’ she urged. ‘It is simply one of your +regular bilious attacks. All you have to do is to lie quietly in a +dark room and sleep it off, just as you have so often done before. +To-morrow you will be as well as I am.’</p> + +<p>‘Then why not wait till to-morrow for seeing the palace,’ said +Miss Toby faintly, ‘and amuse yourselves at home, for once in a +way? You really ought to study a little, Daphne. Madame +will be horrified if she finds you have done no work all this +time.’</p> + +<p>‘But I do work of an evening—sometimes, dearest,’ expostulated +Daphne; ‘and I’m sure you would not like us to be half +suffocated all day in this stifling little salon, poring over horrid +books. We should be having the fever next, and then how +would you account to Madame for your stewardship?’</p> + +<p>‘Don’t be irreverent, Daphne,’ said Miss Toby, who thought +that any use of scriptural phrases out of church was a kind of +blasphemy. ‘I think you would really be better indoors upon +such a day as this; but I feel too languid to argue the point. +What would you like best, Martha?’</p> + +<p>Miss Dibb, who employed every odd scrap of spare time in +the development of her <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">magnum opus</i> in crochet-work, looked +up with a glance of indifference, and was about to declare her +willingness to stay indoors for ever, so that the crochet counterpane +might flourish and wax wide, when a stealthy frown from +Daphne checked her.</p> + +<p>‘Daphne would rather see the palace to-day, I know,’ she +replied meekly, ‘and I think,’ with a nervous glance at her +schoolfellow, who was scowling savagely, ‘I think I would rather +go too.’</p> + +<p>‘Well,’ sighed Miss Toby, ‘I have made an effort, but I feel +that I could not endure the glare out of doors. You must go +alone. Be sure you are both very quiet, if there are tourists +about. Don’t giggle, or look round at people, or make fun of +their gowns and bonnets, as you are too fond of doing. It is +horribly unladylike. And if any stranger should try to get into +conversation with you—of course only a low-bred person would +do such a thing—pray remember that your own self-respect +would counsel you to be dumb.’</p> + +<p>‘Can you suppose we would speak to anyone?’ exclaimed +Daphne, as she tripped away to her little bedroom, next door to +Miss Toby’s. It was the queerest little room, with a narrow, +white-muslin-curtained bed in a recess, and a marvellous piece +of furniture which was washstand, chest of drawers, and dressing-table<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span> +all in one. A fly-spotted glass, inclining from the wall +above this <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">multum in parvo</i>, was Daphne’s only mirror.</p> + +<p>Here she put on her muslin hat, with a bouquet of blue cornflowers +perched coquettishly on the brim, making a patch of +bright cool colour that refreshed the eye. Never had she looked +prettier than this midsummer morning. Even the fly-spotted +clouded old glass told her as much as that.</p> + +<p>‘If—if he were to be doing the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">château</i> to-day,’ she thought, +tremulous with excitement, ‘how strange it would be. But +that’s not likely. He is not of the common class of tourists, who +all follow the same beaten track. I daresay he will idle away +the afternoon in the woods, just as he did yesterday.’</p> + +<p>‘Martha, shall we go to the forest to-day, and leave the +<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">château</i> to be done to-morrow with Toby?’ Daphne asked, when +she and her companion were crossing the wide parade-ground, +where the soldiers trotted by with a great noise and clatter early +in the morning, with a fanfare of trumpets and an occasional +roll of a drum. ‘It might seem kinder to poor dear Toby, don’t +you know.’</p> + +<p>‘I think it would be very wrong, Daphne,’ answered the +serious Martha. ‘We told Miss Toby we were going to the +palace, and we are bound to go straight there and nowhere else. +Besides, I want to see the pictures and statues and things, and I +am sick to death of that forest.’</p> + +<p>‘After one day! Oh, Martha, what an unromantic soul you +must have. I could live and die there, if I had pleasant company. +I have always envied Rosalind and Celia.’</p> + +<p>‘They must have been very glad when they got home,’ said +Martha.</p> + +<p>Out of the blinding whiteness of the open street they went in +at a gate to a gravelled quadrangle, where the sun seemed to +burn with yet more fiery heat. Even Daphne felt breathless, +but it was a pleasant feeling, the delight of absolute summer, +which comes so seldom in the changeful year. Then they went +under an archway, and into the inner quadrangle, with the +white palace on all sides of them. It wanted some minutes of +eleven, and they were shown into a cool official-looking room, +where they were to wait till the striking of the hour. The +room was panelled, painted white, a room of Louis the Fourteenth’s +time most likely; what little furniture there was being +quaint and rococo, but not old. The blinds were down, the +shutters half-closed, and the room was in deep shadow.</p> + +<p>‘How nice!’ gasped Martha, who had been panting like a +fish out of water all the way.</p> + +<p>‘It is like coming into a grotto,’ said Daphne, sinking into a +chair.</p> + +<p>‘It is not half so nice as the forest,’ said a voice in the semi-darkness.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span></p> + +<p>Daphne gave a visible start. She had mused upon the +possibility of meeting her acquaintance of yesterday, and had +decided that the thing was unlikely. Yet her spirits had been +buoyed by a lurking idea that he might crop up somehow before +the day was done. But to find him here at the very beginning +of things was startling.</p> + +<p>‘Did you know that we were coming here to-day?’ she +faltered.</p> + +<p>‘Hadn’t the slightest idea; but I wanted to see the place +myself,’ he answered coolly.</p> + +<p>Daphne blushed rosy-red, deeply ashamed of her foolish, +impulsive speech. The stranger had been sitting in that cool +shade for the last ten minutes, and his eyes had grown accustomed +to the obscurity. He saw the blush, he saw the bright +expressive face under the muslin hat, the slim figure in the +white frock, every line sharply accentuated against a gray background, +the slender hand in a long Swedish glove. She looked +more womanly in her white gown and hat—and yet more childlike—than +she had looked yesterday in blue and scarlet.</p> + +<p>They sat for about five minutes in profound silence. +Daphne, usually loquacious, felt as if she could not have spoken +for the world. Martha was by nature stolid and inclined to +dumbness. The stranger was watching Daphne’s face in a lazy +reverie, thinking that his hurried sketch of yesterday was not +half so lovely as the original, and yet it had seemed to him +almost the prettiest head he had ever painted.</p> + +<p>‘The provoking minx has hardly one good feature,’ he +thought. ‘It is an utterly unpaintable beauty—a beauty of +colour, life, and movement. Photograph her asleep, and she +would be as plain as a pike-staff. How different from——’</p> + +<p>He gave a faint sigh, and was startled from his musing by +the door opening with a bang and an official calling out, ‘This +way, ladies and gentlemen.’</p> + +<p>They crossed the blazing courtyard in the wake of a brisk +little gentleman in uniform, who led them up a flight of stone +steps, and into a stony hall. Thence to the chapel, and then to +an upper story, and over polished floors through long suites of +rooms, everyone made more or less sacred by historical memories. +Here was the table on which Napoleon the Great signed his +abdication, while his Old Guard waited in the quadrangle below. +Daphne looked first at the table and then out of the window, +almost as if she expected to see that faithful soldiery drawn up +in the stony courtyard—grim bearded men who had fought and +conquered on so many a field, victors of Lodi and Arcola, +Austerlitz and Jena, Friedland and Wagram, and who knew now +that all was over and their leader’s star had gone down.</p> + +<p>Then to rooms hallowed by noble Marie Antoinette, lovely +alike in felicity and in ruin. Smaller, prettier, more home-like<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span> +rooms came next, where the Citizen King and his gentle wife +tasted the sweetness of calm domestic joys; a tranquil gracious +family circle; to be transferred, with but a brief interval of +stormy weather, to the quiet reaches of the Thames, in Horace +Walpole’s beloved ‘County of Twits.’ Then back to the age of +tournaments and tented fields; and, lo! they were in the rooms +which courtly Francis built and adorned, and glorified by his +august presence. Here, amidst glitter of gold and glow of +colour, the great King—Charles the Fifth’s rival and victor—lived +and loved, and shed sunshine upon an adoring court. +Here from many a canvas, fresh as if painted yesterday, looked +the faces of the past. Names fraught with romantic memories +sanctify every nook and corner of the palace. Everywhere +appears the cypher of Diana of Poitiers linked with that of her +royal lover, Henry the Second. Catherine de Médicis must have +looked upon those interlaced initials many a time in the period +of her probation, looked, and held her peace, and schooled herself +to patience, waiting till Fortune’s wheel should turn and +bring her day of power. Here in this long, lofty chamber, sunlit, +beautiful, the fated Monaldeschi’s life-blood stained the +polished floor.</p> + +<p>‘To say the least of it, the act was an impertinence on +Queen Christina’s part, seeing that she was only a visitor at +Fontainebleau,’ said the stranger languidly. ‘Don’t you think +so, Poppæa?’</p> + +<p>Daphne required to have the whole story told her; that +particular event not having impressed itself on her mind.</p> + +<p>‘I have read all through Bonnechose’s history of France, +and half way from the beginning again,’ she explained. ‘But +when one sits droning history in a row of droning girls, even +a murder doesn’t make much impression upon one. It’s all put +in the same dull, dry way. This year there was a great scarcity +of corn. The poor in the provinces suffered extreme privations. +Queen Christina, of Sweden, while on a visit at Fontainebleau, +ordered the execution of her counsellor Monaldeschi. There +was also a plague at Marseilles. The Dauphin died suddenly in +the fifteenth year of his age. The king held a Bed of Justice +for the first time since he ascended the throne. That is the kind +of thing, you know.’</p> + +<p>‘I can conceive that so bald a calendar would scarcely take +a firm grip upon one’s memory,’ assented the stranger. ‘Details +are apt to impress the mind more than events.’</p> + +<p>After this came the rooms which the Pope occupied during +his captivity—rooms that had double and treble memories; here +a nuptial-chamber, there a room all a-glitter with gilding—a +room that had sheltered Charles the Fifth, and afterwards fair, +and not altogether fortunate, Anne of Austria. Daphne felt as +if her brain would hardly hold so much history. She felt a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span> +kind of relief when they came to a theatre, where plays had +been acted before Napoleon the Third and his lovely empress in +days that seemed to belong to her own life.</p> + +<p>‘I think I was born then,’ she said naïvely.</p> + +<p>There had been no other visitors—no tourists of high or +low degree. The two girls and the unknown had had the palace +to themselves, and the guide, mollified by a five-franc piece +slipped into his hand by the gentleman, had allowed them to +make their circuit at a somewhat more leisurely pace than that +brisk trot on which he usually insisted.</p> + +<p>Yet for all this it was still early when they came down the +double flight of steps and found themselves once again in the +quadrangle, the Court of Farewells, so called from the day +when the great emperor bade adieu to pomp and power, and +passed like a splendid apparition from the scene he had glorified. +The sun had lost none of his fervour—nay, had ascended to his +topmost heaven, and was pouring down his rays upon the baking +earth.</p> + +<p>‘Let us go to the gardens and feed the carp,’ said Nero, and +it was an infinite relief, were it only for the refreshment of the +eye, to find themselves under green leaves and by the margin of +a lovely lake, statues of white marble gleaming yonder at the +end of verdant arcades, fountains plashing. Here under the +trees a delicious coolness and stillness contrasted with the glare +of light on the open space yonder, where an old woman sat at a +stall, set out with cakes and sweetmeats, ready to supply food +for the carp-feeders.</p> + +<p>‘Yes: let us feed the carp,’ cried Daphne, running out into +this sunlit space, her white gown looking like some saintly +raiment in the supernatural light of a transfiguration. ‘That +will be lovely! I have heard of them. They are intensely old, +are they not—older than the palace itself?’</p> + +<p>‘They are said to have been here when Henry and Diana +walked in yonder alleys,’ replied Nero. ‘I believe they were +here when the Roman legions conquered Gaul. One thing +seems as likely as the other, doesn’t it, Poppæa?’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t know about that: but I like to think they are intensely +old,’ answered Daphne, leaning on the iron railing, and +looking down at the fish, which were already competing for her +favours, feeling assured she meant to feed them.</p> + +<p>The old woman got up from her stool, and came over to ask +if the young lady would like some bread for the carp.</p> + +<p>‘Yes, please—a lot,’ cried Daphne, and she began to fumble +in her pocket for the little purse with its three or four francs +and half-francs.</p> + +<p>The stranger tossed a franc to the woman before Daphne’s +hand could get to the bottom of her pocket, and the bread was +forthcoming—a large hunch off a long loaf. Daphne began<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span> +eagerly to feed the fish. They were capital fun, disputing +vehemently for her bounty, huge gray creatures which looked +centuries old—savage, artful, vicious exceedingly. She gave +them each a name. One she called Francis, another Henry, +another Diana, another Catherine. She was as pleased and +amused as a child, now throwing her bit of bread as far as her +arm could fling it, and laughing merrily at the eager rush of +competitors, now luring them close to the rails, and smiling +down at the gray snouts yawning for their prey.</p> + +<p>‘Do you think they would eat me if I were to tumble in +among them?’ asked Daphne. ‘Greedy creatures! They seem +ravenous enough for anything. There! they have devoured all +my bread.’</p> + +<p>‘Shall I buy you some more?’</p> + +<p>‘Please, no. This kind of thing might go on for ever. +They are insatiable. You would be ruined.’</p> + +<p>‘Shall we go under the trees?’</p> + +<p>‘If you like. But don’t you think this sunshine delicious? +It is so nice to bask. I think I am rather like a cat in my +enjoyment of the sun.’</p> + +<p>‘Your friend seems to have had enough of it,’ said Nero, +glancing towards a sheltered bench to which Miss Dibb had +discreetly withdrawn herself.</p> + +<p>‘Martha! I had almost forgotten her existence. The carp +are so absorbing.’</p> + +<p>‘Let us stay in the sunshine. We can rejoin your friend +presently. She has taken out her needlework, and seems to be +enjoying herself.’</p> + +<p>‘Another strip of her everlasting counterpane,’ said Daphne. +‘That girl’s persevering industry is maddening. It makes one +feel so abominably idle. Would you be very shocked to know +that I detest needlework?’</p> + +<p>‘I should as soon expect a butterfly to be fond of needlework +as you,’ answered Nero. ‘Let me see your hand.’</p> + +<p>She had taken off her glove to feed the carp, and her hand +lay upon the iron rail, dazzlingly white in the sunshine; Nero +took it up in his, so gently, so reverently, that she could not +resent the action. He took it as a priest or physician might +have taken it: altogether with a professional or scientific air.</p> + +<p>‘Do you know that I am a student of chiromancy?’ he +asked.</p> + +<p>‘How should I, when I don’t know anything about you? +And I don’t even know what chiromancy is.’</p> + +<p>‘The science of reading fate and character from the configuration +of the hand.’</p> + +<p>‘Why, that is what gipsies pretend to do,’ cried Daphne. +‘You surely cannot believe in such nonsense.’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t know that my belief goes very far; but I have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span> +found the study full of interest, and more than once I have +stumbled upon curious truths.’</p> + +<p>‘So do the most ignorant gipsy fortune-tellers,’ retorted +Daphne. ‘People who are always guessing must sometimes +guess right. But you may tell my fortune all the same, please; +it will be more amusing than the carp.’</p> + +<p>‘If you approach the subject in such an irreverent spirit, I +don’t think I will have anything to say to you. Remember, I +have gone into this question thoroughly, from a scientific point +of view.’</p> + +<p>‘I am sure you are wonderfully clever,’ said Daphne; and +then, in a coaxing voice, with a lovely look from the sparkling +gray eyes, she pleaded: ‘Pray tell my fortune. I shall be +wretched if you refuse.’</p> + +<p>‘And I should be wretched if I were to disoblige you. +Your left hand, please, and be serious, for it is a very solemn +ordeal.’</p> + +<p>She gave him her left hand. He turned the soft rosy +childish palm to the sunlight, and pored over it as intently as if +it had been some manuscript treatise of Albertus Magnus, +written in cypher, to be understood only by the hierophant in +science.</p> + +<p>‘You are of a fitful temper,’ he said, ‘and do not make +many friends. Yet you are capable of loving intensely—one or +two persons perhaps, not more; indeed, I think only one at a +time, for your nature is concentrative rather than diffuse.’</p> + +<p>He spoke slowly and deliberately—coldly indifferent as an +antique oracle—with his eyes upon her hand all the time. He +took no note of the changes in her expressive face, which would +have told him that he had hit the truth.</p> + +<p>‘You are apt to be dissatisfied with life.’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, indeed I am,’ she cried, with a weary sigh; ‘there are +times when I do so hate my life and all things belonging to me—except +just one person—that I would change places with any +peasant-girl trudging home from market.’</p> + +<p>‘You are romantic, variable. You do not care for beaten +paths, and have a hankering for the wild and strange. You +love the sea better than the land, the night better than the day.’</p> + +<p>‘You are a wizard,’ cried Daphne, remembering her wild +delight in the dancing waves as she stood on the deck of the +Channel steamer, her intense love of the winding river at home—the +deep, rapid stream—and of fresh salt breezes, and a free +ocean life; remembering, too, how her soul had thrilled with +rapture in the shadowy courtyard last night, when her shuttlecock +flew up towards the moon. ‘You have a wonderful knack +of finding out things,’ she said. ‘Go on, please.’</p> + +<p>He had dropped her hand suddenly, and was looking up at +her with intense earnestness.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span></p> + +<p>‘Please go on,’ she repeated impatiently.</p> + +<p>‘I have done. There is no more to be told.’</p> + +<p>‘Nonsense. I know you are keeping back something; I can +see it in your face. There is something unpleasant—or something +strange—I could see it in the way you looked at me just +now. I insist upon knowing everything.’</p> + +<p>‘Insist! I am only a fortune-teller so far as it pleases me. +Do you think if a man’s hand told me that he was destined to +be hanged, I should make him uneasy by saying so?’</p> + +<p>‘But my case is not so bad as that?’</p> + +<p>‘No; not quite so bad as that,’ he answered lightly, trying +to smile.</p> + +<p>The whole thing seemed more or less a joke; but there are +some natures so sensitive that they tremble at the lightest touch; +and Daphne felt uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>‘Do tell me what it was,’ she urged earnestly.</p> + +<p>‘My dear child, I have no more to tell you. The hand shows +character rather than fate. Your character is as yet but half +developed. If you want a warning, I would say to you: Beware +of the strength of your own nature. In that lies your greatest +danger. Life is easiest to those who can take it lightly—who +can bend their backs to any burden, and be grateful for every +ray of sunshine.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes,’ she answered contemptuously; ‘for the drudges. But +please tell me the rest. I know you read something in these +queer little lines and wrinkles,’ scrutinising her pink palm as she +spoke, ‘something strange and startling—for you were startled. +You can’t deny that.’</p> + +<p>‘I am not going to admit or deny anything,’ said Nero, with +a quiet firmness that conquered her, resolute as she was when +her own pleasure or inclination was in question. ‘The oracle +has spoken. Make the most you can of his wisdom.’</p> + +<p>‘You have told me nothing,’ she said, pouting, but submissive.</p> + +<p>‘And now let us go out of this bakery, under the trees +yonder, where your friend looks so happy with her crochet-work.’</p> + +<p>‘I think we ought to go home,’ hesitated Daphne, not in the +least as if she meant it.</p> + +<p>‘Home! nonsense. It isn’t one o’clock yet; and you don’t +dine at one, do you?’</p> + +<p>‘We dine at six,’ replied Daphne with dignity, ‘but we sometimes +lunch at half-past one.’</p> + +<p>‘Your luncheon isn’t a very formidable affair, is it—hardly +worth going home for?’</p> + +<p>‘It will keep,’ said Daphne. ‘If there is anything more to +be seen, Martha and I may as well stop and see it.’</p> + +<p>‘There are the gardens, beyond measure lovely on such a +day as this; and there is the famous vinery; and, I think, if<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span> +we could find a very retired spot out of the ken of yonder +beardless patrol, I might smuggle in the materials for another +picnic.’</p> + +<p>‘That would be too delightful,’ cried Daphne, clapping her +hands in childish glee, forgetful of fate and clairvoyance.</p> + +<p>They strolled slowly through the blinding heat towards that +cool grove where patient Martha sat weaving her web, as inflexible +in her stolid industry as if she had been one of the fatal +sisters.</p> + +<p>‘What have you been doing all this time, Daphne?’ she +asked, lifting up her eyes as they approached.</p> + +<p>‘Feeding the carp. You have no idea what fun they are.’</p> + +<p>‘I wonder you are not afraid of a sunstroke.’</p> + +<p>‘I am never afraid of anything, and I love the sun. Come, +Martha, roll up that everlasting crochet, and come for a ramble. +We are going to explore the gardens, and by-and-by Mr. Nero +is going to get us some lunch.’</p> + +<p>Martha looked at the unknown doubtfully, yet not without +favour. She was a good, conscientious girl: but she was fond +of her meals, and a luncheon in the cool shade of these lovely +groves would be very agreeable. She fancied, too, that the +stranger would be a good caterer. He was much more carefully +dressed to-day, in a gray travelling suit. Everything about him +looked fresh and bright, and suggestive of easy circumstances. +She began to think that Daphne was right, and that he was no +Bohemian artist, living from hand to mouth, but a gentleman of +position, and that it would not be so very awkward to meet him +in Regent street, when she should be shopping with mamma and +Jane.</p> + +<p>They strolled along the leafy aisle on the margin of the blue +bright lake, faintly stirred by lightest zephyrs. They admired +the marble figures of nymph and dryad, which Martha thought +would have looked better if they had been more elaborately +clad. They wasted half an hour in happy idleness, enjoying +the air, the cool umbrage of lime and chestnut, the glory of the +distant light yonder on green sward or blue placid lake, enjoying +Nature as she should be enjoyed, in perfect carelessness of +mind and heart—as Horace enjoyed his Sabine wood, singing his +idle praise of Lalage as he wandered, empty of care.</p> + +<p>They found at last an utterly secluded spot, where no eye +of military or civil authority could reach them.</p> + +<p>‘Now, if you two young ladies will only be patient, and +amuse yourselves here for a quarter of an hour or so, I will see +what can be done in the smuggling line,’ said the unknown.</p> + +<p>‘I could stay here for a week,’ said Daphne, establishing herself +comfortably on the velvet turf, while Martha pulled out her +work-bag and resumed her crochet-hook. ‘Take your time, Mr. +Nero. I am going to sleep.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span></p> + +<p>She threw off her muslin hat, and laid her cheek upon the +soft mossy bank, letting her pale golden hair fall like a veil +over her neck and shoulders. They were in the heart of a green +<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">bosquet</i>, far from the palace, far from the beaten track of +tourists. Nero stopped at a curve in the path to look back at +the recumbent figure, the sunny falling hair, the exquisite tint +of cheek and chin and lips, just touched by the sun-ray glinting +through a break in the foliage. He stood for a few momenta +admiring this living picture, and then walked slowly down the +avenue.</p> + +<p>‘A curious idle way of wasting a day,’ he mused; ‘but when +a man has nothing particular to do with his days he may as well +waste them one way as another. How lovely the child is in her +imperfection! a faulty beauty—a faulty nature—but full of fascination. +I must write a description of her in my next letter to +my dear one. How interested she would feel in this childish, +undisciplined character.’</p> + +<p>But somehow when his next letter to the lady of his love +came to be written he was in a lazy mood, and did not mention +Daphne. The subject, to be interesting, required to be treated +in detail, and he did not feel himself equal to the task.</p> + +<p>‘Isn’t he nice?’ asked Daphne, when the unknown had departed.</p> + +<p>‘He is very gentlemanlike,’ assented Martha, ‘but still I feel +we are doing wrong in encouraging him.’</p> + +<p>‘Encouraging him!’ echoed her schoolfellow. ‘You talk as if +he were a stray cur that had followed us.’</p> + +<p>‘You perfectly well know what I mean, Daphne. It cannot +be right to get acquainted with a strange gentleman as we have +done. I wouldn’t have mamma or Jane know of it for the +world.’</p> + +<p>‘Then don’t tell them,’ said Daphne, yawning listlessly, and +opening her rosy palm for a nondescript green insect to crawl +over it.</p> + +<p>‘But it seems such a want of candour,’ objected Martha.</p> + +<p>‘Then tell them, and defy them. But whatever you do, don’t +be fussy, you dear good-natured old Martha; for of all things +fussiness is the most detestable in hot weather. As for Mr. Nero, +he will be off and away across the Jura before to-morrow night, +I daresay, and he will forget us, and we shall forget him, and the +thing will be all over and done with. I wish he would bring us +our luncheon. I’m hungry.’</p> + +<p>‘I feel rather faint,’ admitted Martha, who thought it ungenteel +to confess absolute hunger. ‘That bread we get for +breakfast is all sponginess. Shall you tell your sister about Mr. +Nero?’</p> + +<p>‘That depends. I may, perhaps, if I should be hard up for +something to say to her.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span></p> + +<p>‘Don’t you think she would be angry?’</p> + +<p>‘She never is angry. She is all sweetness and goodness, and +belief in other people. I have spent very little of my life with +her, or I should be ever so much better than I am. I should +have grown up like her perhaps—or just a little like her, for I’m +afraid the clay is different—if my father would have let me be +brought up at home.’</p> + +<p>‘And he wouldn’t?’ asked Martha.</p> + +<p>She had heard her friend’s history very often, or as much of +it as Daphne cared to tell, but she was always interested in the +subject, and encouraged her schoolfellow’s egotism. Daphne’s +people belonged to a world which Miss Dibb could never hope +to enter; though perhaps Daphne’s father, Sir Vernon Lawford, +had no larger income than Mr. Dibb, whose furniture and general +surroundings were the best and most gorgeous that money +could buy.</p> + +<p>‘No. When I was a little thing I was sent to a lady at +Brighton, who kept a select school for little things; because my +father could not bear a small child about the house. When I +grew too tall for my frocks, and was all stocking and long hair, +I was transferred to a very superior establishment at Cheltenham, +because my father could not be worried by the spectacle +of an awkward growing girl. When I grew still taller, and was +almost a young woman, I was packed off to Madame Tolmache +to be finished; and I am to be finished early next year, I believe, +and then I am to go home, and my father will have to endure +me.’</p> + +<p>‘How nice for you to go home for good! And your home is +very beautiful, is it not?’ asked Martha, who had heard it described +a hundred times.</p> + +<p>‘It is a lovely house in Warwickshire, all amongst meadows +and winding streams—a long, low, white house, don’t you know, +with no end of verandahs and balconies. I have been there very +little, as you may imagine, but I love the dear old place all the +same.’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t think I should like to live so far in the country,’ said +Martha: ‘Clapham is so much nicer.’</p> + +<p>‘<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Connais pas</i>,’ said Daphne indifferently.</p> + +<p>The unknown came sauntering back along the leafy arcade, +but not alone; an individual quite as fashionably clad, and of +appearance as gentlemanlike, walked a pace or two behind him.</p> + +<p>‘Well, young ladies, I have succeeded splendidly as a smuggler; +but I thought two could bring more than one, so I engaged +an ally. Now, Dickson, produce the Cliquot.’</p> + +<p>The individual addressed as Dickson took a gold-topped pint +bottle out of each side-pocket. He then, from some crafty lurking-place, +drew forth a crockery encased pie, some knives and +forks, and a couple of napkins, while Nero emptied his own<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span> +pockets, and spread their contents on the turf. He had brought +some wonderful cherries—riper and sweeter-looking than French +fruit usually is—several small white paper packages which suggested +confectionery, a tumbler, and half-a-dozen rolls, which he +had artfully disposed in his various pockets.</p> + +<p>‘We must have looked rather bulky,’ he said; ‘but I suppose +the custodians of the place were too sleepy to take any notice of +us. The nippers, Dickson? Yes! Thoughtful man! You can +come back in an hour for the bottles and the pie-dish.’</p> + +<p>Dickson bowed respectfully and retired.</p> + +<p>‘Is that your valet?’ asked Daphne.</p> + +<p>‘He has the misfortune to fill that thankless office.’</p> + +<p>Daphne burst out laughing.</p> + +<p>‘And you travel with your own servant?’ she exclaimed. ‘It +is too absurd! Do you know that yesterday I took you for a +poor strolling artist, and I felt that it would be an act of charity +to give you half-a-guinea for that sketch?’</p> + +<p>‘You would not have obtained it from me for a thousand +half-guineas. No; I do not belong to the hard-up section of +humanity. Perhaps many a penniless scamp is a better and +happier man than I; but, although poverty is the school for +heroes, I have never regretted that it was not my lot to be a +pupil in that particular academy. And now, young ladies, fall +to, if you please. Here is a Perigord pie, which I am assured +is the best that Strasbourg can produce, and here are a few +pretty tiny kickshaws in the way of pastry; and here, to wash +these trifles down, is a bottle of the Widow Cliquot’s champagne.’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t know that I ever tasted champagne in my life.’</p> + +<p>‘How odd!’ cried Martha. ‘What, not at juvenile parties?’</p> + +<p>‘I have never been at any juvenile parties.’</p> + +<p>‘We have it often at home,’ said Martha, with a swelling +consciousness of belonging to wealthy people. ‘At picnics, and +whenever there is company to luncheon. The grown-ups have +it every evening at dinner, if they like. Papa takes a particular +pride in his champagne.’</p> + +<p>They grouped themselves upon the grass, hidden from all the +outside world by rich summer foliage, much more alone than +they had been yesterday in the heart of the forest. Honest +Martha Dibb, who had been sorely affronted at the free-and-easiness +of yesterday’s simple meal, offered no objection to the +luxurious feast of to-day. A man who travelled with his valet +could not be altogether an objectionable person. The whole +thing was unconventional—slightly incorrect, even—but there +was no longer any fear that they were making friends with a +vagabond, who might turn up in after life and ask for small loans.</p> + +<p>‘He is evidently a gentleman,’ thought Martha, quite overcome +by the gentility of the valet. ‘I daresay papa and mamma +would be glad to know him.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span></p> + +<p>Her spirits enlivened by the champagne, Miss Dibb became +talkative.</p> + +<p>‘Do you know Clapham Common?’ she asked the stranger.</p> + +<p>‘I have heard of such a place. I believe I have driven past +it occasionally on my way to Epsom,’ he answered listlessly, with +his eyes on Daphne, who was seated in a lazy attitude, her back +supported by the trunk of a lime-tree, her head resting against +the brown bark, which made a sombre background for her yellow +hair, her arms hanging loose at her sides in perfect restfulness, +her face and attitude alike expressing a dreamy softness, +as of one for whom the present hour is enough, and all time +and life beyond it no more than a vague dream. She had just +touched the brim of the champagne glass with her lips and that +was all. She had pronounced the Perigord pie the nastiest thing +that she had ever tasted; and she had lunched luxuriously upon +pastry and cherries.</p> + +<p>‘I live on Clapham Common, when I am at home,’ said +Martha. ‘Papa has bought a large house, with a Corinthian +portico, and we have ever so many hot-houses. Papa takes particular +pride in his grapes and pines. Are you fond of pines?’</p> + +<p>‘Not particularly,’ answered Nero, stifling a yawn. ‘And +where do you live when you are at home, my pretty Poppæa?’ +he asked, smiling at Daphne, who had lifted one languid arm to +convey a ripe red cherry to lips that were as fresh and rosy as +the fruit.</p> + +<p>‘In Oxford Street,’ answered Daphne coolly.</p> + +<p>Miss Dibb’s eyebrows went up in horrified wonder; she gave +a little gasp, as who should say, ‘This is too much!’ but did not +venture a contradiction.</p> + +<p>‘In Oxford Street? Why, that is quite a business thoroughfare. +Is your father in trade?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes. He keeps an Italian warehouse.’</p> + +<p>Martha became red as a turkey-cock. This was a liberty +which she felt she ought to resent at once; but, sooth to say, +the matter-of-fact Martha had a wholesome awe of her friend. +Daphne was very sweet; Daphne and she were sworn allies: +but Daphne had a sharp tongue, and could let fly little shafts +of speech, half playful, half satiric, that pierced her friend to the +quick.</p> + +<p>‘I hope there is nothing that I need be ashamed of in my +father’s trade,’ she said gravely.</p> + +<p>‘Of course not,’ faltered the stranger. ‘Trade is a most +honourable employment of capital and intelligence. I have the +greatest respect for the trading classes—but——’</p> + +<p>‘But you seemed surprised when I told you my father’s position.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes; I confess that I was surprised. You don’t look like a +tradesman’s daughter, somehow. If you had told me that your<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span> +father was a painter, or a poet, or an actor even, I should have +thought it the most natural thing in the world. You look as if +you were allied to the arts.’</p> + +<p>‘Is that a polite way of saying that I don’t look quite respectable?’</p> + +<p>‘I am not going to tell you what I mean. You would say I +was paying you compliments, and I believe you have tabooed all +compliments. I may be ruder than Petruchio—didn’t you tell +me so in the forest yesterday?—but any attempt at playing Sir +Charles Grandison will be resented.’</p> + +<p>‘I certainly like you best when you are rude,’ answered Daphne.</p> + +<p>She was not as animated as she had been yesterday during +their homeward walk. The heat and the supreme stillness of +the spot invited silence and repose. She was, perhaps, a little +tired by the exploration of the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">château</i>. She sat under the +drooping branches of the lime, whose blossoms sweetened all +the air, half in light, half in shadow: while Martha, who had +eaten a hearty luncheon, and consumed nearly a pint of Cliquot, +plodded on with her crochet-work, and tried to keep the unknown +in conversation.</p> + +<p>She asked him if he had seen this, and that, and the other—operas, +theatres, horticultural fêtes—labouring hard to make +him understand that her people were in the very best society—as +if opera-boxes and horticultural fêtes meant society! and +succeeded only in boring him outrageously.</p> + +<p>He would have been content to sit in dreamy silence watching +Daphne eat her cherries. Such an occupation seemed +best suited to the sultry summer silence, the perfumed atmosphere.</p> + +<p>But Martha thought silence must mean dulness.</p> + +<p>‘We are dreadfully quiet to-day,’ she said. ‘We must do +something to get the steam up. Shall we have some riddles? +I know lots of good ones that I didn’t ask you yesterday.’</p> + +<p>‘Please don’t,’ cried Nero; ‘I am not equal to it. I think a +single conundrum would crush me. Let us sit and dream.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“How sweet it were, hearing the downward stream,</div> + <div class="verse indent1">With half-shut eyes ever to seem</div> + <div class="verse indent1">Falling asleep in a half-dream!</div> + <div class="verse indent1">To dream and dream, like yonder amber light,</div> + <div class="verse indent1">Which will not leave the myrrh-bush on the height.”’</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Martha looked round inquiringly. She did not see either +myrrh-bush or height in the landscape. They were in a level +bit of the park, shut in by trees.</p> + +<p>‘Is that poetry?’ she asked.</p> + +<p>‘Well, it’s the nearest approach to it that the last half-century +has produced,’ replied the unknown, and then he went on +quoting:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">‘“But propt on beds of amaranth and moly,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">How sweet (while warm airs lull us blowing lowly),</div> + <div class="verse indent2">With half-dropt eyelids still,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Beneath a heaven dark and holy,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">To watch the long bright river drawing slowly</div> + <div class="verse indent2">His waters from the purple hill.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent">Poppæa, I wish you and I were queen and king of a Lotos +Island, and could idle away our lives in perpetual summer.’</p> + +<p>‘We should soon grow tired of it,’ answered Daphne. ‘I am +like the little boy in the French story-book. I delight in all the +seasons. And I daresay you skate, hunt, and do all manner of +things that couldn’t be done in summer.’</p> + +<p>‘True, my astute empress. But when one is setting under +lime-boughs on such a day as this, eternal summer seems your +only idea of happiness.’</p> + +<p>He gave himself up to idle musing. Yes; he was surprised, +disappointed even, at the notion of this bright-haired nymph’s +parentage. There was no discredit in being a tradesman’s +daughter. He was very far from feeling a contempt for commerce. +There were reasons in his own history why he should +have considerable respect for successful trade. But for this girl +he had imagined a different pedigree. She had a high-bred air—even +in her reckless unconventionally—which accorded ill +with his idea of a prosperous tradesman’s daughter. There +was a poetry in her every look and movement, a wild untutored +grace, which was the strangest of all flowers to have blossomed +in a parlour behind a London shop. Reared in the smoke and +grime of Oxford Street! Brought up amidst ever present considerations +of pounds, shillings, and pence! The girl and her +surroundings were so incongruous that the mere idea of them +worried him.</p> + +<p>‘And by-and-by she will marry some bloated butcher or +pompous coach-builder, and spend all her days among the newly +rich,’ he thought. ‘She will grow into the fat wife of a fat +alderman, and overdress and overeat herself, and live a life of +prosperous vulgarity.’</p> + +<p>The notion was painful to him, and he was obliged to remind +himself that there was very little likelihood of his ever seeing +this girl again, so that the natural commonplaceness of her fate +could make very little difference to him.</p> + +<p>‘Better to be vulgarly prosperous and live to be a great-grandmother +than to fulfil the prophecy written on her hand,’ +he said to himself. ‘What does it matter? Let us enjoy +to-day, and let the long line of to-morrows rest in the shadow +that wraps the unknown future. To-morrow I shall be on +my way to Geneva, panting and stifling in a padded railway-carriage, +with oily Frenchmen, who will insist upon having the +windows up through the heat and dust of the long summer<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span> +day, and I shall look back with envy to this delicious afternoon.’</p> + +<p>They sat under the limes for a couple of hours, talking a +little now and then in a desultory way; Martha trying her +hardest to impress the unknown with the grandeurs and splendours +of Lebanon Lodge, Clapham Common; Daphne saying +very little, content to sit in the shade and dream. Then having +taken their fill of rest and shadow, they ventured out into the +sun, and went to see the famous grapery, and then Martha +looked at her watch and protested that they must go home to +tea. Miss Toby would be expecting them.</p> + +<p>Nero went with them to the gates of the palace, and would +fain have gone further, but Daphne begged him to leave them +there.</p> + +<p>‘You would only frighten our poor governess,’ she said. +‘She would think it quite a terrible thing for us to have made +your acquaintance. Please go back to your hotel at once.’</p> + +<p>‘If you command me to do so, I must obey,’ said Nero +politely.</p> + +<p>He shook hands with them for the first time, gravely lifted +his hat, and walked across to his hotel. It was on the opposite +side of the way, a big white house, with a garden in front of it, +and a fountain playing. The two girls stood in the shadow +watching him.</p> + +<p>‘He is really very nice,’ said Martha. ‘I think mamma +would like to have him at one of her dinner-parties. But he +did not tell us anything about himself, did he?’</p> + +<p>Daphne did not hear her. There was hardly room in that +girlish brain for all the thoughts that were crowding into it.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.<br> +<span class="fs70">‘CURTEIS SHE WAS, DISCRETE, AND DEBONAIRE.’</span></h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> world was nine months older since Daphne picnicked +in the park at Fontainebleau, and the scenery of her life was +changed to a fair English landscape in one of the fairest of +English shires. Here, in fertile Warwickshire, within three +miles of Shakespeare’s birthplace, within a drive of Warwick +and Leamington, and Kenilworth, and Stoneleigh Park, to say +nothing of ribbon-weaving, watch-making Coventry, Daphne +wandered in happy idleness through the low-lying water-meadows, +which bounded the sloping lawns and shady gardens of +South Hill.</p> + +<p>South Hill was a gentle elevation in the midst of a pastoral +valley. A long, low, white house, which had been added to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span> +from time to time, crowned the grassy slope, and from its balconied +windows commanded one of the prettiest views in England—a +landscape purely pastoral and rustic; low meadows +through which the Avon wound his silvery way between sedgy +banks, with here a willowy islet, and there a flowery creek. +On one side the distant roofs and gables and tall spire of Stratford, +seen above intervening wood and water; on the other a +gentle undulating landscape, bounded by a range of hills purple +with distance.</p> + +<p>It was not an old house. There was nothing historical +about it; though South Hill, with between three and four +hundred acres, had belonged to Sir Vernon Lawford’s family +since the reign of Elizabeth. There had been an ancient mansion; +but the ancient mansion, being an unhealthy barrack of +small low rooms, and requiring the expenditure of five thousand +pounds to make it healthy and habitable, Sir Vernon’s father +had conceived the idea that he could make a better use of his +money if he pulled down the old house and built himself a +new one: whereupon the venerable pile was demolished, much +to the disgust of archæologists, and an Italian villa rose from +its ashes: a house with wide French windows opening into +broad verandahs, delicious places in which to waste a summer +morning, or the idle after-dinner hour watching the sunset. +All the best rooms at South Hill faced the south-west, and +the sunsets there seemed to Madoline Lawford more beautiful +than anywhere else in the world. It was a house of the simplest +form, built for ease and comfort rather than for architectural +display. There were long cool corridors, lofty rooms below and +above stairs, a roomy hall, a broad shallow staircase, and at one +end of the house a spacious conservatory which had been added +by Sir Vernon soon after his marriage. This conservatory was +the great feature of South Hill. It was a lofty stone building, +with a double flight of marble steps descending from the drawing-room +to the billiard-room below. Thus drawing-room and +billiard-room both commanded a full view of the conservatory +through wide glass doors.</p> + +<p>There were melancholy associations for Sir Vernon Lawford +in this wing which he had added to South Hill. He had built +it to give pleasure to his first wife, an heiress, and the most +amiable of women: but before the building was finished the +first Lady Lawford was in her grave, leaving a baby girl of +two months old behind her. The widower grieved intensely; +but he proved no exception to the general rule that the more +intense the sorrow of the bereaved the more speedily does he +or she seek consolation in new ties. Sir Vernon married again +within two years of his wife’s death; and, this time, instead of +giving satisfaction to the county by choosing one of the best +born and wealthiest ladies within its length and breadth, he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span> +picked up his wife somewhere on the Continent—a fact which +in the opinion of the county was much in her disfavour—and +when he brought her home and introduced her to his friends, +he was singularly reticent as to her previous history.</p> + +<p>The county people shrugged their shoulders, and doubted if +this marriage would end well. They had some years later the +morbid satisfaction of being able to say that they had prophesied +aright. The second Lady Lawford bore her husband two +children, a boy and a girl, and within a year of her daughter’s +birth mysteriously disappeared. She went to the South of +France, it was said, for her lungs; though everybody’s latest recollection +of her was of a young woman in the heyday of health, +strength, and beauty; somewhat self-willed, very extravagant, +inordinately fond of pleasure, and governing her husband with +the insolence of conscious beauty.</p> + +<p>From that southern journey she never came back. Nobody +ever heard any explicit account of her death; yet after two or +three years it became an accepted fact that she was dead. Sir +Vernon travelled a good deal, while his maiden sister kept house +for him at South Hill, and superintended the rearing of his +children. Madoline, daughter and heiress of the first Lady +Lawford, was brought up and educated at home. Loftus, the +boy, went to a private tutor at Stratford, and thence to Rugby, +where he fell ill and died. Daphne’s childhood and early girlhood +were spent almost entirely at school. Only a week ago +she was still at Asnières, grinding away at the everlasting prosy +old books, reciting Lafontaine’s fables, droning out long singsong +speeches from Athalie or Iphigénie, teasing poor patient +Miss Toby, domineering over Martha Dibb. And now her +education was supposed to be finished, and she was free—free +to roam like a wild thing about the lovely grounds at South +Hill, in the water-meadows where the daffodils grew in such +rank luxuriance; and where, years ago, when she was a little +child, and had crowned herself with a chaplet of those yellow +flowers, scarcely brighter than her hair, a painter-friend of her +father’s had called her Asphodel.</p> + +<p>How well she remembered that sunny morning in early +April—ages ago! Childhood seems so far off at seventeen. +How distinctly she remembered the artist whose refined and +gentle manners had won her childish heart! She had been so +little praised at South Hill that her pulses thrilled with pleasure +when her father’s friend smiled at her flower-crowned head +and cried: ‘What a lovely picture! Look, Lawford, would +not you like me to paint her just as she is at this moment, +with her hair flying in the wind, and that background of rushes +and blue water?’ But Sir Vernon turned on his heel with a +curt half-muttered answer, and the two men walked on and left +her, smoking their cigarettes as they went. She remembered<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span> +how, in a blind childish fury, scarce knowing why she was +angry, she tore the daffodil crown from her hair and trampled +it under foot.</p> + +<p>To the end of his visit the painter called her Asphodel, and +one morning finding her alone in the garden, he carried her off +to the billiard-room and made a sketch of her head with its +loose tangled hair: a head which appeared next year on the +line at the Royal Academy and was raved about by all artistic +London.</p> + +<p>And now it was early April again, and she was a girl in the +fair dawn of womanhood, free to do what she liked with her +life, and there were many things that she was beginning to +understand, things not altogether pleasant to her womanly +pride. She was beginning to perceive very clearly that her +father did not love her, and was never likely to love her, that +her presence in his home gave him no pleasure, that he simply +endured her as part of the burden of life, while to her sister he +gave love without stint or measure. True that he was by +nature and habit selfish and self-indulgent, and that the love +of such a man is at best hardly worth having. But Daphne +would have been glad of her father’s love, were the affection of +ever so poor a quality. His indifference chilled her soul. She +had been accustomed to command affection; to be petted and +praised and bowed down to for her pretty looks and pretty ways; +to take a leading position with her schoolfellows, partly because +she was Sir Vernon Lawford’s daughter, and partly for those +subtle charms and graces which made her superior to the rank +and file of school-girls.</p> + +<p>Yet, though Sir Vernon was wanting in affection for his +younger daughter, Daphne was not unloved at South Hill. +Her sister Madoline loved her dearly, had so loved her ever +since those unforgotten summer days when the grave girl of +nine and the toddling two-year-old baby wandered hand-in-hand +in shrubberies and gardens, and seemed to have the whole +domain of South Hill to themselves, Sir Vernon and Lady +Lawford being somewhere on the Continent, and the maiden +aunt being a lady very much in request in the best society in +the neighbourhood, and very willing to take the utmost enjoyment +out of life, and to delegate her duties to nurses and maids. +The love that had grown up in those days between the sisters +had been in no wise lessened by severance. They were as devoted +to each other now as they had been in the dawn of life: +Madoline loving Daphne with a proud protecting love; Daphne +looking up to Madoline with intense respect, and believing in +her as the most perfect of women.</p> + +<p>‘I’m afraid I shall never be able to leave off talking,’ said +Daphne upon this particular April morning, when she had +come in from a long ramble by the Avon, with her apron full<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span> +of daffodils; ‘I seem to have such a world of things to tell +you.’</p> + +<p>‘Don’t put any check upon your eloquence, darling. You +won’t tire me,’ said Madoline in her low gentle voice.</p> + +<p>She had a very soft voice, and a slow calm way of speaking, +which seemed to most people to be the true patrician tone. +She spoke like a person who had never been in a hurry, and had +never been in a passion.</p> + +<p>The sisters were in Madoline’s morning-room, sometimes +called the old drawing-room, as it had been the chief reception-room +at South Hill before Sir Vernon built the west wing. It +was a large airy room, painted white, with chintz draperies of +the lightest and most delicate tints—apple-blossoms on a creamy +ground; the furniture all of light woods; the china celadon +or turquoise; but the chief beauty of the room, its hot-house +flowers—tulips, gardenias, arums, hyacinths, pansies, grouped +with exquisite taste on tables and in jardinières, on brackets +and mantelpiece. The love of flowers was almost a passion +with Madoline Lawford, and she was rich enough to indulge +this inclination to her heart’s content. She had built a long +line of hot-houses in one of the lower gardens, and kept a +small regiment of gardeners and boys. She could afford to do +this, and yet to be Lady Bountiful in all the district round about +South Hill; so nobody ventured to blame her for the money +she spent upon horticulture.</p> + +<p>She was a very handsome woman—handsome in that perfectly +regular style about which there can be no difference of +opinion. Some might call her beauty cold, but all must own +she was beautiful. Her profile was strongly marked, the forehead +high and broad, the nose somewhat aquiline; the mouth +proud, calm, resolute, yet infinitely sweet when she smiled; +the eyes almost black, with long dark lashes, sculptured eyelids, +and delicately-pencilled brows. She wore her hair as she +might have worn it had she lived in the days of Pericles and +Aspasia—simply drawn back from her forehead, and twisted +in a heavy Greek knot at the back of her head; no fringed +locks or fluffiness gave their factitious charm to her face. Her +beauty was of that calm statuesque type which has nothing to +do with chic, piquancy, dash, audacity, or any of those qualities +which go such a long way in the composition of modern +loveliness.</p> + +<p>All her tastes were artistic; but her love of art showed itself +rather in the details of daily life than in any actual achievement +with brush or pencil. She worked exquisitely in crewels and +silks, drew her own designs from natural flowers, and produced +embroideries on linen or satin which were worthy to be hung in +a picture-gallery. She had a truly feminine love of needlework, +and was never idle—in this the very reverse of Daphne, who<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span> +loved to loll at ease, looking lazily at the sky or the landscape, +and making up her mind to be tremendously busy by-and-by +Daphne was always beginning work, and never finishing anything; +while every task undertaken by Madoline was carried on +to completion. The very essence of her own character was +completeness—fulfilling every duty to the uttermost, satisfying +in fullest measure every demand which home or society could +make upon her.</p> + +<p>‘I’m sure you’ll be tired of me, Lina,’ protested Daphne, +kneeling on the fender-stool, while Madoline sat at work in her +accustomed place, with a Japanese bamboo table at her side for +the accommodation of her crewels. ‘You can’t imagine what a +capacity I have for talking.’</p> + +<p>‘Then I must be very dull,’ murmured Madoline, smiling at +her. ‘You have been home a week.’</p> + +<p>‘Well, certainly, you have had some experience of me; but +you might think my loquacity a temporary affliction, and that +when I had said my say after nearly two years of separation—oh, +Lina, how horrid it was spending all my holidays at Asnières!—I +should subside into comparative silence. But I shall always +have worlds to tell you. It is my nature to say everything that +comes into my mind. That’s why I got on so well with Dibb.’</p> + +<p>‘Was Dibb a dog, dear?’</p> + +<p>‘A dog!’ cried Daphne, with a sparkling smile. ‘No, Dibb +was my schoolfellow—a dear good thing—stupid, clumsy, innately +vulgar, but devoted to me. “A poor thing, but mine own,” +as Touchstone says. We were tremendous chums.’</p> + +<p>‘I am sorry you should make a friend of any innately vulgar +girl, Daphne dear,’ said Madoline gravely; ‘and don’t you think +it rather vulgar to talk of your friend as Dibb?’</p> + +<p>‘We all did it,’ answered Daphne with a shrug; ‘I was always +called Lawford. It saves trouble, and sounds friendly. +You talk about Disraeli and Gladstone; why not Dibb and +Lawford?’</p> + +<p>‘I think there’s a difference, Daphne. If you were very +friendly with this Miss Dibb, why not speak of her by her +Christian name?’</p> + +<p>‘So be it, my dearest. In future she shall be Martha, to +please you. She really is a good inoffensive soul. Her father +keeps a big shop in Oxford Street; but the family live in a +palace on Clapham Common, with gardens, and vineries, and +pineries, and goodness knows what. When I call her vulgar it +is because she and all her people are so proud of their money, +and measure everything by the standard of money. Martha +was very inquisitive about my means. She wanted to know +whether I was rich or poor, and I really couldn’t inform her. +Which am I, Lina?’</p> + +<p>Daphne looked up at her sister as if it were a question about<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span> +which she was slightly curious, but not a matter of supreme moment. +A faint flush mounted to Madoline’s calm brow. The +soft dark eyes looked tenderly at Daphne’s eager face.</p> + +<p>‘Dearest, why trouble yourself about the money question? +Have you ever felt the inconvenience of poverty?’</p> + +<p>‘Never. You sent me everything I could possibly wish for; +and I always had more pocket-money than any girl in the school, +not excepting Martha; though she took care to inform me that +her father could have allowed her ten times as much if he had +chosen. No, dear; I don’t know what poverty means; but I +should like to understand my own position very precisely, now +that I am a woman, don’t you know? I am quite aware that +you are an heiress; everybody at South Hill has taken pains to +impress that fact upon my mind. Please, dear, what am I?’</p> + +<p>‘Darling, papa is not a rich man, but he——’ Madoline +paled a little as she spoke, knowing that South Hill had been +settled on her mother, and her mother’s children after her, and +that, in all probability, Sir Vernon had hardly any other property +in the world. ‘He will provide for you, no doubt. And +if he were unable to leave you much by-and-by, I have plenty +for both.’</p> + +<p>‘I understand,’ said Daphne, growing pale in her turn; ‘I +am a pauper.’</p> + +<p>‘Daphne!’</p> + +<p>‘My mother had not a sixpence, I suppose; and that is why +nobody ever speaks of her; and that is why there is not a portrait +of her in this house, where she lived, and was admired, and +loved. I was wrong to call Dibb vulgar for measuring all things +by a money standard. It is other people’s measure, as well as +hers.’</p> + +<p>‘Daphne, how can you say such things?’</p> + +<p>‘Didn’t I tell you that I say everything that comes into my +head? Oh, Madoline, don’t for pity’s sake think that I envy +you your wealth—you who have been so good to me, you who +are all I have to love in this world! It is not the money I care +for. I think I would just as soon be poor as rich, if I could be +free to roam the world, like a man. But to live in a great house, +waited on by an army of servants, and to know that I am nobody, +of no account, a mere waif, the penniless daughter of a +penniless mother—that wounds me to the quick.’</p> + +<p>‘My dearest, my pet, what a false, foolish notion! Do you +think anybody in this house values you less because I have a +fortune tied to me by all manner of parchment deeds, and you +have no particular settlement, and have only expectations from +a not over-rich father? Do you think you are not admired for +your grace and pretty looks, and that by-and-by there will not +come the best substitute which modern life can give for the +prince of our dear old fairy tales—a good husband, who will<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span> +be wealthy enough to give my darling all she can desire in this +world?’</p> + +<p>‘I’m sure I shall hate him, whoever he may be,’ said Daphne, +with a short, impatient sigh.</p> + +<p>Madoline looked at her earnestly, with the tender motherly +look which came naturally to the beautiful face when the elder +sister looked at the younger. She had put aside her crewel-work +at the beginning of this conversation, and had given all her +attention to Daphne.</p> + +<p>‘Why do you say that, dearest?’ she asked gravely.</p> + +<p>‘Oh, I don’t know, really. But I’m sure I shall never +marry.’</p> + +<p>‘Isn’t it rather early to make up your mind on that point?’</p> + +<p>‘Why should it be? Hasn’t one a mind and a heart at seventeen +as well as at seven-and-twenty? I should like well enough +to have a very rich husband by-and-by, so that, instead of being +Daphne, the pauper, I might be Mrs. Somebody, with ever so +much a year settled upon me for ever and ever. But I don’t +believe I shall ever see anybody I shall be able to care for.’</p> + +<p>‘I hope, darling, you haven’t taken it into your foolish head +that you care for some one already. School-girls are so silly.’</p> + +<p>‘And generally fall in love with the dancing-master,’ said +Daphne, with a laugh. ‘I think I tried rather hard to do that, +but I couldn’t succeed. The poor man wore a wig; a dreadfully +natural, dreadfully curly wig; like the pictures of Lord Byron. +No, Lina; I pledge you my word that no dancing-master’s image +occupies my breast.’</p> + +<p>‘I am glad to hear it,’ answered Madoline. ‘I hope there is +no one else.’</p> + +<p>Daphne blushed rosy red. She took a gardenia from the low +glass vase on her sister’s work-table, where the white waxen +flowers were clustered in the centre of a circle of purple pansies, +and began to pick the petals off slowly, one by one.</p> + +<p>‘He loves me—loves me not,’ she whispered softly, smiling +all the while at her own foolishness, till the smile faded slowly +at sight of the barren stem.</p> + +<p>‘Loves me not,’ she sighed. ‘You see, Fate is against me, +Lina. I am doomed to die unmarried.’</p> + +<p>‘Daphne, do you mean that there is someone?’ faltered +Madoline, more in earnest than it might seem needful to be +with a creature so utterly childlike.</p> + +<p>‘There was a man once in a wood,’ said Daphne, with crimson +cheeks and downcast eyelids, yet with an arch smile curling +her lips all the while. ‘There was a man whom Dibb—I beg +your pardon, Martha—and I once met in a wood in our holidays—papa +would have me spend my holidays at school, you see—and +I have thought since, sometimes—mere idle fancy, no doubt—that +he is the only man I should ever care to marry; and that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span> +is impossible, for he is engaged to someone else. So you see I +am fated to die a spinster.’</p> + +<p>‘Daphne, what do you mean? A man whom you met in a +wood, and he was engaged—and——! You don’t mean that +you and your friend Miss Dibb made the acquaintance of a strange +man whom you met when you were out walking,’ exclaimed +Madoline, aghast at the idea. ‘Surely you were too well looked +after for that! You never went out walking alone, did you? I +thought Frenchwomen were so extremely particular.’</p> + +<p>‘Of course they are,’ replied Daphne, laughing. ‘I was only +drawing on my imagination, dearest, just to see that solemn face +of yours. It was worth the trouble. No, Lina dear, there is no +one. My heart is as free as my shuttlecock, when I send it flying +over the roof scaring the swallows. And now, let us talk +about your dear self. I want you to tell me all about Mr. Goring; +about Gerald. I suppose I may call him by his christian name, +as he is to be my brother-in-law by-and-by.’</p> + +<p>‘Your brother, dear.’</p> + +<p>‘Thank you, Lina. That sounds ever so much nicer. I am +so short of relations. Then I shall always call him Gerald. +What a pretty name!’</p> + +<p>‘He was called after his mother, Lady Geraldine.’</p> + +<p>‘I see. She represented the patrician half of his family, and +his father the plebeian half, I believe? The father was a Dibb, +was he not—a money-grubber?’</p> + +<p>‘His father was a very worthy man, who rose from the ranks, +and made his fortune as a contractor.’</p> + +<p>‘And Lady Geraldine married him for the sake of his worthiness; +and you and Gerald are going to spend his money.’</p> + +<p>‘Mr. Goring and his wife were a very united couple, I believe, +Daphne. There is no reason why you should laugh at +them.’</p> + +<p>‘Except my natural malice, which makes me inclined to ridicule +good people. You should have said that, Madoline; for +you look as if you meant it. Was the contractor’s name always +Goring?’</p> + +<p>‘No; he was originally a Mr. Giles, but he changed his name +soon after his marriage, and took the name of his wife’s maternal +grandfather, a Warwickshire squire.’</p> + +<p>‘What a clever way of hooking himself on to the landed +gentry!’ said Daphne. ‘And now, please tell me all about +Gerald. Is he very nice?’</p> + +<p>‘You may suppose that I think him so,’ answered Madoline, +going on with the fashioning of a water-lily on a ground of soft +gray cloth. ‘I can hardly trust myself to praise him, for fear I +should say too much.’</p> + +<p>‘How is it that I have seen no photograph of him? I expected +to see half-a-dozen portraits of him in this room alone;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span> +but I suppose you have an album crammed with his photos somewhere +under lock and key.’</p> + +<p>‘He has not been photographed since he was a school-boy. +He detests photography; and though he has often promised me +that he would sacrifice his own feelings so far as to be photographed, +he has never kept his word.’</p> + +<p>‘That is very bad of him,’ said Daphne. ‘I am bursting with +curiosity about his looks. But—perhaps,’ she faltered, with a +deprecating air, ‘the poor thing is rather plain, and that is why +he does not care to be photographed.’</p> + +<p>‘No,’ replied Madoline, with her gentle smile; ‘I do not think +his worst enemy could call him plain—not that I should love +him less if he were the plainest of mankind.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, you would,’ exclaimed Daphne, with conviction. ‘It +is all very well to talk about loving a man for his mind, or his +heart, and all that kind of thing. You wouldn’t love a man with +a potato-nose or a pimply complexion, if he were morally the +most perfect creature in the universe. I am very glad my future +brother is handsome.’</p> + +<p>‘That is a matter of opinion—I don’t know your idea of a +handsome man.’</p> + +<p>‘Let me see,’ paid Daphne, clasping her bands above her head, +in a charmingly listless attitude, and giving herself up to thought. +‘My idea of good looks in a man? The subject requires deliberation. +What do you say to a pale complexion, inclining to sallowness; +dreamy eyes, under dark straight brows; forehead low, +yet broad enough to give room for plenty of brains; mouth +grave, and even mournful in expression, except when he smiles—the +whole face must light up like a god’s when he smiles; hair +darkest brown, short, straight, silky?’</p> + +<p>‘One would think you had seen Mr. Goring, and were describing +him,’ said Madoline.</p> + +<p>‘What, Lina, is he like that?’</p> + +<p>‘It is so difficult to realise a description, but really yours +might do for Gerald. Yet, I daresay, the image in your mind is +totally different from that in mine.’</p> + +<p>‘No doubt,’ answered Daphne, and then, with a half-breathed +sigh, she quoted her favourite Tennyson. ‘No two dreams are +alike.’</p> + +<p>‘You will be able to judge for yourself before long,’ said +Madoline; ‘Gerald is coming home in the autumn.’</p> + +<p>‘The autumn!’ cried Daphne. ‘That is an age to wait. +And then, I suppose, you are to be married immediately?’</p> + +<p>‘Not till next spring, That is my father’s wish. You see, I +don’t come of age till I’m twenty-five, and there are settlements +and technical difficulties. Papa thought it best for us to wait, +and I did not wish to oppose him.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span></p> + +<p>‘I believe it is all my father’s selfishness. He can’t bear to +lose you.’</p> + +<p>‘Can I be angry with him for that?’ asked Madoline, smiling +tenderly at the thought of her father’s love. ‘I am proud to +think that I am necessary to his happiness.’</p> + +<p>‘But there is your happiness—and Mr. Goring’s—to be considered. +It has been such a long engagement, and you have +been kept so much apart. It must have been a dreary time for +you. If ever I am engaged I hope my young man will always be +dancing attendance upon me.’</p> + +<p>‘My father thought it best that we should not be too much +together, for fear we should get tired of each other,’ said Madoline, +with an incredulous smile; ‘and as Gerald is very fond of +travelling, and wanted change after the shock of his mother’s +death, papa proposed that he should spend the greater part of +his life abroad until my twenty-fifth birthday. The separation +would be a test for us both, my father thought.’</p> + +<p>‘A most cruel, unjustifiable test,’ cried Daphne indignantly. +‘Your twenty-fifth birthday, forsooth! Why, you will be an +old woman before you are married. In all the novels I ever +read, the heroine married before she was twenty, and even then +she seemed sometimes quite an old thing. Eighteen is the +proper age for orange-blossoms and a Brussels veil.’</p> + +<p>‘That is all a matter of opinion, pet. I don’t think young +lady novelists of seventeen and eighteen have always the wisest +views of life. You must not say a word against your father, +Daphne. He always acts for the best.’</p> + +<p>‘I never heard of a domestic tyrant yet of whom that could +not be said,’ retorted Daphne. ‘However, darling, if you are +satisfied, I am content; and I shall look forward impatiently to +the autumn, and to the pleasure of making my new brother’s +acquaintance. I hope he will like me.’</p> + +<p>‘No fear of that, Daphne.’</p> + +<p>‘I am not at all sure of winning his regard. Look at my +father! I would give a great deal to be loved by him, yet he +detests me.’</p> + +<p>‘Daphne! How can you say such a thing?’</p> + +<p>‘It is the truth. Why should I not say it? Do you suppose +I don’t know the signs or aversion as well as the signs of love? +I know that you love me. You have no need to tell me so. I +do not even want the evidence of your kind acts. I am assured +of your love. I can see it in your face; I can hear it in every +tone of your voice. And I know just as well that my father +dislikes me. He kept me at a distance as long as ever he could, +and now that duty—or his regard for other people’s opinion—obliges +him to have me at home, he avoids me as if I were a +roaring lion, or something equally unpleasant.’</p> + +<p>‘Only be patient, dear. You will win his heart in time,’ said<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span> +Madoline soothingly. She had put aside the water-lily, and had +drawn her sister’s fair head upon her shoulder with caressing +fondness. ‘He cannot fail to love my sweet Daphne when he +knows her better,’ she said.</p> + +<p>‘I don’t know that. I fancy he was prejudiced against me +when I was a little thing and could scarcely have offended him; +unless it were by cutting my teeth disgustingly, or having nettlerash, +or something of that kind. Lina, do you think he hated +my mother?’</p> + +<p>Madoline started, and flushed crimson.</p> + +<p>‘Daphne! what a question! Why, my father’s second marriage +was a love-match, like his first.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, I suppose he was in love with her, or he would hardly +have married a nobody,’ said Daphne, in a musing tone; ‘but +he might have got to hate her afterwards.’</p> + +<p>At this moment the door was opened, and a voice, full, round, +manly in tone, said: ‘Madoline, I want you.’</p> + +<p>Lina rose hastily, letting her work fall out of her lap, kissed +Daphne, and hurried from the room at her father’s summons.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.<br> +<span class="fs70">‘THOU LOVEST ME, THAT WOT I WEL CERTAIN.’</span></h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Many</span> a time since her home-coming had Daphne been on the +point of telling her sister all about that more or less anonymous +traveller, whom she called the man in the wood; but her picnicking +adventures, looked at retrospectively from the strictly-correct +atmosphere of home, seemed much more terrible than +they had appeared to her at Asnières; where a vague hankering +after forbidden pleasures was an element in the girlish mind, and +where there was a current idea that the most appalling impropriety +was allowable, provided the whole business were meant +as a joke. But Daphne, seated at Madoline’s feet, began to feel +doubtful if there were any excuse for such joking; and, after +that one skirmishing approach to the subject, she said no more +about the gentleman who had called himself Nero. It was hateful +to her to have a secret, were it the veriest trifle, from her +sister; but the idea of Madoline’s disapproval was still more +repugnant to her; and she was very certain that Madoline would +disapprove of the whole transaction in which Mr. Nero had been +concerned.</p> + +<p>‘I could never tell her how thoroughly at home I felt with +him,’ mused Daphne; ‘how easy and natural our acquaintance +seemed—just as if we had been destined from the very beginning +of time to meet at that hour and at that spot. And to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span> +part so soon!’ added Daphne with a sigh. ‘It seemed hardly +worth while to meet.’</p> + +<p>Yes; it was a mystery upon which Daphne brooded very +often in the fair spring weather, as she wandered by her beloved +river. Strange that two lives should meet and touch for a +moment, like circles on yonder placid water—meet, and touch, +and part, and never meet again!</p> + +<p>‘The rings on the river break when they touch,’ thought +Daphne. ‘They are fatal to each other. Our meeting had no +significance: two summer days and it was all over and ended. +I wonder whether Nero ever thought of Poppæa after he left +Fontainebleau? Poppæa! What a silly name; and what a +simpleton he must have thought me for assuming it.’</p> + +<p>Of all things at South Hill, where there was so much that +was beautiful, Daphne loved the river. It had been her delight +when she was a tiny child, hardly able to syllable the words that +were meant to express admiration. She had wanted to walk into +the water—had struggled in her nurse’s arms to get at it, and +make herself a part of the thing that seemed so beautiful. Then +when she was just a little older and a little wiser, it had been +her delight to sit on the very edge of the stream, to sit hidden in +the rushes, spelling out a fairy tale. In those early days she +would have been happy if the world had begun and ended in +those low-lying meadows where daffodils, and orchises, and blue-bells +grew in such rich abundance that she could gather and +waste them all day long, yet make no perceptible difference in +their number; where the lazy cattle stood half the day breast-high +in the weedy water, dreaming with wide open eyes; where +the shadow of a bird flitting across the stream was the only thing +that gave token of life’s restlessness. Later there came a happy +midsummer holiday when her father was away at Ems, nursing +his last fancied disorder, and she and Madoline were alone +together at South Hill under the protection of the maiden aunt, +who never interfered with anybody’s pleasure so long as she +could enjoy her own way of life; and in a willow-shaded creek +Daphne found a disused forgotten punt which had lain stagnant +in the mud for the last seven years, and with the aid of a youth +who worked in the gardens she had so patched and caulked +and painted this derelict as to make it tolerably water-tight, and +in this frail and clumsy craft she had punted herself up and +down a shallow tributary of the deep swift Avon, as far afield +as she could go without making Madoline absolutely miserable.</p> + +<p>And now being ‘finished,’ and a young woman, Daphne +asked herself where she was to get a boat. She had plenty of +pocket-money. There was an old boat-house under one of the +willows where she could keep her skiff. She had learnt to swim +at Asnières, so there could be no danger. So she took counsel<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span> +with the garden youth, who had grown into a man by this time, +and asked him whether he could buy her a boat, and where.</p> + +<p>‘That’s accordin’ to the kind o’ boat as you might fancy, +miss,’ answered her friend. ‘There’s a many kind o’ boats, you +see.’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, I hardly know; but I should like something light and +pretty, a long, narrow boat, don’t you know?’ and Daphne went +on to describe an outrigger.</p> + +<p>‘Lord, miss, it would be fearful dangerous. You’d be getting +he among the weeds, and upsettin’ un. You’d better have a +dingey. That’s safe and comfortable like.’</p> + +<p>‘A dingey’s a thing like a washing-tub, isn’t it?’</p> + +<p>‘Rayther that shape, miss.’</p> + +<p>‘I wouldn’t sit in such a thing for the world. No, Bink, if I +can’t have a long, narrow boat with a sharp nose, I’ll have a +punt. I think I should really like a punt. I was so fond of +that one. I feel quite sorry that the rats ate it. Yes; you +must buy me a punt. There’ll be plenty of room in it for my +drawing-board, and my books, and my crewel-work; for I mean +to live on the river when the summer comes. How soon can you +buy me my punt?’</p> + +<p>‘I think as how you’d better have a dingey, miss,’ said Bink. +‘It was all very well pushing about a punt in the creeks when +you was a child, but a punt don’t do in deep water. You can +have a nice-shaped dingey, not too much of a tub, you know, and +a pair o’ sculls, and I’ll teach you to row. I can order it any +arternoon that I can get an ’oliday, miss. There’s a good boat-builder +at Stratford. I’ll order he to build it.’</p> + +<p>‘How lovely,’ cried Daphne, clapping her hands. ‘A boat +built on purpose for me! It must have no end of cushions, for +my sister will come with me very often, of course. And it must +be painted in the early English style. I’ll have a dark red dado.’</p> + +<p>‘A what, miss?’</p> + +<p>‘A dado, Bink. The lower half of the inside must be painted +dark red, and the upper half a lovely cream colour; and the outside +must be a dark greenish-brown. You understand, don’t +you?’</p> + +<p>‘Not over well, miss. You’d better write it down for the +boat-builder.’</p> + +<p>‘I’ll do better than that, Bink—I’ll make a sketch of the +boat, and paint it the colours I want. And it—she—must have +a name, I suppose.’</p> + +<p>‘Boats has names mostly, miss.’</p> + +<p>‘My boat shall not be nameless. I’ll call her——’ A pause, +then a sudden dimpling smile and a bright blush, loveliness +thrown away on Bink, who stood at ease leaning on his hoe and +staring at the river. ‘I’ll call her—Nero.’</p> + +<p>‘An ’ero, miss. What ’ero? The old Dook o’ Wellington?<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span> +He were an ’ero, warn’t he? Or Nelson? That’s more of a +name for a boat.’</p> + +<p>‘Nero, Bink, Nero. I’ll write it down for the boat-builder.’</p> + +<p>‘You’d better, please, miss. I never was good at remembering +names.’</p> + +<p>When Daphne had given Bink the sketch, with full authority +to commission her boat, she had an after-thought about her +father. The boat-house was his property; even the river in +some measure belonged to him; he had at least riparian rights. +So after dinner that evening, when Madoline and she were sitting +opposite each other in silence at the pretty table, bright +with velvety gloxinias and maidenhair ferns, while Sir Vernon +leant back in his chair, sipping his claret, and grumbling vaguely +about things in general, the indolence of his servants, the unfitness +of his horses, the impending ruin of the land in which he +lived, and the crass ignorance of the pig-headed body of men who +were pretending to govern it, Daphne, in a pause of the paternal +monologue, lifted up her voice.</p> + +<p>‘Papa, may I have a dingey, please? I can buy it with my +own money.’</p> + +<p>‘A dingey!’ exclaimed Sir Vernon. ‘What in Heaven’s +name is a dingey?’</p> + +<p>He had an idea that it must be some article of female attire +or of fancy-work, since his frivolous young daughter desired to +possess it.</p> + +<p>‘A dingey—is—a kind of boat, papa.’</p> + +<p>‘On, a dingey!’ exclaimed Sir Vernon, as if she had said +something else in the first instance. ‘What can you want with +a dingey?’</p> + +<p>‘I am so dearly fond of the river, papa; and a dingey is such +a safe boat, Bink says.’</p> + +<p>‘Who is Bink?’</p> + +<p>‘One of the under gardeners.’</p> + +<p>‘A curious authority to quote. So you want a dingey, and to +row yourself about the river like a boy.’</p> + +<p>‘There is no one to notice me, papa.’</p> + +<p>‘The place is secluded enough, so long as you don’t go beyond +our own meadows. I desired Madame Tolmache to have you +taught swimming. Can you swim?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, papa. I believe I am a rather good swimmer.’</p> + +<p>‘Well, you can have your boat—it is a horribly masculine +taste—always provided you do not go beyond our own fields. I +cannot have you boating over half the county.’</p> + +<p>‘I shall be quite happy to keep to our own fields, papa,’ +Daphne answered meekly.</p> + +<p>She enlisted the devoted Bink in her service next morning; +he patched up the old boat-house, and whitewashed the inside +walls; much to the displeasure of Mr. MacCloskie, the head gardener,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span> +a gentleman in broadcloth and a top-hat, who seemed to +do little more than walk about the grounds, smoke his pipe in +the hot-houses, plan expensive improvements, and order costly +novelties from the most famous nurseries at home and abroad. +Bink ought to have been wheeling manure from the stable during +that very afternoon which he had devoted to the repair of +the boat-house; and Mr. MacCloskie declared that the future +well-being of his melon-bed was imperilled by the young man’s +misconduct.</p> + +<p>‘I shall complain to Sir Vernon,’ said MacCloskie.</p> + +<p>‘I beg your pardon, Mr. MacCloskie, but Miss Daphne told +me to do it.’</p> + +<p>‘Miss Daphne, indeed! I can’t have my gardeners interfered +with by Miss Daphne,’ exclaimed MacCloskie; as much as to say +that his master’s second daughter was a person of very small +account.</p> + +<p>He gave Daphne a lecture that evening, in very broad +Scotch, when he met her in the rose-garden.</p> + +<p>‘You’ll be meddling with my roses next, miss, I suppose,’ he +said severely. ‘You young ladies from boarding-school have +no respect for anything.’</p> + +<p>‘Your roses!’ cried Daphne, with a contemptuous glance at +the closely-pruned twigs of the standards, which at this early +period looked as if they would never flower again. ‘When I +see any I shall know how to appreciate them. Roses, indeed! +I wonder you like to mention them. Everything flowers a +month earlier in France than you can make it do here. I had +a finer Gloire de Dijon nodding in at my window at Asnières +this time last year than you ever saw in your life’; and she +marched off, leaving MacCloskie with a dim idea that in any +skirmish with this young lady he was likely to be worsted.</p> + +<p>How ardently she had longed for home a few weeks ago, +when she was counting the days that must pass before the appointed +date of her return, under the wing of Madame Tolmache, +who crossed the Channel reluctantly once or twice a +year to escort pupils, and was prostrate in the cabin throughout +the brief sea-passage, leaving the pupils to take care of themselves, +and so horribly ill on landing that the pupils had to take +care of her. So long as South Hill was in the future Daphne +had believed that perfect happiness awaited her there—gladness +without a flaw—but now that she was at home, established, a +recognised member of the family for all her life to come, she +began to discover that even at South Hill life was not perfect +happiness. She was devotedly fond of Madoline, and Madoline +was full of affection—careful, anxious, almost maternal love—for +her. There was no flaw in her gladness here. But every +hour she spent in her father’s company made her more certain +of the one painful fact that he did not care for her. There was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span> +even in her mind the terrible suspicion that he actually disliked +her; that he would have been glad to have her out of his way—married, +dead and buried—anything so that she might be removed +from his path.</p> + +<p>She was very young, and her spirits had all the buoyancy of +youth that has never been acquainted with sordid cares. So +there was plenty of gladness in her life. It was only now and +then that the thought of her father’s indifference, or possible +dislike, drifted like a passing cloud across her mind, and took +the charm out of everything.</p> + +<p>‘What a lovely place it is!’ she said to Madoline, one evening +after dinner, when they were strolling about the lawn, where +three of the finest deodaras in the county rose like green towers +against the warm western sky; ‘I am fonder of it every day, +yet I can’t help feeling that I’m an interloper.’</p> + +<p>‘Daphne! You—the daughter of the house!’</p> + +<p>‘A daughter; not the daughter,’ answered Daphne. ‘Sometimes +I fancy that I am a daughter too many. You should have +heard how MacCloskie talked to me yesterday because I had +taken Bink from his work for an hour or two. If I had been a +poor little underpaid nursery governess he couldn’t have scolded +me more severely. And I think servants have a knack of finding +out their master’s feelings. If I had been a favourite with +my father, MacCloskie would never have talked like that. A +favourite! What nonsense! It is so obvious that I bore him +awfully.’</p> + +<p>‘Daphne, if you are going to nurse this kind of fancy you +will never be happy,’ Madoline said earnestly, winding her arm +round her sister, as they sauntered slowly down the sloping lawn, +side by side. ‘You must make every allowance for papa; he is +not a demonstrative man. His manner may seem cold, perhaps—’</p> + +<p>‘Cold!’ cried Daphne; ‘it is ice. I feel I have entered the +frigid zone directly I go into his presence. But he is not cold +to you; he has love enough, and to spare, for you.’</p> + +<p>‘We have been so much together. I have learned to be useful +to him.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes; you have spent your life with him, while I have been +an outcast and an alien.’</p> + +<p>‘Daphne, you have no right to speak like that. My father +is a man of peculiar temper. It pleased him to have only one +daughter at home till both were grown up. You were more +lively than I—younger by seven years—and he fancied you +would be noisy. He is a nervous man, wanting an atmosphere +of complete repose. And now you are grown up, and have +come home for good; and I really cannot see any reason why +you should complain.’</p> + +<p>‘No; there is nothing to complain about,’ cried Daphne<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span> +bitterly, ‘only that I have been cheated out of a father’s love. +Not by you, Lina dearest; no, not by you,’ she exclaimed, when +her sister would have spoken. ‘I am not base enough to be +jealous of you; you who have been my good angel always. No, +dear; but he has cheated me. My father has cheated me in +not giving me a chance of getting at his heart when I was a +child. What is the good of my trying now? I come home to +him as a stranger. How can he be expected to care for me?’</p> + +<p>‘If he does not love you now, my pet—and mind, I don’t +admit that it is so—he will soon learn to be fond of you. He +can’t help admiring my sweet young sister,’ said Madoline, with +tearful eyes.</p> + +<p>‘I will never plague you about him any more, dear,’ protested +Daphne, with a penitent air. ‘I will try to be satisfied +with your affection. You do love me, don’t you?’</p> + +<p>‘With all my strength.’</p> + +<p>‘And to do my duty in that state of life, etc., etc., etc.’</p> + +<p>‘Talking of duty, Daphne, I have been wanting to make a +suggestion for the last week or two,’ said Madoline gently. +‘Don’t you think it would be better for you if you were to +employ yourself a little more?’</p> + +<p>‘Employ myself!’ cried Daphne. ‘Why, I have been tremendously +busy for the last three days—about the dingey.’</p> + +<p>‘Dearest, you are laughing at me. I mean that at seventeen—’</p> + +<p>‘And a half,’ interjected Daphne, with dignity.</p> + +<p>‘At seventeen your education can hardly be completed.’</p> + +<p>‘I know ridiculously little, though I have been outrageously +crammed. I’m afraid all the sciences and languages and literature +have got mixed up in my brain, somehow,’ said Daphne; +‘but I am awfully fond of poetry. I know a good deal of +Tennyson by heart. I could repeat every line of “The Lotos +Eaters,” if you asked me,’ said Daphne, blushing unaccountably.</p> + +<p>‘I think you ought to read, dear,’ pursued Madoline gravely.</p> + +<p>‘Why, so I do. Didn’t I read three volumes of “Sair for +Somebody,” in a single day, in order that the book might go +back to Mudie’s?’</p> + +<p>‘That rubbishing story! Daphne dear, you know I am talking +of serious reading.’</p> + +<p>‘Then you had better find somebody else to talk to,’ said +Daphne. ‘I never could pin my mind to a dull book; my +thoughts go dancing off like butterflies, skimming away like +swallows. I could no more plod through a history, or a volume +of “Voyages in Timbuctoo,” or “Sir Somebody’s Memoirs at +the Court of Queen Joan of Naples,” or “A Waiting-woman’s +Recollections of Peter the Great,” than I could fly. There are +a few characters in history I like to read about—in short instalments. +Napoleon the Great, for instance. There is a hero<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span> +for you—bloodthirsty, but nice. Mary Stuart, Julius Cæsar, +Sir Walter Raleigh, Columbus, Shakespeare. These shine out +like stars. But the dull dead level of history—the going out of +the Whigs and the coming in of the Tories, the everlasting +battles in the Netherlands or the Punjaub! I envy you your +faculty of taking interest in such dry-as-dust stuff, but I cannot +imitate you.’</p> + +<p>‘I like to be able to talk to papa—and to Gerald, by-and-by,’ +said Madoline shyly.</p> + +<p>‘Does papa talk of the Punjaub?’</p> + +<p>‘Not often, dear; but in order to understand the events of +one’s own day, it is necessary to know the history of the past. +Papa likes to discuss public affairs, and I generally read the +<cite>Times</cite> to him every morning, as you know.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes,’ answered Daphne; ‘I know you are his slave.’</p> + +<p>‘Daphne, it is my delight to be useful to him.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes; that is the sort of woman you are, always sacrificing +your own happiness for other people. But I love you for it, +dearest,’ exclaimed Daphne, with one of her sudden gushes of +affection. ‘Only don’t ask me to improve myself, darling, now +that I am tasting perfect liberty for the first time in my life. +Think how I have been ground and polished and governessed +and preached at, and back-boarded,’ drawing up her slim figure +straight as an arrow, ‘and dumb-belled, and fifth-positioned, for +so many weary years of my life, and let me have my fling of +idleness at home. I began to wonder if I really had a home, +my father kept me away from it so long. Let me be idle and +happy, Lina, for a little while; I shall mend by-and-by.’</p> + +<p>‘My pet, do you suppose I don’t wish you to be happy? But +I don’t want your education to come to a full stop, because you +have left school.’</p> + +<p>‘Let me learn to be like you, if I can. There could be no +higher education than that.’</p> + +<p>‘Flatterer!’</p> + +<p>‘No, Lina, no one can flatter perfection.’</p> + +<p>Madoline stopped her with a kiss, blushing at her praise. +And then they turned and walked slowly back to the house, +across the dewy lawn, where the shadows of the deodaras had +deepened and lengthened with the rising of the moon. Daphne +paused on the terrace to look back at the low-lying river gleaming +between its willowy banks—so beautiful and ghostly a thing +in the moonlight that it almost seemed as if it belonged to +another world.</p> + +<p>‘How lovely it is out of doors!’ sighed Daphne. ‘Doesn’t +it seem foolishness to shut oneself up in a house? Stay a little +longer, Lina.’</p> + +<p>‘Papa would not like to be deserted, dear. And Aunt Rhoda +talked about coming in this evening.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span></p> + +<p>‘Then I am in for a lecture,’ said Daphne. ‘Aunt Rhoda +told me to go and see her, and I haven’t been.’</p> + +<p>There was a brilliant light in the billiard-room, and the two +girls went in through the conservatory and down the marble +steps to the room where they were most likely to find their +father at this time of the evening. Sir Vernon Lawford was +not an enthusiastic billiard-player; indeed, he was not enthusiastic +about anything, except his own merits, of which he had a very +exalted opinion. He played a game of billiards every evening, +because it kept him awake and kept him in gentle movement, +which state of being he considered good for his health. He +played gravely, as if he were doing his duty to society, and +played well; and though he liked to have his elder daughter in +the room while he played, and could bring himself to tolerate +the presence of other people, he resented anything distracting in +the way of conversation.</p> + +<p>Seen in the bright white light of the carcel lamps, Sir Vernon +Lawford, at fifty-three years of age, was still a handsome man—a +tall, well set up man, with a hard, clearly chiselled face, eyes +of lightish gray, cold and severe in expression, gray hair and +whiskers, hands of feminine delicacy in shape and colour, and +something rigid and soldierlike in his bearing, as of a man who +had been severely drilled himself, and would be a martinet in +his rule over others.</p> + +<p>He was bending over the table with frowning brow, meditating +a difficult stroke, as the two girls came softly in through the +wide doorway—two tall slim figures in white gowns, with a background +of flowers and palms showing dimly behind them, and +beyond the foliage and flowers, the glimmer of a marble balustrade.</p> + +<p>A fashionably-dressed lady of uncertain age, the solitary +spectator of the game, sat fanning herself in silence by the wide +marble fire-place.</p> + +<p>Sir Vernon’s antagonist came quietly forward to greet Madoline +and her sister.</p> + +<p>‘I am so glad you have come in,’ he said confidentially. ‘I +am getting ignominiously licked. I had a good mind to throw +up the sponge and bolt out into the garden after you just now; +only I thought if I didn’t take my licking decently, Sir Vernon +would never play with me again. Isn’t it too delicious out there +among the deodaras?’</p> + +<p>‘Heavenly,’ exclaimed Daphne; ‘and the river looks like +the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">chemin du Paradis</i>. I wonder you can stay in this glaring +room.’</p> + +<p>Sir Vernon had made up his mind by this time, and with a +slow and gentle stroke, made a cannon and sent his adversary’s +ball into a pocket.</p> + +<p>‘Just like my luck,’ said the adversary, while Sir Vernon again +deliberated.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span></p> + +<p>He was a man of about seven-and-twenty, tall, broad-shouldered, +good-looking, with something of a gladiatorial air in his +billiard-room undress. He was fair, with a healthy Saxon colour, +and Saxon blue eyes; features not chiselled, but somewhat +heavily moulded, yet straight and regular withal; hair, a lightish +brown, cropped closely to a well-shaped head; forehead, fairly +furnished with intellectual organs, but not the brow of poet or +philosopher, wit or savant: a good average English forehead, a +good average English face, beaming with good-nature, as he +stands by Madoline’s side, chalking his cue as industriously as if +chalk could win the game.</p> + +<p>This was Edgar Turchill, of Hawksyard Grange, Sir Vernon +Lawford’s most influential and pleasantest neighbour, a country +squire of old family and fair fortune, owner of one of the most +interesting places in the county, a real Warwickshire manor-house, +and the only son of his widowed mother.</p> + +<p>The lady by the fire-place now began to think she had been +neglected long enough, and beckoned Daphne with her fan. +She beckoned the girl with an authoritative air which distinctly +indicated relationship.</p> + +<p>‘Come here and sit by me, child,’ she whispered, tapping the +fender-stool with the point of her embroidered shoe, whereupon +Daphne meekly crouched at the lady’s feet, prepared for the +worst. ‘Why have you never been to the Rectory?’</p> + +<p>Daphne twisted her fingers in and out of her slender watch-chain +with an embarrassed air.</p> + +<p>‘Indeed, I hardly know why, Aunt Rhoda,’ she faltered; ‘perhaps +it was because I was enjoying myself so much. Everything +at home was so new to me, you see—the gardens, the river, the +meadows.’</p> + +<p>‘You were enjoying yourself so much that you had no inclination +to see your aunt and uncle?’</p> + +<p>‘Uncle?’ echoed Daphne. ‘Oh, you mean the Rector?’</p> + +<p>‘Of course. Is he not your uncle?’</p> + +<p>‘Is he, aunt? I know he’s your husband; but as you only +married him a year ago, and he hadn’t begun to be my uncle +when I was last at home, it never occurred to me——’</p> + +<p>‘That by my marriage with him he had become your uncle. +That looks like ignorance, Daphne, or want of proper feeling,’ +said the Rector’s wife with an offended air.</p> + +<p>‘It was ignorance, Aunt Rhoda. At Madame Tolmache’s +they taught us so much geography and geology and astronomy, +don’t you know, that they were obliged to keep us in the dark +about uncles and aunts. And am I really to call the Rector, +uncle? It seems quite awful.’</p> + +<p>‘Why awful?’</p> + +<p>‘Because I have looked up to him all my life as a being in a +black silk gown who preached long sermons and would do something<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span> +awful to me if I laughed in church. I looked upon him +as the very embodiment of the Church, don’t you know, and +should hardly have believed that he wanted breakfast and dinner, +and wore out his clothes and boots like other men. When +he came to call I used to run away and hide myself. I had an +idea that he would scold me if I came in his way—take me to +task for not being a christian, or ask me to repeat last Sunday’s +Gospel. And to think that he should be my uncle. How curiously +things come round in this life!’</p> + +<p>‘I hope you will not cease to respect him, and that you will +learn to love him,’ said Aunt Rhoda severely.</p> + +<p>‘Learn to love him! Do you think he would like it?’ asked +Daphne doubtfully.</p> + +<p>‘He would like you to behave to him as a niece ought, +Daphne. Marmaduke considers my relations his own.’</p> + +<p>‘I’m sure it is very good of him,’ said Daphne, ‘but I should +think it must come a little difficult after having known us so long +in quite another capacity.’</p> + +<p>The Rector’s wife gave her niece a look of half interrogation, +half disapproval. She did not know how much malice might +lurk under the girl’s seeming innocence. She and Daphne had +never got on very well together in the old days, when Miss Lawford +was the mistress of South Hill, and the arbiter of her nieces’ +lives.</p> + +<p>A year ago, and Rhoda Lawford, at three-and-forty, was still +Rhoda Lawford; and any idea of matrimonial promotion which +she had once cherished might fairly be supposed to have expired +in the cold shade of a neighbourhood where there were very few +marriageable men. But Rhoda had begun life as a girl with +considerable pretensions. She had never asserted herself or been +put forward by her friends as a beauty. The material for that +kind of reputation was wanting. But she had been admired +and praised for her style, her manner, her complexion, her hair, +her hands, her feet, her waist, her shoulders. She was a young +lady with good points, and had been admired for her points. +People had talked of her as the elegant Miss Lawford: and as, +happily, elegance is a quality which time need not impair, Rhoda +had gone on being elegant for five-and-twenty years. The waist +and shoulders, the hands and feet, had never been out of training +for a quarter of a century. More ephemeral charms had +bloomed and faded; and many a fair friend of Rhoda’s who had +triumphed in the insolence of conscious beauty was now a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">passée</i> +matron, of whom her acquaintance said pityingly, ‘You have no +idea how pretty that woman was fifteen years ago;’ but the elegant +Miss Lawford’s attractions were unimpaired, and the elegant +Miss Lawford had not yet surrendered the hope of winning +a prize in the matrimonial lottery.</p> + +<p>The living of Baddesley-with-Arden was one of those fat<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span> +sinecures which are usually given to men of good family and +considerable private means. The Reverend Marmaduke Ferrers +was the descendant of a race well rooted in the soil, and +had, by the demise of two bachelor uncles and three maiden +aunts, accumulated to himself a handsome property, in land, +and houses, and the safer kind of public securities. These legacies +had fallen in at longish intervals, some of the aunts being +slow in relaxing their grip upon this world’s gear; but had all +the wealth of a Westminster or a Rothschild been poured into +the Reverend Marmaduke’s lap, he would not have renounced +the great tithes of Baddesley-with-Arden, or the important, +and, in a manner, judicial and dictatorial position which he held +as Rector of those two small parishes. Mr. Ferrers loved the +exercise of authority on a small scale. He had an autocratic +mind, but it was a very small mind, and it suited him to be the +autocrat of two insignificant pastoral villages, rather than to +measure his power against the men of cities. To hector Giles +for getting drunk on a Saturday night, to lecture Joan for her +absence from church on Sunday, afforded the Rector as much +delight as a bigger man might have felt in towering over the riot +of a Republican chamber or proroguing a Rump parliament. +Mr. Ferrers had been Rector of Baddesley thirty years, and in +all that time he had never once thought of taking to himself a +wife. He had a lovely old Rectory and a lovelier garden; he +had the best servants in the neighbourhood—partly because he +was a most exacting master, and partly because he paid his housekeeper +largely, and made her responsible for everybody else. +The whole machinery of his life worked with a delightful smoothness. +He had nothing to gain from matrimony in the way of +domestic comfort; and there is always the possibility of loss. +Thus it happened that although he had gone on admiring Miss +Lawford for a round dozen years, talking of her as a most ladylike +and remarkably well-informed person, pouring all his small +grievances into her ear, confiding to her the most recondite +details of any little complaint from which he happened to suffer, +consulting her about his garden, his stable, his parish, it had +never occurred to him that he should improve his condition or +increase his happiness by making the lady his wife.</p> + +<p>Yet, throughout this time, Rhoda Lawford had always had +it in her mind that if all other views failed, she could wind up +fairly well by marrying the Rector. It was not at all the kind +of fate she had imagined for herself years ago in the freshness +of her charms; but it would be a respectable match. Nobody +could presume to pity her, or say that she had done badly. The +Rector was ten years her senior, so nobody could laugh at her +for marrying a youth. Altogether there would be a fitness and a +propriety about the alliance, which would be in perfect harmony +with the elegance of her person and the spotlessness of her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span> +character. On her fortieth birthday, Miss Lawford told herself +that the time had now come when the Rector must be taken +seriously in hand, and taught to see what was good for himself. +A friendship which had been meandering on for the last twelve +years must be brought to a head; dangling attention and old-fashioned +compliments must be reduced into something more +tangible. In a word, the Rector must be converted from a +friend into a suitor.</p> + +<p>It had taken Miss Lawford two years to open the Reverend +Marmaduke’s eyes; but at the end of those two years the thing +was done, and the Rector was sighing, somewhat apoplectically, +for the approach of his wedding-day, and the privilege of claiming +Rhoda for his own. The whole process had been carried +out with such consummate tact that Marmaduke Ferrers had not +the faintest suspicion that the matrimonial card which he had +drawn had been forced upon him. He believed in his engagement +as the spontaneous growth of his own mind. ‘Strange +that I should have known you so long, my Rhoda, and only discovered +lately that you were so dear to me,’ he murmured in +his fat voice, as he dawdled with his betrothed in one of those +shadowy Warwickshire lanes which seem made for the meandering +of lovers. His Rhoda smiled tenderly; and then they began to +talk about the new carpet for the Rectory drawing-room, the +<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Sèvres garniture de cheminée</i> which Sir Vernon had given his +sister for a wedding present, dwelling rather upon the objective +than the subjective side of their position, as middle-aged lovers +are apt to do.</p> + +<p>‘I hope you will not mind my keeping Todd,’ said the Rector +presently, pausing to recover his breath, and plucking a dog-rose +in absence of mind.</p> + +<p>‘Dearest, have I any wish in opposition to yours?’ murmured +Rhoda, but not without a shadow of sourness in the droop of +her lips, for she had a shrewd idea that so long as the Rector’s +housekeeper, Mrs. Todd, remained at the Rectory, nobody else +could be mistress there.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.<br> +<span class="fs70">‘LOVE MAKETH ALL TO GONE MISWAY.’</span></h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Aunt Rhoda</span> was not a person to be set at defiance, even by +Daphne, who was by no means a tractable spirit. She had said, +‘Come to the Rectory,’ and had said it with such an air of +offended dignity that Daphne felt she must obey, and promptly, +lest a worse lecture should befall her. So directly after luncheon +on the following day she changed her gown, and prepared herself +for the distasteful visit. Madoline was going to drive to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span> +Warwick with her father, so Daphne would have to perform her +penance alone.</p> + +<p>It was a lovely afternoon in the first week of May, the air +balmy and summer-like, the meadows looking their greenest +before the golden glory of buttercup time. Yonder in the reedy +hollows the first of the marsh marigolds were opening their +yellow cups, and smiling up at the yellow sun. The walk to +Arden Rectory was something over a mile, and it was as lovely +a walk as any one need care to take; through meadows, beside +flowery hedgerows, with the river flowing near, but almost hidden +by a thick screen of willows; and then by one of the most +delightful lanes in the county, a green arcade of old elms, with +here a spreading oak, and there a mountain ash, to give variety +to the foliage.</p> + +<p>Daphne set out alone, as soon as she had seen the carriage +drive away from the door; but she was not destined to go her +way unaccompanied. Half way down the avenue she met Mr. +Turchill, strolling at a lazy pace, a cigar in his mouth, and a red +setter of Irish pedigree at his heels.</p> + +<p>At sight of Daphne he threw away his cigar, and took his +hands out of his pockets.</p> + +<p>‘I was coming up to the Hill to ask somebody to play a game +of billiards, and everybody seems going out,’ he said.</p> + +<p>They had known him so long in an easy-going neighbourly +way that he almost took rank as a relation. Daphne, who had +spent so much of her life away from home, had naturally seen +less of him than anybody else; but as she had been a child during +the greater part of their acquaintance, he had fallen into the +way of treating her as an elder brother might have done; and he +had not yet become impressed with the dignity of her advancing +years. For him she was still the Daphne he had romped with in +the Christmas holidays, and whose very small pony it had been +his particular care to get broken.</p> + +<p>‘I met Madoline and Sir Vernon going to Warwick. Why +go to Warwick? What is there for anyone but a Cook’s +tourist to do in Warwick? But I thought you would be at +home. You haven’t a bad notion of billiards, and you might +have helped a fellow to while away an afternoon.’</p> + +<p>‘You are like the idle boy in the spelling-book story, wanting +someone to play with you,’ said Daphne, laughing at him. +He had turned, and was walking beside her, the docile setter +following meekly, like a dog who felt that he was of no consequence +in the world now that the days of sport were done.</p> + +<p>‘Well, the hunting’s all over, don’t you know, and there’s +no more shooting, and I never cared much for fishing, and I’ve +got such a confoundedly clever bailiff that he won’t let me open +my mouth on the farm. So the days do hang rather heavy on +a fellow’s hands.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span></p> + +<p>‘Why don’t you take to Alpine climbing?’ suggested Daphne. +‘I don’t mean Mont Blanc—everybody does that—but the +Matterhorn, or Monte Rosa, or something. If I were a young +man I should amuse myself in that way.’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t set an exaggerated value on my life, but when I +do make up my mind to throw it away, I think I’ll do the thing +more comfortably,’ replied Edgar Turchill. ‘Don’t trouble +yourself to suggest employment for me. I’m not complaining +of my life. There’s a good deal of loafing in it, but I rather like +loafing, especially when I can loaf in pleasant company. Where +are you going, and may I go with you?’</p> + +<p>‘I am going on a duty visit to Aunt Rhoda and my new +uncle. Isn’t it rather dreadful to have an uncle thrust upon +one in that way?’</p> + +<p>‘Well,’ returned Edgar deliberately, ‘I must say if I had the +choosing of my relations I should leave out the Rector. But +you needn’t mind him. Practically he’s no more to you than +he was before he married your aunt.’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t know,’ said Daphne doubtfully. ‘He may take +liberties. He was always a lecturing old thing, and he’ll lecture +ever so much more now that he’s a relation.’</p> + +<p>‘But you needn’t stand his lecturing. Just tell him quietly +that you don’t hold with clerical interference in the affairs of +the laity.’</p> + +<p>‘He got me ready for my confirmation, and that gave him a +kind of hold over me,’ said Daphne. ‘You see, he found out +the depth of my ignorance.’</p> + +<p>‘I’ll wager he’d be ploughed in a divinity exam, to-morrow,’ +said Edgar. ‘These old heathens of village parsons got their +degrees in a day when the dons were a set of sleepy-headed old +duffers like themselves. But don’t let’s talk about him. What +is Madoline going to do in Warwick?’</p> + +<p>‘She and my father are going to make some calls in the +neighbourhood, and I believe she has a little shopping to do.’</p> + +<p>‘Why didn’t you go with them?’</p> + +<p>‘Papa does not like to have three people in the barouche. +Besides, I had promised to call on my aunt. She talked to me +quite awfully last night about my want of proper feeling in +never having visited her in her new house.’</p> + +<p>‘Why didn’t you wait till she asked you to dinner? They +give capital dinners at the Rectory, but their feeds are few and +far between. I don’t want to say anything rude about your +aunt, but she strikes me as a lady who has too keen an appreciation +of the value of money to fritter it away upon other +people.’</p> + +<p>‘Why don’t you say at once that she’s horribly stingy?’ said +the outspoken Daphne. ‘I don’t think she ever spent sixpence, +except upon her own clothes, all the time she lived in my father’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span> +house, and I know she was always getting gowns and bonnets +out of Madoline. I’ve seen her do it. But please don’t let’s +talk of her any more. It’s rather worse than talking of him. I +shall have to kiss her, and call her dear aunt presently, and I +shall detest myself for being such a hypocrite.’</p> + +<p>They had gone out by the lodge-gate by this time, the +lodge with its thatched roof and dormer window, like a big eye +looking out under a shaggy pent-house eyebrow; the lodge +by which there grew one of those tall deodaras which were the +chief glory of the grounds at South Hill. They crossed the +high road, and entered the meadow-path which led towards +Arden Rectory; and the setter finding himself at large in +a field, frisked about a little as if with a faint suspicion of +partridges.</p> + +<p>‘Oh, by-the-by,’ began Daphne, in quite a new tone, ‘now +that we are alone, I want you to tell me all about Lina’s engagement. +Is he nice?’</p> + +<p>Edgar Turchill’s face clouded over so darkly that the look +seemed a sufficient answer to her question.</p> + +<p>‘Oh, I see,’ she said. ‘You don’t like him.’</p> + +<p>‘I can’t say that. He’s an old acquaintance—a friend—a +kind of family connection even, for his mother’s grandmother +was a Turchill. But to be candid, I don’t like the engagement.’</p> + +<p>‘Why not, unless you know something against him?’</p> + +<p>‘I know nothing against him. He is a gentleman. He is +ten times cleverer than I, ten times richer, a great deal handsomer—my +superior in every way. I should be a mean cad if +I couldn’t acknowledge as much as that. But——’</p> + +<p>‘You think Lina ought to have accepted him.’</p> + +<p>‘I think the match in every way suitable, natural, inevitable. +How could he help falling in love with her? Why should she +refuse him?’</p> + +<p>‘You are talking in riddles,’ said Daphne. ‘You say it is a +suitable match, and a minute ago you said you did not like the +engagement.’</p> + +<p>‘I say so still. Can’t you imagine a reason for my feelings?’</p> + +<p>Daphne contemplated him thoughtfully for a few moments +as they walked on. His frank English face looked graver than +she ever remembered to have seen it—grave to mournfulness.</p> + +<p>‘I am very sorry,’ she faltered. ‘I see. You are fond of +her yourself. I am desperately sorry. I should have liked you +ever so much better for a brother.’</p> + +<p>‘Don’t say that till you have seen Gerald. He has wonderful +powers of fascination. He paints and poetises, and all that +kind of thing, don’t you know; the sort of thing that pleases +women. He can’t ride a little bit—no seat—no hands.’</p> + +<p>‘How dreadful!’ cried Daphne, aghast. ‘Does he tumble +off?’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span></p> + +<p>‘I don’t mean that. He can stick in his saddle somehow; +and he hunts when he’s at home in the season; but he can’t +ride.’</p> + +<p>‘Oh,’ said Daphne, as if she were trying to understand this +distinction.</p> + +<p>‘Yes, Daphne. I don’t mind your knowing it—now it’s +all over and done with,’ pursued Edgar, glad to pour his griefs +into a friendly ear. ‘You’re my old playfellow—almost like a +little sister—and I don’t think you’ll laugh at me, will you, +dear?’</p> + +<p>‘Laugh at you!’ cried Daphne. ‘If I do may I never be able +to smile again.’</p> + +<p>‘I asked your sister to marry me. I had gone on loving her +for I don’t know how long, before I could pluck up courage to +ask the question, I was so afraid of being refused. And I +knew if she would only say “Yes,” that my mother would be +the proudest woman in the county, for she positively adores +Madoline. And I knew Lina liked Hawksyard; and that was +encouraging. So one day, about four years ago, I got desperate, +and asked the plain question in a plain way. Heaven knows +how much of my happiness hung on the answer; but I couldn’t +have screwed any poetry out of myself to save my life. I could +only tell her the honest truth—that I loved her as well as man +ever loved woman.’</p> + +<p>‘Well?’ asked Daphne.</p> + +<p>‘It was no use. She said “No,” so kindly, so sweetly, so +affectionately—for she really likes me, you know, in a sisterly +way—that she made me cry like a child. Yes, Daphne, I made +a miserable ass of myself. She must have despised such unmanly +weakness. And then in a few minutes it was all over. +All my hopes were extinguished like a candle blown out by the +wind, and all my future life was dark. And I had to go back +and tell the poor mother that the daughter she wanted was +never to come to Hawksyard.’</p> + +<p>‘I am so sorry for you,’ faltered Daphne.</p> + +<p>‘Thank you, dear. I knew you would be sympathetic. The +blow was a crusher, I assure you. I went away for a few +months deer-stalking in the Highlands; but lying on a mountain +side in a gray mist for hours on end, not daring to move an +eyelash, gives a fellow too much time for thought. I was +always thinking of Madoline, and my thoughts were just two +hundred and fifty miles due south of the stag when he came +across, so I generally shot wild, and felt myself altogether a +failure. Then I tried a month in Normandy and Brittany with +a knapsack, thinking I might walk down my trouble. But I +found that tramping from one badly-drained town to another +badly-drained town—all infected with garlic—and looking at +churches I didn’t particularly want to see, was a sham kind of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span> +consolation for a very real disappointment; so I made up my +mind to come back to Hawksyard and live it down. And I +have lived it down,’ concluded Edgar exultantly.</p> + +<p>‘You don’t care for Madoline any longer?’</p> + +<p>‘Not care for her! I shall worship her as long as I have +breath in my body. But I have resigned myself to the idea +that somebody else is going to marry her—that the most I can +ever be to her is a good, useful, humdrum kind of friend, who +will be godfather to one of her boys by-and-by; ready to ride +helter-skelter for the doctor if any of her children show symptoms +of measles or whooping-cough; glad to take dummy of an +evening when she and her husband want to play whist; or to +entertain the boys at Hawksyard for their summer holidays +while she and he are enjoying a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tête-à-tête</i> ramble in the Engadine. +That is the sort of man I shall be.’</p> + +<p>‘How good you are!’ said Daphne, slipping her hand through +his arm with an affectionate impulse.</p> + +<p>‘Ah, my little Daphne, it will be your turn to full in love +some of these days; put it off as long as you can, dear, for +there’s more pain than pleasure in it at best.’ Daphne gave an +involuntary sigh. ‘And then I hope you’ll confide in me just +as freely as I have confided in you. I may be useful as an +adviser, you know, having had my own troubles.’</p> + +<p>‘You could only advise me to be patient, and give up all +hope,’ said Daphne, drawing her hand from his arm. ‘What +would be the good of such advice? But I shall never trouble +you. I am not going to fall in love—ever.’</p> + +<p>She gave the last word an almost angry emphasis.</p> + +<p>‘Poor little Daphne! as if you could know anything about +it,’ exclaimed Edgar, smiling incredulously at her. ‘That kind +of thing comes upon one unawares. You talk as if you could +choose whether you would fall in love or not—like Hercules +between his two roads, deliberating whether he should go to +the right or the left. Ah, my dear, when we come to that stage +of our journey there is but one road for us: and whether it +lead to the Garden of Eden or the Slough of Despond, we must +travel over it.’</p> + +<p>‘You are getting poetical,’ exclaimed Daphne scornfully; ‘I +didn’t know that was in your line. But please tell me about +Gerald. I have never seen him, you know. He was always at +Oxford, or roaming about the world somewhere, when I was at +home for the holidays. I have been at home so little, you see,’ +she interjected with a piteous air. ‘I used to hear a great deal +about a very wonderful personage, enormously rich, fabulously +clever, and accomplished, and handsome; and I grew rather to +hate him, as one is apt to hate such perfection; and then one +day I got a letter from Lina—a letter brimming over with +happiness—to say that she and this demigod were engaged to be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span> +married, but it was to be a long engagement, because the other +demigod—my father—wished for delay. So you see I know +very little about my future brother.’</p> + +<p>‘You are sure to like him,’ said Edgar with a somewhat +regretful air. ‘He has all the qualities which please women. +Another man might be as handsome, or even handsomer, yet +not half so sure of winning a woman’s love. There is something +languid, lackadaisical—poetical, I suppose Madoline +would call it—in his appearance and manner which women +admire.’</p> + +<p>‘I hope he is not effeminate,’ exclaimed Daphne. ‘I hate a +womanish man.’</p> + +<p>‘No; I don’t think anyone could call him effeminate; but +he is dreamy, bookish, fond of lolling about under trees, smoking +cigarettes and reading verses.’</p> + +<p>‘I’m certain I shall detest him,’ said Daphne with conviction, +‘and it will be very dreadful, since I must pretend to like +him for Lina’s sake. You must stand by me, Edgar, when he +is at the Hill. You and I can chum together, and leave the +lovers to spoon by themselves. Oh, by-the-by, of course you +haven’t lived on the Avon all your life without being able to +row a boat?’</p> + +<p>‘No; I can row pretty well.’</p> + +<p>‘Then you must teach me, please. I am going to have a +boat, my very own. It is being built for me. You’ll teach me +to row, won’t you, Edgar?’ she asked with a pleading smile.</p> + +<p>‘I shall be delighted.’</p> + +<p>‘Thanks tremendously. That will be ever so much better +than learning of Bink.’</p> + +<p>‘Indeed! And who is Bink?’ asked Edgar, somewhat +dashed.</p> + +<p>‘One of the under gardeners. Such an honest creature, and +devoted to me.’</p> + +<p>‘I see: and your first idea was to have been taught by +Bink?’</p> + +<p>‘If there had been no one else,’ she admitted apologetically. +‘You see, having ordered a boat, it is essential that I should +learn to row.’</p> + +<p>‘Naturally.’</p> + +<p>They had arrived at the last field by this time. The village +lay before them in the sunlight: an old gray church in an old +churchyard on the edge of the river, a cluster of half-timbered +cottages, with walls of wattle and dab, a homestead dwarfed by +rick-yard and barns, and finally the Rectory, a low, many-gabled +house, half-timbered, like the cottages, a regular sixteenth-century +house, with clustered chimneys of massive ruddy-brown +brickwork, finished by a stone coping, in which the +martens had built from time immemorial.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span></p> + +<p>‘I can’t tell you how glad I am to have you with me,’ said +Daphne as they came near the stile. ‘It will take the edge off +my visit.’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, but I did not mean to go in with you. I only walked +with you for the pleasure of being your escort.’</p> + +<p>‘Nonsense; you are going in, and you are going to stay +till I go home, and you are going back with me to dinner. I’m +sure you must owe Aunt Rhoda a call. Just consider now if +you don’t.’</p> + +<p>Edgar, who had a guilty memory of being a guest at one +of the Rector’s rare but admirable dinners, just five weeks ago, +blushed as he admitted his indebtedness.</p> + +<p>‘I certainly haven’t called since I dined there,’ he said; +‘but the fact is, I don’t get on very fast with your aunt, +although I’ve known her so long.’</p> + +<p>‘Of course not. I never knew any one who could get on +with her, except Lina, and she’s an angel.’</p> + +<p>They came to the stile, which was what the country people +call a tumble-down stile, all the timbers of the gate sliding down +with a clatter when a handle is moved, and leaving space for +the pedestrian to step over. The Rectory gate stood before +them, a low wide gate, standing open to admit the entrance of a +carriage. The garden was lovely, even before the season of +bedding-out plants and carpet horticulture. For the last twenty +years the Rector had annually imported a choice selection of +Dutch bulbs, whereby his flower-beds and borders on this May +afternoon were a blaze of colour—tulip, hyacinth, ranunculus, +polyanthus—each and every flower that blooms in the sweet +youth of the year; and as a background for the level lawn with +its many flower-beds, there was a belt of such timber and an +inner circle of such shrubs as are only to be found in a garden +that has been cultivated and improved for a century or so. +Copper beeches, Spanish chestnuts, curious specimens of the oak +tribe, the feathery foliage of acacia and mountain ash, the pink +bloom of the wild plum, and the snowy clusters of the American +crab, deodara, cypress, yew, and in the foreground arbutus and +seringa, lilac, laburnum, guelder rose, with all the family of +laurel, laurustinus, and bay; a shrubbery so exquisitely kept, +that not a blighted branch or withered leaf was to be seen in +the spacious circle which fenced and protected that smiling +lawn from all the outer world.</p> + +<p>The house was, in its way, as perfect as the garden. There +were many rooms, but none large or lofty. The Rectory had +all the shortcomings and all the fascinations of an old house: +wide hearths and dog-stoves, high mantelpieces, deep-recessed +casements, diamond panes, leaden lattices, massive roughly-hewn +beams supporting the ceilings, a wide shallow staircase, +rooms opening one out of another, irregular levels, dark oak<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span> +floors, a little stained glass here and there—real old glass, of +rich dark red, or sombre green, or deep dull topaz.</p> + +<p>The house was delightfully furnished, though Mr. Ferrers +had never taken any trouble about it. Many a collector, worn +out before his time by the fever and anxiety of long summer +afternoons at Christie’s, would have envied Marmaduke Ferrers +the treasures which had fallen to him without the trouble of +collecting. Residuary legatee to all his aunts and uncles, he had +taken to himself the things that were worth having among +their goods and chattels, and had sold all the rubbish.</p> + +<p>The aunts and uncles had been old-fashioned non-locomotive +people, hoarding up and garnering the furniture of past +generations. Thus had the Rector acquired Chippendale chairs +and tables, old Dutch tulip-wood cabinets and bureaus, Louis +Quinze commodes, Elizabethan clocks, Derby and Worcester, +Bow, Bristol, Leeds, and Swansea crockery, with a sprinkling +of those dubious jugs and bowls that are generally fathered on +Lowestoft. Past generations had amassed and hoarded in order +that the Rector might be rich in art treasures without ever +putting his hand in his pocket. Furniture that had cost a few +pounds when it was bought was now worth hundreds, and the +Rector had it all for nothing, just because he came of a selfish +celibate race. The Chippendale furniture, the Dutch marqueterie +work, old china, and old plate had all been in Miss +Lawford’s mind when she took the Rector in hand and brought +him to see her fitness for his wife.</p> + +<p>True that her home at South Hill was as elegant, and in all +things as desirable; but there was a wide difference between +living under the roof of her brother, more or less on sufferance, +and being mistress of her own house. Thus the humbler +charms of the Rectory impressed her more than the dignity of +the Hill. Sir Vernon Lawford was not a pleasant man to whom +to be beholden. His daughters were now grown up. Madoline +was sovereign mistress of the house which must one day be her +own; and Rhoda Lawford felt that to stay at the Hill would +be to sink to the humdrum position of a maiden aunt, for whom +nobody cared very much.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ferrers was sitting in a Japanese chair on the lawn, in +front of the drawing-room windows, nursing a black and white +Japanese pug, and rather yearning for someone from the outer +world, even in that earthy paradise where the guelder roses +were all in bloom and the air was heavy with the odour of +hawthorn-blossom.</p> + +<p>‘At last!’ she exclaimed, as Daphne and her companion +made their timorous advance across the velvet turf, mown twice +a week in the growing season. ‘You too, Mr. Turchill; I +thought you were never coming to see me.’</p> + +<p>‘After that delightful evening with the Mowbrays and the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span> +people from Liddington! It was too ungrateful of me,’ said +Edgar. ‘If you call me Mr. Turchill I shall think I am never +to be forgiven.’</p> + +<p>‘Well, then, it shall be Edgar, as it was in the old days,’ +said Mrs. Ferrers, with a faint suspicion of sentiment.</p> + +<p>There had been a time when it had seemed to her not altogether +impossible that she should become Mrs. Turchill. +Hawksyard Grange was such a delicious old place; and Edgar +was her junior by only fourteen years.</p> + +<p>‘I don’t want you to make ceremonious calls just because +you happen to have dined here; but I want you to drop in +often because you like us. I want you to bring me breathings +of the outside world. The life of a clergyman’s wife in a country +parish is so narrow. I feel hourly becoming a vegetable.’</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ferrers looked complacently down at her tea-gown of +soft creamy Indian silk, copiously trimmed with softer Breton +lace, and felt that at least she was a very well-dressed vegetable. +Knots of palest blue satin nestled here and there among the +lace; a cluster of hot-house roses—large velvety yellow roses—reposed +on Mrs. Ferrers’s shoulder, and agreeably contrasted +with her dark, smoothly-banded hair. She prided herself on +the classic form of her small head, and the classic simplicity of +her coiffure.</p> + +<p>‘I think we all belong, more or less, to the vegetable tribe +about here,’ said Mr. Turchill. ‘There is something sleepy in +the very air of our pastoral valleys. I sometimes long to get +away to the stone-wall country yonder, on the Cotswolds, to +breathe a freer, more wakeful air.’</p> + +<p>‘I can’t say that I languish for the Cotswolds,’ replied Mrs. +Ferrers, ‘but I should very much like a fortnight in Mayfair. +Do you know if your father and Madoline are going to London +this season, Daphne?’</p> + +<p>‘I think not. Papa fancies himself not quite well enough +for the fatigue of London, and Lina does not care about going.’</p> + +<p>It had been Sir Vernon’s habit to take a furnished house at +the West End for part of May and June, in order to see all the +picture-galleries, and hear all the operas that were worth being +heard, and to do a little visiting among his very select circle of +acquaintance. He was not a man who made new acquaintances +if he could help it, or who went to people because they lived in +big houses and gave big dinners. He was exclusive to a fault, +detested crowds, and had a rooted conviction that every new +man was a swindler, who was destined to end his career in +ignominious bankruptcy. It had gone hard with him to consent +to his daughter’s engagement with a man who on the father’s +side was a parvenu; but he had consoled himself as best he +might with the idea of Lady Geraldine’s blue blood, and Mr. +Goring’s very substantial fortune.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span></p> + +<p>‘And so you are no longer a school-girl, Daphne, and have +come home for good,’ said Mrs. Ferrers, dropping her elegant +society manner and putting on a sententious air, which Daphne +knew too well. ‘I hope you are going to try to improve yourself—for +what girls learn at school is a mere smattering—and +that you are aware how much room there is for improvement—in +your carriage, for instance.’</p> + +<p>‘I haven’t any carriage, aunt, but papa is going to let me +keep a boat,’ said Daphne, who had been absently watching the +little yellow butterflies skimming above the flame-coloured tulips.</p> + +<p>‘My dear, I am talking of your deportment. You are sitting +most awkwardly at this moment, one shoulder at least +three inches higher than the other.’</p> + +<p>‘Don’t worry about it, aunt,’ said Daphne indifferently; +‘perhaps it’s a natural deformity.’</p> + +<p>‘I hope not. I think it rests with yourself to become a very +decent figure,’ replied Mrs. Ferrers, straightening her own slim +waist. ‘Here comes your uncle, returning from his round of +duty in time to enjoy his afternoon tea.’</p> + +<p>The Rector drove up to the gate in a low park-phaeton, +drawn by a sleek bay cob; a cob too well fed and lazy to think +of running away, but a little apt to become what the groom +called ‘a bit above himself,’ and to prance and toss his head in +an arrogant manner, or even to shy at a stray rabbit, as if he +had never seen such a creature before, and hadn’t the least idea +what the apparition meant. The Rector’s round of duty had +been a quiet drive through elm-shadowed lanes, and rustic +occupation roads, with an occasional pull-up before the door of +a cottage, or a farm-house, where, without alighting, he would +inquire in a fat pompous voice after the welfare, spiritual and +temporal, of his parishioners, and then shedding on them the +light of a benignant smile, or a few solemn words of clerical +patronage, he would give the reins a gentle shake and drive off +again. This kind of parochial visitation, lasting for about two +hours, the Rector performed twice or three times a week, always +selecting a fine afternoon. It kept him in the fresh air, gave +him an appetite for his dinner, and maintained pleasant relations +between the pastor and his flock.</p> + +<p>Mr. Ferrers flung the reins to his groom, a man of middle +age, in sober dark livery, and got himself ponderously out of +his carriage on to the gravel drive. He was a large man, tall +and broad, with a high bald head, red-brown eyes of the protuberant +order, a florid complexion, pendulous cheeks and chin, +and mutton-chop whiskers of a warm chestnut. He was a man +whose appearance, even to the stranger, suggested a life devoted +to dining; a man to whom dinner was the one abiding reality +of life, the same yesterday, to-day, and to-morrow—a memory, +an actuality, a hope. He was the man for whom asparagus and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span> +peas are forced into untimely perfection—the man who eats +poached salmon in January, and gives a fabulous price for the +first of the grouse—the man for whom green geese are roasted +in June, and who requires immature turkeys to be fatted for +him in October; who can enjoy oysters at fourpence a piece; +who thinks ninety shillings a dozen a reasonable price for dry +champagne, and would drive thirty miles to secure a few dozen +of the late Colonel Somebody’s famous East India sherry.</p> + +<p>Rhoda had married the Reverend Marmaduke with her eyes +fully opened to the materialistic side of his character. She +knew that if she wanted to live happily with him and to +exercise that gentle and imperceptible sway, which vulgar +people call hen-pecking, she must make dinner the chief study +of her life. So long as she gave full satisfaction upon this +point; so long as she could maintain a table, in which the +homely English virtue of substantial abundance was combined +with the artistic variety of French cooking; so long as she +anticipated the Rector’s fancies, and forestalled the seasons, +she would be sure to please. But an hour’s forgetfulness of his +tastes or prejudices, a single failure, an experimental dish, would +shatter for the time being the whole fabric of domestic bliss, +and weaken her hold of the matrimonial sceptre. The Rector’s +wife had considered all this before she took upon herself the +responsibilities of married life. Supremely indifferent herself +to the pleasures of the table, she had to devote one thoughtful +hour of every day to the consideration of what her husband +would like to eat, drink, and avoid. She had to project her +mind into the future to secure for him novelty of diet. Todd, +the housekeeper, had ministered to him for many years, and +knew all his tastes: but Mrs. Ferrers wanted to do better than +Todd had done, and to prove to the Rector that he had acted +wisely in committing himself to the dulcet bondage of matrimony. +She was a clever woman—not bookish or highly cultured—but +skilled in all the small arts and devices of daily life; and +so far she had succeeded admirably. The Rector, granted the +supreme indulgence of all his desires, was his wife’s admiring +slave. He flattered her, he deferred to her, he praised her, +he boasted of her to all his acquaintance as the most perfect +thing in wives, just as he boasted of the sleek bay as the +paragon of cobs, and his garden as the archetype of gardens.</p> + +<p>And now for the first time Daphne had to salute this great +man in his new character of an uncle. She went up to him +timidly; a graceful, gracious figure in a pale yellow batiste +gown, a knot of straw-coloured Marguerites shining on her +breast, her lovely liquid eyes darkened by the shadow of her +Tuscan hat.</p> + +<p>‘How do you do, uncle?’ she said, holding out a slender +hand, in a long loose Swedish glove.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span></p> + +<p>The Rector started, and stared at her dumbly, whether +bewildered by so fair a vision, or taken aback by the unexpected +assertion of kinsmanship, only he himself knew.</p> + +<p>‘Bless my soul!’ he cried. ‘Is this Daphne? Why the +child has grown out of all knowledge. How d’ye do, my dear? +Very glad to see you. You’ll stop to dinner, of course. You +and Turchill. How d’ye do, Turchill?’</p> + +<p>The Rector had a troublesome trick of asking everybody +who crossed his threshold in the afternoon to dinner. He had +an abiding idea that his friends wanted to be fed; that they +would rather dine with him than go home; and that if they +refused, their refusal was mere modesty and self-denial, and +ought not to be accepted. Vainly had Rhoda lectured her +spouse upon this evil habit, vainly had she tried to demonstrate +to him that an afternoon visit should be received as such, and +need not degenerate into a dinner-party. The Rector was +incorrigible. Hospitality was his redeeming virtue.</p> + +<p>‘Thanks awfully,’ replied Daphne; ‘but I must go home +to dinner. Papa and Lina expect me. Of course Mr. Turchill +can do as he likes.’</p> + +<p>‘Then Turchill will stay,’ said the Rector.</p> + +<p>‘My dear Rector, you are very kind, but I must go home +with Daphne. I brought her, don’t you see, and I’m bound to +take her back. There might be a bull, or something.’</p> + +<p>‘Do you think I am afraid of bulls?’ cried Daphne; ‘why +I love the whole cow tribe. If I saw a bull in one of our +meadows, I should walk up to him and make friends.’</p> + +<p>The Rector surveyed the yellow damsel with an unctuous +smile.</p> + +<p>‘It would be dangerous,’ he said in his fat voice, ‘if I were +the bull.’</p> + +<p>‘Why?’</p> + +<p>‘I should be tempted to imitate an animal famous in classic +story, and swim the Avon with you on my back,’ replied the +Rector.</p> + +<p>‘Duke,’ said Mrs. Ferrers, with her blandest smile, ‘don’t +you think you had better rest yourself in your cool study while +we take our tea? I’m sure you must be tired after your long +drive. These first warm days are so exhausting. I’ll bring you +your cup of tea.’</p> + +<p>‘Don’t trouble yourself, my love,’ replied the Rector; +‘Daphne can wait upon me. Her legs are younger than yours.’</p> + +<p>This unflattering comparison, to say nothing of the vulgar +allusion to ‘legs,’ was too much for Rhoda’s carefully educated +temper. She gave her Marmaduke a glance of undisguised displeasure.</p> + +<p>‘I am not so ancient or infirm as to find my duties irksome,’ +she said severely; ‘I shall certainly bring you your tea.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span></p> + +<p>The Rector had a weakness about pretty girls. There was +no harm in it. He had lived all his life in an atmosphere of +beauty, and no scandal had ever arisen about peeress or peasant. +He happened to possess an artistic appreciation of female loveliness, +and he took no trouble to disguise the fact. Youth and +beauty and freshness were to him as the very wine of life—second +only to actual Cliquot, or Roederer, Clos Vougeot, or +Marcobrünner. His wife was too well acquainted with this +weakness. She had known it years before she had secured +Marmaduke for her own; and she had flattered herself that she +could cure him of this inclination to philander; but so far the +curative process had been a failure.</p> + +<p>But Marmaduke, though inclined to folly, was not rebellious. +He loved a gentle doze in the cool shade of his study, where +there were old-fashioned easy-chairs of a shape more comfortable +than has ever revealed itself to the mind of modern upholsterer. +The brief slumber gave him strength to support the fatigue of +dressing for dinner, for the Reverend Marmaduke was as careful +of the outward man as of the inner, and had never been seen in +slovenly attire, or with unshaven visage.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ferrers sank into her chair with a sigh of relief as the +Rector disappeared through the deep rustic porch. The irreproachable +butler, who had grown gray in Mr. Ferrers’s service, +brought the tea-tray, with its Japanese cups and saucers. Edgar +Turchill subsided upon a low rustic stool at Daphne’s feet, just +where his length of arm would enable him to wait upon the two +ladies. They made a pretty domestic group: the westering sun +shining upon them, the Japanese pug fawning at their feet, +flowers and foliage surrounding them, birds singing, bees humming, +cattle lowing in the neighbouring fields.</p> + +<p>Edgar looked up admiringly at the bright young face above +him: eyes so darkly luminous, a complexion of lilies and roses, +that exquisite creamy whiteness which goes with pale auburn +hair, that lovely varying bloom which seems a beauty of the +mind rather than of the person, so subtly does it indicate every +emotion and follow the phases of thought. Yes; the face was +full of charm, though it was not the face of his dreams—not the +face he had worshipped for years before he presumed to reveal +his love for the owner. If a man cannot win the woman he +loves it were better surely that he should teach himself to love +one who seems more easily attainable. The bright particular +star shines afar off in an inaccessible heaven; but lovely humanity +is here at his side, smiling on him, ready to be wooed +and won.</p> + +<p>Edgar’s reflections did not go quite so far as this, but he felt +that he was spending his afternoon pleasantly, and he looked +forward with complacency to the homeward walk through the +meadows.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.<br> +<span class="fs70">‘HIS HERTE BATHED IN A BATH OF BLISSE.’</span></h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Daphne’s</span> boat came home from the builder’s at the end of +three weeks of longing and expectation, a light wherry-shaped +boat, not the tub-like sea-going dingey, but a neat little craft +which would have done no discredit to a Thames waterman. +Daphne was in raptures; Mr. Turchill was impressed into her +service, in nowise reluctant; and all the mornings of that happy +June were devoted to the art of rowing a pair of sculls on the +rapid Avon. Never had the river been in better condition; +there was plenty of water, but there had been no heavy rains +since April, and the river had not overflowed its natural limits; +the stream ran smoothly between its green and willowy banks, +just such a lenient tide as Horace loved to sing.</p> + +<p>When Daphne took up a new thing it was a passion with +her. She was at the exuberant age when all fresh fancies are +fevers. She had had her fever for water-colours, for battledore +and shuttlecock, for crewel-work. She had risen at daybreak to +pursue each new delight: but this fancy for the boat was the +most intense of all her fevers, for the love of the river was a love +dating from infancy, and she had never been able to gratify it +thoroughly until now. Every evening in the billiard-room she +addressed the same prayer to Edgar Turchill, when she bade him +good-night: ‘Come as early as you can to-morrow morning, +please.’ And to do her pleasure the Squire of Hawksyard rose +at cockcrow and rode six miles in the dewy morning, so as to be +at the boat-house in Sir Vernon’s meadow before Arden church +clock struck seven.</p> + +<p>Let him be there as early as he might Daphne was always +waiting for him, fresh as the morning, in her dark blue linen +gown and sailor hat, the sleeves tucked up to the elbow to give +free play to her supple wrists, her arms lily-white in spite of +wind and weather.</p> + +<p>‘It’s much too good of you,’ said she, in her careless way, not +ungrateful, but with the air of a girl who thinks men were +created to wait upon her. ‘How very early you must have +been up!’</p> + +<p>‘Not so much earlier than you. It is only an hour’s ride +from Hawksyard, even when I take it gently.’</p> + +<p>‘And you have had no breakfast, I daresay.’</p> + +<p>‘I have had nothing since the tumbler of St. Galmier you +poured out for me in the billiard-room last night.’</p> + +<p>‘Poor—dear—soul!’ sighed Daphne, with a pause after each +word. ‘How quite too shocking! We most institute a gipsy +tea-kettle. This kind of thing shall not occur again.’</p> + +<p>She looked at him with her loveliest smile, as much as to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span> +say: ‘I have made you my slave, but I mean your bondage to +be pleasant.’</p> + +<p>When he came to the boat-house next morning he found a +kettle singing gaily on a rakish-looking gipsy-stove, a table laid +for breakfast inside the boat-house, a smoking dish of eggs and +bacon, and the faithful Bink doing butler, rough and rustic, but +devoted.</p> + +<p>‘I wonder whether she has read Don Juan?’ thought Edgar. +The water, the gipsy breakfast, the sweet face smiling at him, +reminded him of an episode in that poem. ‘Were I shipwrecked +to-morrow I would not wish to awaken in a fairer paradise,’ he +said to himself, while Bink adjusted a camp-stool for him, +breathing his hardest all the time. ‘This is a delicious surprise,’ +he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>‘The eggs and bacon?’</p> + +<p>‘No; the privilege of a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tête-à-tête</i> breakfast with you.’</p> + +<p>‘Tête-à-fiddlestick; Bink is my chaperon. If you are impertinent +I will ask Mr. MacCloskie to join us to-morrow morning. +Sugar? Yes, of course, sugar and cream. Aren’t the +eggs and bacon nice? I cooked them. It was Bink’s suggestion. +I was going to confine myself to rolls and strawberry +jam; but the eggs and bacon are more fun, aren’t they? You +should have heard how they frizzled and sputtered in the frying-pan. +I had no idea bacon was so noisy.’</p> + +<p>‘Your first lesson in cookery,’ said Edgar. ‘We shall hear +of you graduating at South Kensington.’</p> + +<p>‘My first lesson, indeed! Why, I fried pancakes over a +spirit-lamp ever so many times at Asnières; and I don’t know +which smelt nastiest, the pancakes or the lamp. Our dormitory +got into awful disgrace about it.’</p> + +<p>She had seated herself on her camp-stool and was drinking +tea, while she watched Edgar eat the eggs and bacon with an +artistic interest in the process.</p> + +<p>‘Is the bacon done?’ she asked. ‘Did I frizzle it long +enough?’</p> + +<p>‘It’s simply delicious; I never ate such a breakfast.’</p> + +<p>It was indeed a meal in fairyland. The soft clear morning +light, the fresh yet balmy atmosphere, the sunlit river and +shadowy boat-house, all things about and around lent their +enchantment to the scene. Edgar forgot that he had ever cared +for anyone in the world except this girl, with the soft gray eyes +and sunny hair, and all too captivating smile. To be with her, +to watch her, to enjoy her girlishness and bright vivacity, to +minister to her amusement and wait upon her fancies—what +better use could a young man, free to take his pleasure where +he liked, find for his life? And far away in the future, in the +remoteness of years to come, Edgar Turchill saw this lovely being, +tamed and sobered and subdued into the pattern of his ideal<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span> +wife, losing no charm that made her girlhood lovely, but gaining +the holier graces of womanhood and wifehood. To-day she +was little more than a child, seeking her pleasure as a child does, +draining the cup of each new joy like a child; and he knew that +he was no more to her than the agreeable companion of her +pleasures. But such an association, such girlish friendship so +freely given, must surely ripen into a warmer feeling. His +pulses could not be so deeply stirred and hers give no responsive +throb. There must be some sympathy, some answering +emotion in a nature so intensely sensitive.</p> + +<p>Cheered by such hopeful reflections, Mr. Turchill ate an +excellent breakfast, while Daphne somewhat timorously tried +an egg, and was agreeably surprised to find it tasted pretty +much the same as if the cook had fried it; a little leathery, +perhaps, but that was a detail.</p> + +<p>‘I feel so relieved,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have been surprised +if I had turned them into chickens. And now, if you +have quite finished we’ll begin our rowing. I have a conviction +that if I don’t learn to feather properly to-day I shall +never accomplish it while I live.’</p> + +<p>The boat was ready for them, moored to a steep flight of +steps which Bink had hewn out of the bank after his working +hours. He had found odd planks in the wood-house, and had +contrived to face the steps with timber in a most respectable +manner, rewarded by Daphne by sweet words and sweeter +looks, and by such a shower of shillings that he had opened a +post-office savings-bank book on the strength of her bounty, and +felt himself on the road to fortune.</p> + +<p>There was the boat in all the smartness of new varnished +wood. Daphne had given up her idea of a Pompeian red dado +to oblige the boat-builder. There were the oars and sculls, +with Daphne’s monogram in dark blue and gold; and there, +glittering in the sunlight, was the name she had chosen for her +craft, in bright golden letters—Nero.</p> + +<p>‘What a queer name to choose!’ said Edgar. ‘He was +such an out-and-out beast, you know.’</p> + +<p>‘Not a bit of it,’ retorted Daphne. ‘I read an article yesterday +in an old volume of Cornhill, in which the writer demonstrates +that he was rather a nice man. He didn’t poison +Britannicus; he didn’t make away with his mamma; he didn’t +set fire to Rome, though he did play the violin beautifully. He +was a very accomplished young man, and the historians of his +time were silly <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">gobe-mouches</i>, who jotted down every ridiculous +scandal that was floating in society. I think that Taci——what’s +his name ought to be ashamed of himself.’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, Nero has been set on his legs, has he?’ said Edgar +carelessly, as he took the rudder lines, while Daphne bent over +her sculls, and began—rather too vehemently—to feather.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span> +‘And I suppose Tiberius was a very meritorious monarch, and +all those scandals about Capri were so many airy fictions? +Well, it doesn’t make much difference to us, does it?—except +that it will go hard with me by-and-by, when my boys come to +learn the history of the future, to have the young scamps tell +me that all I learnt at Rugby was bosh.’</p> + +<p>‘At Rugby!’ cried Daphne, suddenly earnest. ‘You were +at Rugby with my brother, weren’t you? Were you great +friends?’</p> + +<p>Edgar leant over the boat, concerned about some weeds that +were possibly interfering with the rudder.</p> + +<p>‘We didn’t see much of each other. He was ever so much +younger than I, you know.’</p> + +<p>‘Was he nice? Were people fond of him?’</p> + +<p>‘Everybody was dreadfully sorry when he died of scarlet-fever, +poor fellow!’ answered Edgar, without looking at her.</p> + +<p>‘Yes, it was terrible, was it not? I can just remember him. +Such a bright, handsome boy; full of life and spirits. He used +to tease me a good deal, but that is the nature of boys. And +then, when I was at Brighton, there came a letter to say that +he was dead, and I had to wear black frocks for ever so long. +Poor Loftus! How dearly I should have loved him if he had +lived!’</p> + +<p>‘Yes; it would have been nice for you to have a brother, +would it not?’ said Edgar, still with a shade of embarrassment.</p> + +<p>‘Nice! It would have been my salvation, to have someone +of my own kindred, quite my brother. I love Madoline, with +all my heart and soul; but she is only my half-sister. I always +feel that there is a difference between us. She is my superior; +she comes of a better stock. Nobody ever talks of my mother, +or my mother’s family; but Lina’s parentage is in everybody’s +mouth; she seems to be related—at least in heraldry—to everybody +worth knowing in the county. But Loftus would have +been the same clay that I am made of, don’t you know, neither +better nor worse. Blood is thicker than water.’</p> + +<p>‘That’s a morbid feeling of yours, Daphne.’</p> + +<p>‘Is it? I’m afraid I have a few morbid feelings.’</p> + +<p>‘Get rid of them. There never was a better sister than +Madoline is to you.’</p> + +<p>‘I know it. She is perfection; but that only makes her +further away from me. I reverence her, I look up to her and +admire her; but I can never feel on an equality with her.’</p> + +<p>‘That shows your good sense. It is an advantage for you +to have someone to look up to.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes; but I should like someone on my own level as well.’</p> + +<p>‘You’ve got me,’ said Edgar bluntly. ‘Can’t you make a +brother of me for the nonce?’</p> + +<p>‘For ever and always, if you like,’ replied Daphne. ‘I’m<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span> +sure I’ve got the best of the bargain. I don’t believe any +brother would get up at five o’clock to teach me to row.’</p> + +<p>Edgar felt very sure that Loftus would not have done it; +that short-lived youth having been the very essence of selfishness, +and debased by a marked inclination towards juvenile profligacy.</p> + +<p>‘Brothers are not the most self-sacrificing of human beings,’ +he said. ‘I think you’ll find finer instances of devotion in an +Irish or a Scottish foster-brother than in the Saxon blood-relation. +But Madoline is a sister in a thousand. Take care +of that willow,’ as the boat shot under the drooping foliage of +an ancient pollard. ‘How bright and happy she looked last +night!’</p> + +<p>‘Yes; she had just received a long letter from Gerald, and +he talks of coming home sooner than she expected him. He +will give up his fishing in Norway, though I believe he had +engaged an inland sea all to himself, and he will be home before +the end of July. Isn’t it nice? I am dying with curiosity to +see what he is like.’</p> + +<p>‘Didn’t I describe him to you?’</p> + +<p>‘In the vaguest way. You said I was sure to like him. Now +I have an invincible conviction that I shall detest him; just +because it is my duty to feel a sisterly affection for him.’</p> + +<p>‘Take care that you keep within the line of duty, and that +your affection doesn’t go beyond the sisterly limit,’ said Edgar, +with a grim smile. ‘There is no fear of the other thing.’</p> + +<p>‘What a savage look!’ cried Daphne laughingly. ‘How +horridly jealous you must be of him!’</p> + +<p>‘Hasn’t he robbed me of my first love?’ demanded Edgar; +‘and now——’</p> + +<p>‘Don’t be so gloomy. Didn’t you tell me you had got over +your disappointment, and that you meant to be a dear useful +bachelor-uncle to Madoline’s children by-and-by?’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t know about being always a bachelor,’ said Edgar +doubtfully. ‘That would imply that I hadn’t got over my disappointment.’</p> + +<p>‘That is what you said the other day. I am only quoting +yourself against yourself. I like to think of you as a perpetual +bachelor for Lina’s sake. It is a more poetical idea than the +notion of your consoling yourself with somebody else.’</p> + +<p>‘Yet a man does generally console himself. It is in human +nature.’</p> + +<p>‘Don’t say another word,’ cried Daphne. ‘You are positively +hateful this morning—so low and material. I’m afraid it must +be the consequence of eggs and bacon, such a vulgar unæsthetic +breakfast—Bink’s idea. I shall give you bread and butter and +strawberries to-morrow, if MacCloskie will let me have any +strawberries.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span></p> + +<p>‘If you were to talk a little less and row a little more, I think +we should get on faster,’ suggested Edgar, smiling at her.</p> + +<p>They had got into a spot where a little green peninsula jutted +out into the stream, and where the current was almost a whirlpool. +The boat had been travelling in a circle for the last five +minutes, while Daphne plied her sculls, unconscious of the fact. +They were nearing Stratford; the low level meadows lay round +them, the tall spire rose yonder, above the many-arched Gothic +bridge built by good Sir Hugh Clopton before Shakespeare was +born. William Shakespeare must have crossed it many and +many a time, with the light foot of boyhood; a joyous spirit, +finding ineffable delight in simplest things. And, again, after he +had lived his life and had measured himself amidst the greatest +minds of his age, in the greatest city of the world, and had toiled, +and conquered independence and fame, and came back rich +enough to buy the great house hard by the grammar-school, how +often must he have lounged against the gray stone parapet, in +the calm eventide, watching the light linger and fade upon the +reedy river, bats and swallows skimming across the water, the +grand old Gothic church embowered in trees, and the level meadows +beyond!</p> + +<p>They were in the very heart of Shakespeare’s country. +Yonder, far away to their right, lay the meadow-path by which +he walked to Shottery. Memories of him were interwoven with +every feature in the landscape.</p> + +<p>‘My father told me I was not to go beyond our own meadows,’ +said Daphne, ‘but of course he meant when I was alone. +It is quite different when you are with me.’</p> + +<p>‘Naturally. I think I am capable of taking care of you.’</p> + +<p>This kind of thing went on for another week of weather +which at worst was showery. They breakfasted in the boat-house +every morning, Daphne exercising all her ingenuity in the +arrangement of the meal, and making rapid strides in the art of +cookery.</p> + +<p>It must be confessed that Mr. Turchill seemed to enjoy the +breakfasts suggested by the vulgar-minded Bink, rather more +than those which were direct emanations of Daphne’s delicate +fancy. He liked broiled mackerel better than cream and raspberry +jam. He preferred devilled kidneys to honeycomb and +milk-rolls. But whatever Daphne set before him he ate with +thankfulness. It was so sweet to spend his mornings in this +bright joyous company. It was a grand thing to have so intelligent +a pupil, for Daphne was becoming very skilful in the +management of her boat. She was able to navigate her bark +safely through the most difficult bits of the deep swift river. +She could shoot the narrow arches of Stratford bridge in as good +style as a professional waterman.</p> + +<p>But when two young pure-minded people are enjoying themselves<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span> +in this frank, easy-going fashion, there is generally some +one of mature age near at hand to suggest evil, and to put a stop +to their enjoyment. So it was in this case. The Rector’s wife +heard of her niece’s watery meanderings and gipsy breakfasts, +and took upon herself to interfere. Mr. MacCloskie, who had +reluctantly furnished a dish of forced strawberries for the boat-house +breakfast, happened to stroll over to Arden Rectory in the +afternoon with a basket of the same fruit, as an offering from +himself to Mrs. Ferrers—an inevitable half-crown tip to the +head gardener, and dear at the price in the lady’s opinion. Naturally +a man of MacCloskie’s consequence required refreshment +after his walk; so Mrs. Todd entertained him in her snug little +sanctum next the pantry, with a dish of strong tea and a crusty +knob of home-baked bread, lavishly buttered. Whereupon, in +the course of conversation, Mr. MacCloskie let fall that Miss +Daphne was carrying on finely with Mr. Turchill, of Hawksyard, +and that he supposed that would be a match some of these days. +Pressed for details, he described the early breakfasts at the boat-house, +the long mornings spent on the river, the afternoons at +billiards, the tea-drinkings in the conservatory. All this Todd, +who was an irrepressible gossip, retailed to her mistress next +morning, when the bill of fare had been written, and the campaign +of gluttony for the next twenty-four hours had been carefully +mapped out.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ferrers heard with the air of profound indifference +which she always assumed on such occasions.</p> + +<p>‘MacCloskie is an incorrigible gossip,’ she said, ‘and you are +almost as bad.’</p> + +<p>But, directly she had dismissed Todd, the fair Rhoda went +up to her dressing-room and arrayed herself for a rural walk. +Life in a pastoral district, with a husband of few ideas, will now +and then wax monotonous, and Rhoda was glad to have some +little mental excitement—something which made it necessary for +her to bestir herself, and which enabled her to be useful, after her +manner, to her kith and kin.</p> + +<p>‘I shall not speak to her father, yet,’ she said to herself. ‘He +has strict ideas of propriety, and might be too severe. Madoline +must remonstrate with her.’</p> + +<p>She walked across the smiling fields, light of foot, buoyed up +by the pleasing idea that she was performing a Christian duty, +that her errand was in all things befitting her double position as +near relation and pastor’s wife. She felt that if Fate had made +her a man she would have been an excellent bishop. All the +sterner duties of that high calling—visitations, remonstrances, +suspensions—would have come easy to her.</p> + +<p>She found Madoline in the morning-room, the French windows +wide open, the balcony full of flowers, the tables and +mantelpiece and cabinets all abloom with roses.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span></p> + +<p>‘Sorry to interrupt your morning practice, dearest,’ said Mrs. +Ferrers as Madoline rose from the piano. ‘You play those sweet +classic bits so deliciously. Mendelssohn, is it not?’</p> + +<p>‘No; Raff. How early you are, Aunt Rhoda!’</p> + +<p>‘I have something very particular to say to you, Lina, so I +came directly I had done with Todd.’</p> + +<p>This kind of address from a woman of Rhoda’s type generally +forbodes unpleasantness. Madoline looked alarmed.</p> + +<p>‘There’s nothing wrong, I hope,’ she faltered.</p> + +<p>‘Not absolutely—not intentionally wrong, I trust,’ said Mrs. +Ferrers. ‘But it must be put a stop to immediately.’</p> + +<p>Madoline turned pale. In the days that were gone Aunt +Rhoda had always been a dreadful nuisance to the servants. +She had been perpetually making unpleasant discoveries—peculations, +dissipations, and carryings-on of divers kinds. Not +unfrequently she had stumbled upon mares’-nests, and after +making everybody uncomfortable for a week or two, had been +constrained to confess herself mistaken. Her rule at South Hill +had not been peace. And now Lina feared that, even outside +the house, Aunt Rhoda had contrived to make one of her terrible +discoveries. Someone had been giving away the milk or +selling the corn, or stealing garden-stuff.</p> + +<p>‘What is it, Aunt Rhoda?’</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ferrers did not give a direct answer. Her cold gray +eyes made the circuit of the room, and then she asked:</p> + +<p>‘Where is Daphne?’</p> + +<p>‘In her own room—lying down, I think, tired out with +rowing.’</p> + +<p>‘And where is Mr. Turchill?’</p> + +<p>‘Gone home. He had some important business, I believe—a +horse to look at.’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, he does go home sometimes?’</p> + +<p>‘How curiously you talk, Aunt Rhoda. Is there any harm +in his coming here as often as he likes? He is our oldest friend. +Papa treats him like a son.’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, no harm, of course, if Vernon is satisfied. But I +don’t wonder Daphne is tired, and is lying down at mid-day—a +horribly lazy, unladylike habit, by the way. Are you aware +that she is down at the boat-house before seven every morning?’</p> + +<p>‘Certainly, aunt. It is much nicer for her to row at that +early hour than later in the day. Edgar is teaching her; she is +quite safe in his care.’</p> + +<p>‘And do you know that there is a gipsy breakfast every +morning in the boat-house?’</p> + +<p>‘I have heard something about a tea-kettle, and ham and +eggs. Daphne has an idea that she is learning to cook.’</p> + +<p>‘And do you approve of all this?’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span></p> + +<p>Madoline smiled at the question. ‘I like her to be happy. +I think she wastes a good deal of time; that she is doing nothing +to carry on her education; but idleness is only natural in +a girl of her age, and she has been at home such a short time, +and she is so fond of the river.’</p> + +<p>‘Has it never occurred to you, Madoline, that there is some +impropriety in these <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tête-à-tête</i> mornings with Edgar Turchill?’</p> + +<p>‘Impropriety! Impropriety in Daphne being on friendly +terms with Edgar—Edgar, who has been brought up with us +almost as a brother!’</p> + +<p>‘With you, perhaps; not with Daphne. She has spent most +of her life away from South Hill. She is little more than a +stranger to Mr. Turchill.’</p> + +<p>‘She would be very much surprised if you were to tell her +so, and so would Edgar. Why, he used always to make himself +her playfellow in her holidays, before she went to Madame +Tolmache.’</p> + +<p>‘That was all very well while she was in short frocks. But +she is now a woman, and people will talk about her.’</p> + +<p>‘About Daphne, my innocent childlike sister, little more +than a child in years, quite a child in gaiety and light-heartedness! +How can such an idea enter your head, Aunt Rhoda? +Surely the most hardened scandalmonger could not find anything +to say against Daphne.’</p> + +<p>‘My dear Madoline,’ began Mrs. Ferrers severely, ‘you are +usually so sensible in all you do and say that I really wonder +at the way you are talking this morning. There are certain +rules of conduct, established time out of mind, for well-bred +young women; and Daphne can no more violate those rules +with impunity than anybody else can. It is not because she +wears her hair down her back and her petticoats immodestly +scanty that she is to go scot-free,’ added Aunt Rhoda in a little +involuntary burst of malevolence.</p> + +<p>She had not been fond of Daphne as a child; she liked her +much less as a young woman. To a well-preserved woman of +forty, who still affects to be young, there is apt to be something +aggravating in the wild freshness and unconscious insolence of +lovely seventeen.</p> + +<p>‘Aunt Rhoda, I think you forget that Daphne is my sister—my +very dear sister.’</p> + +<p>‘Your half-sister, Madoline. I forget nothing. It is you +who forget that there are reasons in Daphne’s antecedents why +we should be most especially careful about her.’</p> + +<p>‘It is unkind of you to speak of that, aunt,’ protested +Madoline, blushing. ‘As to Edgar Turchill, he is my father’s +favourite companion; he is devoted to all of us. There can +be no possible harm in his being a kind of adopted brother to +Daphne.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span></p> + +<p>‘He was an adopted brother to you three years ago, and we +all know what came of it.’</p> + +<p>‘Pshaw! That was a foolish fancy, and is all over and +done with.’</p> + +<p>‘The same thing may happen in Daphne’s case.’</p> + +<p>‘If it should, would you be sorry? I am sure I should not. +I know my father would approve.’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, if Vernon is satisfied with the state of affairs, I can +have nothing further to say,’ replied Mrs. Ferrers with dignity; +‘but if Daphne were my daughter—and Heaven forbid I should +ever have such a responsibility as an overgrown girl of that +temperament!—I would allow no boat-house breakfastings, no +meanderings on the Avon. However, it is no business of mine,’ +concluded Mrs. Ferrers with an injured air, having said all she +had to say. ‘How is your water-lily counterpane getting on?’</p> + +<p>‘Nearly finished,’ answered Madoline, delighted to change +the conversation. ‘It will be ready for papa’s birthday.’</p> + +<p>‘How is my brother, by-the-by?’</p> + +<p>‘He has been complaining of rheumatic pains. I’m afraid +we shall have to spend next winter abroad.’</p> + +<p>‘What nonsense, Lina! It is mere hypochondria on Vernon’s +part. He was always full of fancies. He is as well as +I am.’</p> + +<p>‘He does not think so himself, aunt; and he ought to know +best.’</p> + +<p>‘I am not sure of that. A hypochondriac may fancy he +has hydrophobia, but he is not obliged to be right. You foster +Vernon’s imaginary complaints by pretending to believe in +them.’</p> + +<p>Lina did not argue the point, perceiving very plainly that +her aunt was out of temper. Nor did she press that lady to +stay to luncheon, nor offer any polite impediment to her departure. +But the interference of starched propriety had the usual +effect. Lightly as Madoline had seemed to hold her aunt’s +advice, she was too thorough a woman not to act upon it. She +went up to Daphne’s room directly Mrs. Ferrers left the house. +She stole softly in, so as not to disturb the girl’s slumber, and +seated herself by the open window calmly to await her waking. +Daphne’s room was one of the prettiest in the house. It had +a wide window, overlooking the pastoral valley and winding +Avon. It was neatly furnished with birchwood, and turquoise +cretonne, and white and gold crockery, but it was sorely out +of order. Daphne’s gowns of yesterday and the day before +were flung on the sofa. Daphne’s hats of all the week round +were strewed on tables and chairs. Her sunshade lay across +the dressing-table among the brushes, and scent bottles, and +flower-glasses, and pincushions, and trumpery. She had no +maid of her own, and her sister’s maid, in whose articles of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span> +service it was to attend upon her, had renounced that duty as +a task impossible of performance. No well-drilled maid could +have anything to do—except when positively obliged—with +such an untidy and unpunctual young lady. A young lady +who would appoint to have her hair dressed and her gown +laced at seven, and come running into the house breathless +and panting at twenty minutes to eight; a young lady who +made hay of her cuffs and collars whenever she was in a hurry, +and whose drawer of ribbons was always being upheaved as if +by an earthquake. Daphne, being remonstrated with and +complained of, protested that she would infinitely rather wait +upon herself than be worried.</p> + +<p>‘You are all goodness, Lina dear, but half a maid is no +maid. I would rather do without one altogether,’ she said.</p> + +<p>The room was not absolutely ugly, even in its disorder. +All the things that were scattered about were pretty things. +There were a good many ornaments, such as are apt to be +accumulated by young ladies with plenty of pocket-money, +and very little common sense. Mock Venetian-glass flower-vases +of every shape and colour; Japanese cups and saucers, +and fans and screens; Swiss brackets; willow-pattern plates; +a jumble of everything trumpery and fashionable; flowers +everywhere, and the atmosphere sickly sweet with the odour +of tuberose.</p> + +<p>Daphne stirred in her sleep, faintly conscious of a new +presence in the room, sighed, turned on her pillow, and presently +sat up, flushed and towzled, in her indigo gown, just as +she had come in from her boating excursion.</p> + +<p>‘Have you had a nice nap, dear?’</p> + +<p>‘Lovely. I was awfully tired. We rowed to Stratford +Weir.’</p> + +<p>‘And you are quite able to row now?’</p> + +<p>‘Edgar says I scull as well as he does.’</p> + +<p>‘Then, dearest, I think you ought to dispense with Edgar in +future and keep to our own meadows, as papa said he wished +you to do.’</p> + +<p>‘Oh!’ said Daphne. ‘Is that a message from my father?’</p> + +<p>‘No, dear. But I am sure it will be better for you to consider +his wishes upon this point. He is very particular about +being obeyed.’</p> + +<p>‘Oh! very well, Lina. Of course if you wish it I will tell +Edgar the course of lessons is concluded. He has been awfully +good. It will be rather slow without him. But I was beginning +to find the breakfasts a weight on my mind. It was so +difficult to maintain variety—and Bink has such low ideas. +Do you know that he actually suggested sausages—pork-sausages +in June! And I could not make him comprehend the +nauseousness of the notion.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span></p> + +<p>‘Then it is understood, darling, that you row by yourself in +future. I know my father would prefer it.’</p> + +<p>‘You prefer it, Lina; that is enough for me,’ answered +Daphne in her coaxing way. ‘But I think I ought to give +Edgar some little present for all his goodness to me. A smoking-cap, +or a cigar-case, or an antimacassar for his mother. I +could work it in crewels, don’t you know.’</p> + +<p>‘You never finish anything, Daphne.’</p> + +<p>‘Because the beginning is always so much nicer. But if I +should break down in this, you would finish it, wouldn’t you, +Lina?’</p> + +<p>‘With pleasure, my pet.’</p> + +<p>Edgar was told that evening that his services as a teacher of +rowing would no longer be required. And though the fact was +imparted to him with infinite sweetness, he felt as if half the +sunshine was taken out of his life.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.<br> +<span class="fs70">‘GOD WOTE THAT WORLDLY JOY IS SONE AGO.’</span></h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Perfect</span> mistress of her boat, Daphne revelled in the lonely +delight of the river. She felt no grief at the loss of Mr. Turchill’s +company. He had been very kind to her, he had been +altogether devoted and unselfish, and the gipsy breakfasts in +the old boat-house had been capital fun. But these delights +would have palled in time; while the languid pleasure of drifting +quietly down the stream, thinking her own thoughts, dreaming +her own dreams, could never know satiety. She was so full +of thoughts, sweet thoughts, vague fancies, visions of an impossible +future, dreams which made up half her life. What did it +matter that this airy fantastic castle she had built for herself +was no earthly edifice, that she could never live in it, or be any +nearer it than she was to-day? To her the thing existed, were +it only in dreamland; it was a part of herself and of her life, +it was of more consequence to her than the commonplace routine +of daily existence—the dressing, and dining, and driving, +and visiting.</p> + +<p>Had her life been more varied, full of duty, or even diversified +by the frivolous activity of pleasure, she could not have +thus given herself up to dreaming. But she had few pleasures +and no duties. Madoline held her absolved from every care +and every trouble on the ground of her youth. She did not like +parish work of any kind; she hated the idea of visiting the poor; +so Madoline held her excused from that duty, as from all others. +Her mind would awaken to the serious side of life when she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span> +was older, her sister thought. She seemed now to belong to +the flowers and butterflies, and the fair ephemeral things of the +garden.</p> + +<p>Thus Daphne, ignored by her father, indulged by her sister, +enjoyed a freedom which is rarely accorded to a girl of seventeen. +Her Aunt Rhoda looked on and disapproved, and hoped +piously that she would come to no harm, and was surprised at +Lina’s weakness, and thought Daphne’s bright little boat a blot +upon the landscape when it came gliding down the river below +the Rectory windows. The parson’s rich glebe was conterminous +with Sir Vernon Lawford’s property, and Daphne hardly +knew where her father’s fields ended or where the church fields +began.</p> + +<p>Edgar Turchill, degraded from his post of instructor, still +contrived to spend a considerable portion of his life at South +Hill. If he was not there for lawn-tennis in the afternoon, with +the Rector’s wife for a fourth, he was there in the evening for +billiards. He fetched and carried for Madoline, rode over to +Warwick to get her a new book, or to Leamington to match a +skein of crewel. There was no commission too petty for him, +no office too trivial or lowly, so that he might be permitted to +spend his time with the sisters.</p> + +<p>Daphne thought this devotedness a bad sign, and began to +fear that the canker was at his heart, and that he would die for +love of Madoline when the fortunate Gerald came home to claim +her.</p> + +<p>‘You poor creature,’ she said to him one day, ‘you foolish +moth, why flutter round the flame that must destroy you? I +declare you are getting worse every day.’</p> + +<p>‘You are wrong,’ said Edgar; ‘I believe I am getting cured.’</p> + +<p>What did Daphne dream about in those languid summer +mornings, as her boat moved slowly down the stream in the +cool shadow of the willows, with only a gentle dip of the sculls +now and then to keep her straight? Her thoughts were all of the +past, her fancies were all of the future. Her thoughts were of +the nameless stranger who went across the Jura last year—one +little year ago—almost at this season. Her dreams were of meeting +him again. Yet the chances against such a meeting reduced +it almost to an impossibility.</p> + +<p>‘The world is so horribly large,’ she reflected sadly, ‘and I +told him such atrocious stories. It will be a just punishment if +I never see him any more. Yet how am I to live through +my life without ever looking on his face again!’</p> + +<p>It had gone so far as this: it seemed to her almost an absolute +need of her soul that they two should meet, and know more +of each other.</p> + +<p>The ardent sensive nature had been thus deeply impressed +by the first bright and picturesque image presented to the girlish<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span> +fancy. It was something more than love at first sight. It was +the awakening of a fresh young mind to the passion of love. She +had changed from a child to a woman, in the hour when she +met the unknown in the forest.</p> + +<p>‘Who is he, what is he? where shall I find him?’ she asked +herself. ‘He is the only man I can ever love. He is the only +man I will ever marry. All other men are low and commonplace +beside him.’</p> + +<p>The river was the confidant and companion of all her dreams—the +sweet lonely river, flowing serenely between green pastures, +where the cattle stood in tranquil idleness, pastern deep in +purple clover. She had no other ear into which to whisper her +secret. She had tried, ever so many times, to tell Madoline, and +had failed. Lina was so sensible, and would be deeply shocked +at such folly. How could she tell Lina—whose wooing had been +conducted in the most conventionally correct manner, with +everybody’s consent and approval—that she had flung her heart +under the feet of a nameless stranger, of whom the only one fact +she knew was that he was engaged to be married?</p> + +<p>So she kept this one foolish secret locked in her own breast. +The passion was not deep enough to make her miserable, or to +spoil the unsophisticated joys of her life. Perhaps it was rather +fancy than passion. It was fed and fostered by all her dreams. +But her life was in no wise unhappy because this love lacked +more substantial food than dreaming. God had given her that +intense delight in Nature, that love of His beautiful earth, for +which Faustus thanked his creator. Field, streamlet, wood, and +garden, were sources of inexhaustible pleasure. She loved animals +of all kinds. The gray Jersey cows in the marshy water-meadows; +the house dogs, and yard dogs, and stable terriers—supposed +to be tremendous at rats, yet never causing any perceptible +diminution of that prolific race; the big white horses +at the farm, with their coarse plebeian tails tied up into tight +knots, their manes elaborately plaited, and their harness bedizened +with much brazen ornamentation; Madoline’s exquisite +pair of dark chestnuts, thoroughbred to the tips of their delicate +ears; Sir Vernon’s massive roadster; Boiler and Crock, the old +carriage-horses—Daphne had an affection for them all. They +were living things, with soft friendly eyes, more unvaryingly +kind than human eyes, and they all seemed to love her. She +was more at her ease with them than in the dimly-lighted, +flower-scented drawing-room, where Sir Vernon always seemed +to look at her as if he wished her away, and where her aunt +worried her about her want of deportment.</p> + +<p>With Lina she was always happy. Lina’s love and gentleness +never varied.</p> + +<p>Daphne came home after a morning wasted on the river, to +sit at her sister’s feet while she worked, or to lie on the sofa<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span> +while Lina read to her, glad to get in the thin edge of the educational +wedge in the form of an interesting article from one of +the Quarterlies, or a few pages of good poetry. Daphne was a +fervent lover of verse, so that it came within the limits of her +comprehension. Her tastes were catholic; she worshipped Shakespeare; +she adored Byron and Shelley and Tennyson, Mrs. +Browning, and the simpler poems of Robert Browning; and she +had heard vaguely of verses written by a poet called Swinburne; +but this was all she had been permitted to learn of the latest +development of the lyric muse. Byron and Tennyson, it is needless +to say, were her especial favourites.</p> + +<p>‘One makes me feel wicked, and the other makes me feel +good; but I adore them both,’ she said.</p> + +<p>‘I don’t see what you can find in Childe Harold to make you +wicked,’ argued Madoline, who had the old-fashioned idea, hereditary +of course, that Byron was the poet of the century.</p> + +<p>‘Oh, I can hardly tell you; but there is a something, a sense +of shortcoming in the world generally, an idea that life is not +worth living, that amidst all that is most beautiful and sacred +and solemn and interesting upon earth, one might just as well +be dead; one would be better off than walking about a world in +which virtue was never rightly rewarded, truth and honour and +courage or lofty thoughts never fairly understood—where everything +is at sixes and sevens, in short. I know I express myself +horribly, but the feeling is difficult to explain.’</p> + +<p>‘I think what you mean is that Byron, even at his loftiest +and best, wrote like a misanthrope.’</p> + +<p>‘I suppose that’s it. Now, Tennyson, though his poetry +never lifts me to the skies, makes me feel that earth is a good +place and heaven better; that high thoughts and noble deeds +bear their fruit somehow, and somewhere; that it is better to +suffer a good deal, and sacrifice one’s dearest desires in the cause +of duty and right, than to snatch some brief joys out of life, and +perish like the insects that are born and die in a day.’</p> + +<p>‘I am so glad you can enjoy good poetry, dear,’ said Madoline, +delighted at any surcease of frivolity in her young sister.</p> + +<p>‘Enjoy it! I revel in it; it is my delight. Pray don’t suppose +that I dislike books, Lina. Only keep away from me grammars, +and geographies, and biographies of learned men, and +voyages to the North Pole—there is a South Pole, too, isn’t +there, dear? though nobody even seems to worry about it—and +you may read me as many books as you like.’</p> + +<p>‘How condescending of you, little one!’ said Madoline, smiling +at the bright young face looking up from the sofa-pillow, on +which Daphne’s golden head reclined in luxurious restfulness. +‘Well, I will read to you with pleasure. It will be my delight +to help to carry on your education; for though girls learn an +immense number of things at school they don’t seem to know<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span> +much when they come away. We will read together for a couple +of hours a day if you like, dear.’</p> + +<p>‘Till Gerald comes home,’ retorted Daphne; ‘he will not let +you give me two hours of your life every day. He will want +you all to himself.’</p> + +<p>‘He can join our studies; he is a great reader.’</p> + +<p>‘Expose my ignorance to a future brother-in-law? Not for +worlds!’ cried Daphne. ‘Let us talk about him, Lina. Aren’t +you delighted to think he is coming home?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes; I am very glad.’</p> + +<p>‘How do my father and Gerald get on together?’</p> + +<p>‘Not too well, I am sorry to say. Papa is fonder of Edgar +than of Gerald, you know how prejudiced he is about race and +high birth. I don’t think he has ever quite forgiven Gerald his +father’s trade.’</p> + +<p>‘But there is Lady Geraldine to fall back upon. Surely she +makes amends.’</p> + +<p>‘Hardly, according to papa’s ideas. You see the Earldom of +Heronville is only a creation of Charles the Second’s reign, and +his peerages are not always respectable. I believe there were +scandals about the first countess. Her portrait by Sir Peter +Lely hangs in the refectory at Goring Abbey. She was a very +lovely woman, and Lady Geraldine was rather proud of being +thought like her.’</p> + +<p>‘Although she was not respectable,’ said Daphne. ‘And +was there really a likeness?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes; and a marked one. I can see it even in Gerald, who +is the image of his mother—the same dreamy eyes, the same +thoughtful mouth. But you will be able to judge for yourself +when Gerald comes home, for I have no doubt we shall be going +over to the Abbey.’</p> + +<p>‘The Abbey! It is a very old place, I suppose?’</p> + +<p>‘No; it was built by Mr. Goring.’</p> + +<p>‘Why Abbey? Surely that means an old place that was +once inhabited by monks.’</p> + +<p>‘It was Mr. Goring’s fancy. He insisted upon calling his +house an abbey. It was foolish, of course; but, though he was +a very good man, I believe he had a slight leaven of obstinacy +in his disposition, and when once he had made up his mind +about anything he was not to be turned from his purpose.’</p> + +<p>‘Perverse old creature! And is the Abbey nice?’</p> + +<p>‘It is as grand and as beautiful a place as money could make +it. There are cloisters copied from those at Muckross, and the +dining-room has a Gothic roof, and is called a refectory. The +situation is positively lovely: a richly timbered valley, sheltered +by green hills.’</p> + +<p>‘And you are to be mistress of this magnificent place. Oh, +Lina, what shall I do when you are married, and I am left<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span> +alone here <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tête-à-tête</i> with papa? How shall I support my +life?’</p> + +<p>‘Dearest, by that time you will have learned to understand +your father, and you will be quite at your ease with him.’</p> + +<p>‘I think not. I am afraid he is one of those mysteries +which I shall never fathom.’</p> + +<p>‘My love, that is such a foolish notion. Besides, in a year +or two my Daphne may have a husband and a house of her own—perhaps +a more interesting place then Goring Abbey,’ added +Lina, thinking of Hawksyard, which seemed to her Daphne’s +natural destination.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>June ripened, and bloomed, and grew daily more beautiful. +It was peerless weather, with just such blue skies and sunny +noontides as there had been at Fontainebleau last year, but +without the baking heat and the breathless atmosphere. Here +there were cool winds to lift the rippling hair from Daphne’s +brow, and cool grass under her feet. She revelled in the summer +beauty of the earth; she spent almost all her life out of +doors, on the river, in the woods, in the garden. If she studied, +it was under the spreading boughs of the low Spanish chestnut +which made a tent of greenery on the lawn. Sometimes she +carried her drawing-book to some point of vantage on a neighbouring +hill, and sketched the outline of a wide range of +landscape, and washed in a sky, and began a tree in the foreground, +and left off in disgust. She never finished anything. +Her portfolio was full of beginnings, not altogether devoid of +talent: mouse-coloured cows, deep-red oxen, every kind of tree +and rock and old English cottage, or rick-yard, or gray stone +village church; but nothing finished—the stamp of an impetuous, +impatient temper upon all.</p> + +<p>There had been no definite announcement as to Gerald’s +return. He was in Sweden, seeing wonderful falls and grottoes, +which he described in his letters to Madoline, and he was +coming back soon, perhaps before the end of July. He had +told the Abbey servants to be prepared for him at any time. +This indefiniteness kept Madoline’s mind in a somewhat perturbed +state; yet she had to be outwardly calm, and full of +thoughtfulness for her father, who required constant attention. +His love for his elder daughter was the one redeeming grace +of a selfish nature. It was a selfish love, for he would have +willingly let her waste her life in maiden solitude for the sake +of keeping her by his side; but it was love, and this was something +in a man of so stern and unyielding a temper.</p> + +<p>He liked her to be always near him, always within call, his +companion abroad, his counsellor at home. He consulted her +about all the details of his estate and her own, rarely wrote a +business letter without reading it to her. She was wanted in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span> +his study continually. When he was tired after a morning’s +business, she read the newspapers to him, or a heavy political +article in Blackwood or one of the Quarterlies, were he inclined +to hear it. She never shirked a duty, or considered her own +pleasure. She had educated herself to be her father’s companion, +and counted it a privilege to minister to him.</p> + +<p>‘Faultless daughter, perfect wife,’ said Sir Vernon, clasping +her hand as she sat beside his sofa; ‘Goring is a lucky fellow +to get such a prize.’</p> + +<p>‘Why should he not have a good wife, dear father? He is +good himself. Remember what a good son he was.’</p> + +<p>‘To his mother, admirable. I doubt if he and old Goring +hit it quite so well. I wish he came of a better stock.’</p> + +<p>‘That is a prejudice of yours, father.’</p> + +<p>‘It is a prejudice that I have rarely seen belied by experience. +I wish you had chosen Edgar. There is a fine fellow +for you, a lineal descendant of that Turchill who was sheriff +of Warwickshire in the reign of the Confessor. Shakespeare’s +mother could trace her descent from the same stock. So you see +that Edgar can claim alliance with the greatest poet of all time.’</p> + +<p>‘I should never have thought it,’ said Madoline laughingly; +‘his lineage doesn’t show itself in his conversation. I like him +very much, you know, papa; indeed, I may say I love him, but +it is in a thoroughly sisterly fashion. By-the-by, papa, don’t +you think he might make an excellent husband for Daphne?’ +she faltered, with downcast eyes, as she went on with her +crewel-work.</p> + +<p>‘She would be an uncommonly fortunate girl if she got +him,’ retorted Sir Vernon, with a clouding countenance; ‘he is +too good for her.’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, father! can you speak like that of your own daughter?’ +remonstrated Lina.</p> + +<p>‘Is a man to shut his eyes to a girl’s character because she +happens to bear his name?’ asked Sir Vernon impatiently. +‘Daphne is a lump of self-indulgent frivolity.’</p> + +<p>‘Indeed you are mistaken,’ cried Lina; ‘she is very sweet-tempered +and loving.’</p> + +<p>‘Sweet-tempered! Yes; I know the kind of thing. Winning +words, pretty looks, trivial fascinations; a creature whose +movements you watch—fascinated by her variety—as you +watch a bird in a cage. Graceful, beautiful, false, worthless! +I have some experience of the type.’</p> + +<p>‘Father, this is the most cruel prejudice. What can Daphne +have ever done to offend you?’</p> + +<p>‘Done! Is she not her mother’s daughter? Don’t argue +with me about her, Lina. She is here beside my hearth, and I +must make the best of her. God grant she may come to no +harm; but I am full of fear when I think of her future.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span></p> + +<p>‘Then you would be glad if Edgar were to propose for her, +and she were to accept him?’</p> + +<p>‘Certainly. It would be the very best thing that could +happen to her. I should only feel sorry for him. But I don’t +think a man who once loved you would ever content himself +with Daphne.’</p> + +<p>‘He is very attentive to her.’</p> + +<p>‘<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Che sara, sara!</i>’ murmured Sir Vernon languidly.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>It was Midsummer-day—the hottest, brightest day there had +been yet, and Daphne had given herself up to unmixed enjoyment +of the warmth and light and cloudless blue sky. Sir +Vernon and Madoline had a luncheon engagement at a house +beyond Stoneleigh, a drive of eleven miles each way, so dinner +had been postponed from eight to half-past, and Daphne had +the livelong day to herself; free to follow her own devices, free +even from the company of her devoted slave Edgar, who would +have hung upon her like a burr had he been at home, but who +was spending a few days in London with his mother, escorting +that somewhat homely matron to picture-galleries, garden-parties, +and theatres, and trying to rub off a year’s rural rust by +a week’s metropolitan friction.</p> + +<p>Edgar was away; the light park-phaeton with the chestnuts +had driven off at half-past eleven, Madoline looking lovely in a +Madras muslin gown and a bonnet made of roses, her father content +to loll in the low seat by her side while she managed the +somewhat vivacious cobs. Daphne watched the carriage till it +vanished at a curve of the narrow wooded drive, and then ran +back to the house to plan her own campaign.</p> + +<p>‘I will have a picnic,’ she said to herself, ‘a solitary, selfish, +Robinson Crusoe-like picnic. I will have nobody but Tennyson +and Lina’s collie to keep me company. Goldie and I will go +trespassing, and find a sly secret corner in Charlecote Park where +we can eat our luncheon. I believe it is against the law to stray +from the miserable footpath; but who cares for law on Midsummer-day? +I shall feel myself almost as brave as Shakespeare +when he went poaching; and thank goodness there is no Justice +Shallow to call me to order.’</p> + +<p>She ran to her own room for a basket, a picturesque beehive +basket, the very one she had carried—and he had carried—at +Fontainebleau. What a foolish impulse it must have been which +made her touch the senseless straw with her lips, remembering +whose hand had held it! Then to the housekeeper’s room to +forage for provisions. The wing of a chicken: a thick wedge +of pound-cake; a punnet of strawberries; a bottle of lemonade; +a couple of milk-rolls. Mrs. Spicer would have packed these +things neatly in white paper, but Daphne bundled them into the +basket anyhow.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span></p> + +<p>‘Don’t trouble, you dear good soul; they are only for Goldie +and me,’ she said.</p> + +<p>‘You may just as well have things nice, miss. There, you’d +have forgot the salt if I wasn’t here. And if you’re going to +take that there obstreperous collie you’ll want something more +substantial.’</p> + +<p>‘Give me a slice of beef for him then, and a couple more of +your delicious rolls,’ asked Daphne coaxingly. ‘My Goldie +mustn’t be starved. And be quick, like a love, for I’m in an +awful hurry.’</p> + +<p>‘Lor, miss, when you’ve got all the day before you! You’ll +be fearful lonesome.’</p> + +<p>‘What, with Goldie and the “Idylls of the King!”’ exclaimed +Daphne, glancing downwards at her little green cloth +volume.</p> + +<p>‘Ah, well; I know when young ladies have got a nice novel +to read they never feel lonesome,’ said Mrs. Spicer, filling every +available corner of the basket, with which Daphne stepped off +gaily to summon Goldie.</p> + +<p>Goldie was a bright yellow collie, intensely vivacious, sharp-nosed, +brown-eyed; a dog that knew not what it was to be quiet; +a dog you might lose at the other end of the county, confident +that he would scamper home across wood and hill and valley as +straight as the crow’s flight. He spent half his life tied up in +the stable-yard, and the other half rushing about the country +with Daphne. He travelled an incalculable number of miles in +the course of an ordinary walk, and was given to racing cattle. +He worshipped Daphne, and held her in some awe on this cattle +question; would leap into the air with mad delight when she +was kind to him, or grovel at her feet when she was angry.</p> + +<p>‘Now, Goldie dear, if you and I are to lunch in Charlecote +Park, I must take a strap for you,’ said Daphne, as they started +from the stable-yard, Goldie proclaiming his rapture by clamorous +barking. ‘It will never do for you to go racing the Lucy +deer, or even the Lucy oxen. We should get into worse trouble +than Shakespeare did, for Shakespeare had not such a frigid +father as mine. I daresay old John, the glover, was an easy-going +indulgent soul whom his son could treat anyhow.’</p> + +<p>It was only a walk of two miles across the fields to Charlecote; +two miles by meadows that are as lovely and as richly +timbered as they could have been in Shakespeare’s time. High +farming is not yet the rule in Warwickshire. Hedges grow high +and wild; broad oaks spread their kingly branches above the +rich rank grass; dock and mallow, foxglove, fern, and dog-rose +thrive and bloom beside every ditch; and many a fair stretch of +grass by the roadside—a no man’s land of pleasant pasture—offers +space for the hawker’s van, or the children’s noonday +sports, or the repose of the tired tramp, lying face downwards in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span> +a rapture of rest, while the skylark trills in the distant blue +above him, and the rustle of summer leaves soothes his +slumber.</p> + +<p>It is a lovely country, lovely in its simple, pastoral, English +beauty, calm and fitting cradle for a great mind.</p> + +<p>After the fields came a lane, a green arcade with a leafy roof, +through which the sun-rays crept in quivering lines of light, and +then the gate that opened on the footpath across Charlecote +Park. Yonder showed the gray walls of the house, venerable on +one side, modern on the other, and the stone single-arched +bridge, and the lake, narrowing to a dull sluggish-looking stream +that seemed to flow nowhere in particular. The tallest and +stoutest of the elms looked too young for Shakespeare’s time. +But here and there appeared the ruin of a tree, hollow of trunk, +gaunt of limb, whose green branches may once have sheltered the +deer he stole.</p> + +<p>The place was very lonely. There was nobody to interfere +with Daphne’s pleasure, or even to object to the collie, who crept +meekly to her side, held by a strap, and casting longing looks at +the distant oxen. She wandered about in the loneliest bits of +the park, supremely indifferent to rules and regulations as to +where she might go and where she might not; till she finally +deposited her basket and sunshade under a stalwart oak, and sat +down at the foot thereof, with Goldie still strapped, and constrained +to virtue. She fastened one end of the strap to the +lowest branch of the tree, Goldie standing on end licking her +hands all the time.</p> + +<p>‘Now, dear, you are as comfortable as in your own stable-yard. +You can admire the cows and sheep in the distance, standing +about so peacefully in the sunshine, as if they had never +heard of sunstroke, but you can’t hunt them. And now you +shall have your dinner.’</p> + +<p>It was a very quiet picnic, perhaps even a trifle dull; though, +at the worst, it might be better to picnic alone among the four-footed +beasts in Charlecote Park, than to assume a forced gaiety +in a party of stupid people, at the conventional banquet of doubtful +lobster and tepid champagne, in one of the time-honoured +haunts of the cockney picknicker. Daphne thought of Midsummer-day +in the year that was gone, as she sat eating her +chicken and sipping her lemonade, half of which had been lost in +the process of uncorking. How gay she had been, how foolishly, +unreasonably glad! And now a great deal of the flavour had +gone out of life since her seventeenth birthday.</p> + +<p>‘How happy Lina looks, now that the time for her lover’s +return draws near!’ she thought. ‘She has something to look +forward to, some reason for counting the days; while to me +time is all alike, one week just the same as another. I am a +horribly selfish creature. I ought to feel glad of her gladness<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span> +I ought to rejoice in her joy. But Nature made me out of poor +stuff, didn’t she, Goldie dear?’</p> + +<p>She laid her bright head on the collie’s tawny coat. The +pale gold of her soft flowing hair contrasted and yet harmonised +with the ruddy hue of the dog, and made a picture fair to look +upon. But there was no one wandering in Charlecote Park to +paint Daphne’s portrait. She was very lucky in not being discovered +by a party of eager Americans, spectacled, waterproofed, +hyper-intelligent, and knowing a great deal more about Shakespeare’s +biography than is known to the duller remnant of the +Anglo-Saxon race still extant on this side the Atlantic.</p> + +<p>She ate her strawberries in dreamy thoughtfulness, and fed +Goldie to repletion, till he stretched himself luxuriously upon +her gown, and dreamed of a chase he was too lazy to follow, had +he been ever so free. Then she shut the empty basket, propped +herself up against the rugged old trunk, and opened the ‘Idylls.’ +It is a book to be read over and over again, for ever and ever, +just one of those rare books of which the soul knows no weariness—like +Shakespeare, or Goethe’s Faust, or Childe Harold—a +book to be opened, haphazard, anywhere.</p> + +<p>But Daphne did not so open the volume. Elaine was her +poem of poems, and it was Elaine she read to-day in that placid +shade amidst green pastures and venerable trees, under a cloudless +sky. Launcelot was her ideal man—faulty, but more lovable +in his faultiness than even the perfect Arthur. Yet what woman +would not wish—ay, even the guilty one grovelling at his feet—to +be Arthur’s wife?</p> + +<p>She read slowly, pondering every word, for that fair young +Saxon was to her a very real personage—a being whose sorrows +gave her absolute pain as she read. Time had been when she +could not read Elaine’s story without tears, but to-day her eyes +were dry, even to the last, when her fancy saw the barge gliding +silently down the stream, with the fair dead face looking up to +the sky, and the waxen hands meekly folded above the heart that +had broken for love of Launcelot.</p> + +<p>‘I wonder how long his sorrow lasted,’ she thought, as she +closed the book; and then she clasped her hands above the fair +head resting against the rugged bark of the oak, and gave herself +up to day-dreams, and let the afternoon wear on as it might, in +placid enjoyment of the atmosphere and the landscape.</p> + +<p>Charlecote church clock had struck five when she plucked +herself out of dreamland with an effort, unstrapped her dog from +the tree, took up her empty basket, and started on the journey +home. She had ample leisure for her walk. Dinner was not to +be until half-past eight, and Sir Vernon and his daughter were +hardly likely to be back till dinner-time.</p> + +<p>It was a stately feast to which they had been bidden—a feast +in honour of somebody’s coming of age: a champagne breakfast<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span> +for the quality, roasted oxen and strong ale for the commonalty, +speechifying, military bands—an altogether ponderous entertainment. +Sir Vernon had groaned over the inevitable weariness of +the affair in advance, and had talked of himself as a martyr to +neighbourly feeling.</p> + +<p>The homeward walk in the quiet afternoon light was delicious. +Goldie, released from his strap directly they left Charlecote, ran +and leapt like a creature possessed. Oh, how he enjoyed +himself with the first herd they came to, scampering after innocent +milch-cows, and endangering his life by flying at the foreheads +of horned oxen! Daphne let him do as he liked. She +wandered out of her way a little to follow the windings of her +beloved river. It was between seven and eight when she despatched +Goldie to his stable-yard, and went into the cool shady +hall, where two old orange-trees in great green crockery tubs +scented the air.</p> + +<p>The butler met her on her way to the morning-room.</p> + +<p>‘Oh, if you please, Miss Daphne, Mr. Goring has arrived, and +would like to see you before you dress for dinner. He was so +disappointed at finding Miss Lawford away from home, and he +would like to have a talk with you.’</p> + +<p>Daphne looked at the tumbled white gown—it was the same +she had worn last year at Fontainebleau—and thought of her +towzled hair. ‘I am so shamefully untidy,’ she said; ‘I think I +had better dress first, Brooks.’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, don’t, Miss Daphne. You look nice enough, I’m +sure. And I daresay Mr. Goring is impatient to hear all about +Miss Lawford, or he wouldn’t have asked so particular to see +you.’</p> + +<p>‘Of course not. No; perhaps he won’t notice my untidiness. +I’ll risk it. Yet first impressions——I don’t want him +to think me an underbred school-girl,’ muttered Daphne as she +opened the drawing-room door.</p> + +<p>The room was large, and full of flowers and objects that +broke the view; and all the glow and glory of a summer sunset +was shining in at the wide west window.</p> + +<p>For a moment or so Daphne could see no one; the room +seemed empty of humanity. There was the American squirrel +revolving in his big airy cage; there lay Fluff, the Maltese +terrier, curled into a silky ball in a corner of the sofa; and that +seemed all. But as Daphne went timidly towards the window, +a figure rose from a low chair, a face turned to meet her.</p> + +<p>She lifted her clasped hands to her breast with a startled cry.</p> + +<p>‘Nero!’</p> + +<p>‘Poppæa!’</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.<br> +<span class="fs70">‘OF COLOUR PALE AND DEAD WAS SHE.’</span></h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">‘And</span> so you are Daphne?’ said Mr. Goring, taking both her +hands, and looking at her with an amused smile, not without +tender admiration of the fair pale face and widely-opened blue +eyes. Months afterwards he remembered the scared look in +those lovely eyes, the death-like pallor of the complexion; but +just now he ascribed Daphne’s evident agitation to a school-girl’s +natural discomfiture at being found out in a risky escapade.</p> + +<p>‘And so you are Daphne?’ he repeated. ‘Why, you told me +your father was a grocer in Oxford Street. Was not that what +school-boys call a crumper?’</p> + +<p>‘No,’ said Daphne, recovering herself, and a sparkle of mischief +lighting up her eyes; ‘it was strictly true—of Martha +Dibb’s father.’</p> + +<p>‘And you adopted your friend’s parent for the nonce; a +thoroughly Roman custom that of adoption, and in harmony +with your Roman name. By the way, were you christened +Poppæa Daphne, or Daphne Poppæa?’</p> + +<p>He had been amusing himself with the squirrel for the last +half-hour; but he found Daphne’s embarrassment ever so much +more amusing than the squirrel. He felt no more seriously +about the one than about the other.</p> + +<p>‘Don’t,’ exclaimed Daphne; ‘you must have known quite +well from the first moment that my name wasn’t Poppæa, just +as well as I knew that yours wasn’t Nero.’</p> + +<p>‘Well, I had a shrewd suspicion that you were romancing +about the name; but I swallowed the grocer. That was too bad +of you. Do you know that you made me quite unhappy? I +was miserable at the idea that such a girl as you could be allied +with grocery. A ridiculous prejudice, was it not, in a man whose +father began life as a day-labourer?’</p> + +<p>Daphne had sunk into a low chair by the squirrel’s cage, and +was feeding that pampered favourite with the green points of +some choice conifer. She seemed more taken up by his movements +than by her future brother-in-law. Her agitation had +passed, yet she was pale still, only the faintest bloom in her fair +cheek, the pink of a wild rose.</p> + +<p>‘Please don’t tell Lina,’ she pleaded, with her eyes on the +squirrel.</p> + +<p>‘Oh, she doesn’t know anything about it then?’</p> + +<p>‘Not a word. I dared not tell her. When I tried to do so, +I became suddenly aware how horridly I had behaved. Martha +Dibb and I were silly, thoughtless creatures, acting on the +impulse of the moment.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span></p> + +<p>‘I don’t think there was much impulse about Miss Dibb,’ +said Mr. Goring. ‘It seemed to me that she only looked on.’</p> + +<p>‘It is disgustingly mean of you to say that!’ exclaimed +Daphne, recurring to her school-girl phraseology, which she had +somewhat modified at South Hill.</p> + +<p>‘Forgive me. And I must really hold my tongue about our +delicious picnics? Of course I shall obey you, little one. But I +hate secrets, and am a bad hand at keeping them. I shall never +forget those two happy days at Fontainebleau. How strange +that you and I, who were destined to become brother and sister, +should make each other’s acquaintance in that haphazard, informal +fashion! It seemed almost as if we were fated to meet, +didn’t it?’</p> + +<p>‘Was that the fate you read in my hand?’</p> + +<p>‘No,’ he answered, suddenly grave; ‘that was not what I +read. Pshaw,’ he added in a lighter tone, ‘chiromancy is all +nonsense. Why should a man, not too much given to belief in +the things that are good for him to believe, pin his faith on a +fanciful science of that kind? I have left off looking at palms +ever since that day at Fontainebleau. And now tell me about +your sister. I am longing to see her. To think that I should +have stumbled on just the one particular afternoon on which she +was to be so long away! I pictured her sitting by yonder bamboo +table, like Penelope waiting for her Odysseus. Do you know +that I have come straight through from Bergen without stopping?’</p> + +<p>‘And you have not been home to your Abbey?’</p> + +<p>‘My Abbey will keep. By-the-by, how is the place looking—the +gardens all in their beauty, I suppose?’</p> + +<p>‘I have never seen it.’</p> + +<p>‘Never! Why, I thought Lina would be driving over once +or twice a week to survey her future domain. I take it positively +unkind that you have never seen my Abbey: my cloisters +where never monk walked; my refectory, where never monk +ate; my chapel, where no priest ever said mass. I should have +thought curiosity would have impelled you to go and look at +Goring Abbey. It is such a charming anomaly. But it pleased +my poor father to build it, so I must not complain.’</p> + +<p>‘I think you ought to be very proud of it when you consider +how hard your father must have worked for the money it cost,’ +said Daphne bluntly.</p> + +<p>‘Yes, John Giles had to put a long career of honest labour +behind him, before he became Giles-Goring and owner of +Goring Abbey. He was a good old man. I feel sorry sometimes +that I am not more like him.</p> + +<p>‘Lina says you are like your mother.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, I believe I resemble her side of the house. It was +by no means the more meritorious side, for the Heronvilles<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span> +were always loose fish, while my father was one of the best +men who ever wore shoe-leather. Do you think Lina will be +pleasantly surprised by my return?’</p> + +<p>‘Do I think it?’ echoed Daphne. ‘Why, she has been +longing for your coming—counting every hour. I know that, +though she has not said as much. I can read her thoughts.’</p> + +<p>‘Clever little puss. Daphne, do you know I am quite +delighted to find that my grocer’s daughter of Fontainebleau +Forest is to be my new sister.’</p> + +<p>‘You are very good,’ returned Daphne rather stiffly. ‘It is +eight o’clock, so I think, if you’ll excuse me, I had better go +and dress for dinner.’</p> + +<p>‘Wait till your people come home. I’ve ever so many +questions to ask.’</p> + +<p>‘There is the carriage! You can ask them of Lina herself.’</p> + +<p>She ran out of the room by the glass door leading into the +conservatory, leaving Mr. Goring to meet his betrothed at the +opposite door. She ran through the conservatory to the garden. +The sun was sinking in a sea of many-coloured clouds, yonder +on the edge of the hills, and the river at the bottom of the +valley ran between the rushes like liquid gold. Daphne stood +on the sloping lawn staring at the light like a bewildered +creature.</p> + +<p>She stood thus for some minutes motionless, with clasped +hands, gazing at the sunset. Then she turned and walked +slowly back to the house. There was no one to watch her, +no one to think of her at this moment. Gerald and Lina were +together in the drawing-room, steeped in the rapture of reunion.</p> + +<p>‘Let me be rational, let me be reasonable, if I can,’ Daphne +said to herself. She re-entered the house by an obscure door +at the east end, and went up to her own room. There, in the +soft evening light, she cast herself upon her knees by the bed, +and prayed: prayed with all the fervour of her untried soul, +prayed that she might be kept from temptation and led to do +the thing that was right. Prayer so earnest in a nature so light +and reckless was a new experience. She rose from her knees +like a new creature, and fancied she had plucked the evil weed +of a fatal fancy out of her heart. She moved about her room +calmly and quietly, dressed herself carefully, and went back to +the drawing-room, two minutes before the half-hour, radiant +and smiling.</p> + +<p>Madoline was still in the gown she had worn at the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">déjeuner</i>. +She had taken off her hat, and that was all, too happy in her +lover’s company to spare five minutes for the revision of her +toilet. Gerald had done nothing to improve his travelling attire. +Even the dust of the long railroad journey from Hull was still +upon his clothes.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span></p> + +<p>‘Gerald tells me that you and he have made friends already, +Daphne,’ said Lina in a happy voice.</p> + +<p>She was standing by her lover’s side in front of the open +window, while Sir Vernon sat in an easy-chair devouring his +<cite>Times</cite>, and trying to make up for the lost hours since the post +came in.</p> + +<p>‘Yes; Daphne and I have sworn eternal friendship,’ exclaimed +Gerald gaily. ‘We mean to be a most devoted brother +and sister. It was quite wonderful how quickly we broke the +ice, and how thoroughly at home we became in a quarter of an +hour.’</p> + +<p>‘Daphne is not a very terrible personage,’ said Madoline, +smiling at her sister’s bright young face. ‘Well, darling, had +you a happy day all by yourself? I was almost glad you were +not with us. The coming of age was a very tiresome business. +I had ten times rather have been in our own gardens with +you.’</p> + +<p>‘The whole entertainment was ineffably dull,’ said Sir +Vernon, without looking from his paper.</p> + +<p>And now the well-bred butler glided across the threshold, +and gently insinuated that dinner was served, if it might be +the pleasure of his people to come and eat it: whereupon Mr. +Goring gave his arm to Madoline, and Sir Vernon for the first +time since his younger daughter’s return felt himself constrained +to escort her to the dining-room, or leave her to +follow in his wake like a lap-dog.</p> + +<p>He deliberated for a moment or two as to which he should +do, then made a hook of his elbow, and looked down at her +dubiously, as much as to say that she might take it or leave it.</p> + +<p>Daphne would have much liked to refuse the proffered +boon, but she was in a dutiful mood to-night, so she meekly +slipped her little gloved hand under her parent’s sleeve, and +walked by his side to the dining-room, where he let her hand +drop directly they were inside the door.</p> + +<p>Everyone at South Hill hated a glare, so the dining-room, +like the drawing-room, was lighted by moderator lamps under +velvet shades. Two large brazen lamps with deep-fringed +purple shades hung a little way above the table; two more +lighted the sideboard. The French windows stood wide open, +and across a balcony full of flowers appeared the shadowy landscape +and the cool evening sky.</p> + +<p>Sir Vernon was tired and out of spirits. He had very little +to say about anything except the proceedings of the afternoon, +and all his remarks upon the hospitalities at which he had +assisted were of an abusive character. He could eat no dinner, +his internal economy having been thrown altogether out of +gear by the barbarity of a solid meal at three o’clock. His +discontent would have effectually damped the spirits of any<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span> +human beings except lovers. Those privileged beings inhabit +a world of their own; so Madoline and Gerald smiled at each +other, and talked to each other across the roses and lilies that +beautified the dinner-table, and seemed unconscious that anything +unpleasant was going on.</p> + +<p>Daphne watched them thoughtfully. How lovely her sister +looked in the new light of this perfect happiness—how unaffectedly +she revealed her delight at her lover’s return!</p> + +<p>‘How good it was of you to come back a month sooner than +you had promised, Gerald!’ she said.</p> + +<p>‘My dear girl, I have been pining to come home for the +last six months, but, as you and your father and I had chalked +out a certain portion of Europe which I was to travel over, I +thought I ought to go through with it; but if you knew how +heartily sick I am of going from pillar to post, of craning my +neck to look at the roofs of churches, and dancing attendance +upon grubby old sacristans, and riding up narrow pathways on +mules, and having myself and my luggage registered through +from the bustling commercial city I am sick of to loathing after +twenty-four hours’ experience, to the sleepy mediæval town +which I inevitably tire of in ten, you would be able to understand +my delight in coming back to you and placid Warwickshire. +By-the-by, why didn’t you take Daphne to see the +Abbey? She tells me she has never been over to Goring.’</p> + +<p>‘I should have had no pleasure in showing her your house’—‘Our +house,’ interjected Gerald—‘while you were away.’</p> + +<p>‘Well, dearest, it was a loving fancy, so I won’t scold you +for it. We’ll have a——’ He paused for an instant, looking +at Daphne with a mischievous smile. ‘We’ll have a picnic +there to-morrow.’</p> + +<p>‘Why a picnic?’ grumbled Sir Vernon. ‘I can understand +people eating out of doors when they have no house to shelter +them, but nobody but an idiot would squat on the grass to dine +if he could get at chairs and tables. Look at your gipsies and +hawkers now—you seldom catch them picnicking. If their tent +or their caravan is ever so small and stuffy they generally feed +inside it.’</p> + +<p>‘Never mind the hawkers,’ exclaimed Gerald contemptuously. +‘A fig for commonsense. Of course, everybody in his +senses knows that such a dinner as this is much more comfortable +than the most perfect picnic that ever was organised. But, +for all that, I adore picnics; and we’ll have one to-morrow, +won’t we, Daphne?’</p> + +<p>He looked across the table at her in the subdued lamplight, +smiling, and expecting to see a responsive smile in her eyes; but +she was preternaturally grave.</p> + +<p>‘Just as you like,’ she said.</p> + +<p>‘Just as I like! What a chilling repulse! Why, unless<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span> +Madoline and you approve of the idea, I don’t care a straw for +it. I’ll punish you for your indifference, Miss Daphne. You +shall have a formal luncheon in the refectory, at a table large +enough for thirty, and groaning under my father’s family plate—Garrard’s, +of the reign of Victoria, strictly ponderous and +utilitarian. What a lovely light there is in the western sky!’ +said Gerald, as Madoline and her sister rose from the table. +‘Shall we all walk down to the river, before we join Sir Vernon +in the billiard-room? You’d like to try your hand against me, +sir, I suppose, now that I come fresh from benighted lands where +the tables have no pockets.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes; I’ll play a game with you presently.’</p> + +<p>Gerald and the two girls went into the verandah, and thence +by a flight of shallow steps to the lawn. It was a peerless night +after a peerless day. A young moon was shining above the +topmost branches of the deodaras, and touching the Avon with +patches of silvery light. The scene was lovely, the atmosphere +delicious, but Daphne felt that she was one too many, though +Madoline had linked an arm through hers. Those two had so +much to talk about, so many questions to ask each other.</p> + +<p>‘And you have really come home for good,’ said Madoline.</p> + +<p>‘For good, dearest; for the brightest fate that can befall a +man, to marry the woman he loves and settle down to a peaceful +placid life in the home of his—ancestor. I have been a +rover quite long enough, and I shall rove no more, except at +your command.’</p> + +<p>‘There are places I should love to visit with you, Gerald—Switzerland, +Italy, the Tyrol.’</p> + +<p>‘We will go wherever you please, dearest. It will be delightful +to me to show you all that is fairest on this earth, and +to hear you say, when we are hunting vainly for some undiscovered +nook, where we may escape from the tourist herd—“After +all, there is no place like home.”’</p> + +<p>‘I shall only be too much inclined to say that. I love our +own country, and the scenery I have known all my life.’</p> + +<p>‘We must start early to-morrow, Lina. We have a great +deal of business to get through at the Abbey.’</p> + +<p>‘Business!’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, dear; I want you to give me your ideas about the +building of new hot-houses. With your passion for flowers the +present amount of glass will never be enough. What do you +say to sending MacCloskie over to meet us there? His opinion +as a practical man might be of use.’</p> + +<p>‘If Mr. MacCloskie is going to picnic with you I’ll stay at +home,’ said Daphne.’ I admire the gentleman as a gardener, +but I detest him as a human being.’</p> + +<p>‘Don’t be frightened, Daphne,’ said Gerald, laughing. ‘It is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span> +a levelling age, but we have not yet come to picnicking with our +gardeners.’</p> + +<p>‘Mr. MacCloskie is such a very superior person,’ retorted +Daphne, ‘I don’t know what he might expect.’</p> + +<p>They had strolled down to the meadow by the river, a long +stretch of level pasture, richly timbered, divided from the gardens +by a ha-ha, over which there was a light iron bridge. They +lingered for a little while by this bridge, looking across at the +river.</p> + +<p>‘Do you know that Daphne has started a boat,’ said Madoline, +‘and has become very expert with a pair of sculls? She +rowed me down to Stratford the day before yesterday, and back +against the stream.’</p> + +<p>‘Indeed! I congratulate you on a delightful accomplishment, +Daphne. I don’t see why girls should not have their +pleasure out of the river as well as boys. I’ve a brilliant idea. +The Abbey is only five miles up the stream. Suppose we charter +Daphne’s boat for to-morrow. I can pull a pretty good stroke, +and the distance will be easy between us two. Will your boat +hold three of us comfortably, do you think, Daphne?’</p> + +<p>‘It would hold six.’</p> + +<p>‘Then consider your services retained for to-morrow. I +shall enjoy the miniature prettiness of the Avon, after the +mightier streams I have been upon lately.’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t suppose Lina would like it,’ faltered Daphne, not +appearing elated at the idea.</p> + +<p>‘Lina would like it immensely,’ said her sister. ‘I shall feel +so safe if you are with us, Gerald. What a strange girl you are, +Daphne! A week ago you were eager to carry me to the end of +the world in your boat.’</p> + +<p>‘You can have the boat, of course, if you like, and I’ll pull +if you want me,’ returned Daphne, somewhat ungraciously; +‘but I think you’ll find five miles of the Avon rather a monotonous +business. It is a very lovely river if you take it in sections, +but as both banks present a succession of green fields and +pollard willows, it is just possible for the human mind to tire +of it.’</p> + +<p>‘Daphne, you are an absolute cynic—and at seventeen!’ exclaimed +Gerald, with pretended horror. ‘What will you be by +the time you are forty?’</p> + +<p>‘If I am alive I daresay I shall be a very horrid old woman,’ +said Daphne. ‘Perhaps something after the pattern of Aunt +Rhoda. I can’t conceive anything much worse than that.’</p> + +<p>‘Papa will be waiting for his game of billiards,’ said Lina. +‘We had better hurry back to the house.’</p> + +<p>They were met on the threshold of the conservatory by Mrs. +Ferrers. That lady had a wonderful knack of getting acquainted +with everything that happened at South Hill. If there had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span> +been a semaphore on the roof she could hardly have known +things sooner.</p> + +<p>‘My dear Gerald, what a delightful surprise you have given +us!’ she exclaimed. ‘I put on my hat the instant the Rector +had said grace. I left him to drink his claret alone—a thing +that has not happened since we were married—and walked over +to bid you welcome. How well you are looking! How very +brown you have grown: I am so glad to see you.’</p> + +<p>‘It was very good of you to come over on purpose, Mrs. +Ferrers.’</p> + +<p>‘May I not be Aunt Rhoda instead of Mrs. Ferrers? I +should like it ever so much better. Next year I shall be really +your aunt, you know.’</p> + +<p>‘And the Rector will be your uncle,’ said Daphne pertly. +‘He is mine already, and he is ever so much kinder than when I +was only his parishioner.’</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ferrers shot a piercing look, half-angry, half-interrogative, +at her younger niece. The Rector had shown a reprehensible +tendency to praise the girl’s beauty, had on one occasion +gone so far as to offer her a patriarchal kiss, from which Daphne +had recoiled involuntarily, saying afterwards to her sister that +‘one must draw the line somewhere.’</p> + +<p>‘Vernon has gone to bed,’ said Aunt Rhoda; ‘he felt +thoroughly wearied out after the gathering at Holmsley, which +seems from his account to have been a very dull business. I am +glad the Rector and I declined. A cold luncheon is positive +death to him.’</p> + +<p>‘Then we needn’t go indoors yet awhile,’ said Gerald. ‘It +is lovely out here. Shall I fetch a wrap for you, Lina?’</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ferrers was carefully draped in her China-crape shawl, +one of Madoline’s wedding gifts to her aunt, and costly enough +for a royal present.</p> + +<p>‘Thanks. There is a shawl on a sofa in the drawing-room.’</p> + +<p>‘Let Daphne fetch it,’ interjected Mrs. Ferrers; and her +niece flew to obey, while the other three sauntered slowly along +the broad terrace in front of the windows.</p> + +<p>There were some light iron chairs and a table at one end of +the walk, and here they seated themselves to enjoy the summer +night.</p> + +<p>‘As our English summer is a matter of about five weeks, +broken by a good deal of storm and rain, we ought to make the +most of it,’ remarked Gerald. ‘I hope we shall have a fine day +for the Abbey to-morrow.’</p> + +<p>‘You are going to take Lina to the Abbey?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, for a regular businesslike inspection; that we may see +what will have to be improved or altered, or added or done +away with before next year.’</p> + +<p>‘How interesting! I should like so much to drive over<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span> +with you. My experience in housekeeping matters might possibly +be of use.’</p> + +<p>‘Invaluable, no doubt,’ answered Gerald, with his easy-going, +half-listless air; ‘but we must postpone that advantage until +the next time. We are going in Daphne’s boat, which will only +comfortably hold three,’ said Gerald, with a calm contempt for +actual truth which horrified Madoline, who was rigidly truthful +even in the most trivial things.</p> + +<p>‘Going in Daphne’s boat! What an absurd idea!’</p> + +<p>‘Don’t say that, Aunt Rhoda, for it’s my idea,’ remonstrated +Gerald.</p> + +<p>‘But I can’t help saying it. When you have half-a-dozen +carriages at your disposal, and when the drive to Goring is +absolutely lovely, to go in a horrid little boat.’</p> + +<p>‘It is a very nice boat, Aunt Rhoda, and Daphne manages it +capitally,’ said Lina.</p> + +<p>‘I think it will be a delightfully dreamy way of going,’ said +Gerald. ‘We shall take our time about it. There is no reason +we should hurry. I shall order a carriage to meet us at the +bottom of Goring Lane, where we shall land. If we prefer to +drive home we can do so.’</p> + +<p>‘My dear Gerald, you and Madoline are the best judges of +what is agreeable to yourselves; but I cannot help thinking +that you are encouraging Daphne in a most unbecoming pursuit.’</p> + +<p>The appearance of Daphne herself with the shawl put a stop +to the argument. She folded the soft woollen wrap round her +sister, and then stopped to kiss her.</p> + +<p>‘Good-night, Lina,’ she said.</p> + +<p>‘Going to bed so early, Daphne? I hope you are not ill.’</p> + +<p>‘Only a little tired after my rambles. Good-night, Aunt +Rhoda; good-night, Mr. Goring,’ and Daphne ran away.</p> + +<p>‘Aunt Rhoda might drive over and meet us at Goring, +Gerald,’ suggested Madoline, who was always thoughtful of +other people’s pleasure and did not wish her aunt to fancy herself +ignored.</p> + +<p>‘Certainly. I shall be charmed, if you think it worth your +while,’ said Gerald.</p> + +<p>‘Then I shall certainly come. My ponies want exercise, +and to-morrow is one of the Rector’s parochial days, so he won’t +miss me for an hour or two. What time do you contemplate +arriving at the Abbey?’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, I suppose between one and two, the orthodox luncheon-hour,’ +answered Gerald.</p> + +<p>Daphne was up and dressed before five o’clock next morning. +She had set her little American alarum-clock for five; but that +had been a needless precaution, since she had not slept above +a quarter of an hour at a time all through the short summer<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span> +night. She had seen the last glimmer of the fading moon, the +first faint glow of sunlight flickering on her wall. She stole +softly downstairs, unlocked doors and drew bolts with the +silent dexterity of a professional housebreaker, feeling almost +as guilty as if she had been one; and in the cool quiet morning, +while all the world beside herself seemed asleep, she ran lightly +across the dewy lawn, down to the iron bridge by which she +had stood with Madoline and Gerald last night. Then she +crossed the meadow, wading ankle-deep in wet grass, and scaring +the placid kine, and thus to the boat-house.</p> + +<p>She went in and got into her boat, which was drawn up +under cover, and carefully protected by linen clothing. She +whisked the covering off, and seated herself on the floor of the +boat in front of the place of honour, above which appeared the +name of the craft, in gilded letters on the polished pine—‘Nero.’</p> + +<p>She took out her penknife and began carefully, laboriously, +to scrape away the gilt lettering. The thing had been so conscientiously +done, the letters were so sunk and branded into the +wood, that the task seemed endless; she was still digging and +scraping at the first letter when Arden church clock struck +six, every stroke floating clear and sweet across the river.</p> + +<p>‘What—an—utter—idiot I was!’ she said to herself, in an +exasperated tone, emphasising each word with a savage dig of +her knife into the gilded wood. ‘And how shall I ever get all +these letters out before breakfast time?’</p> + +<p>‘Why attempt it?’ asked a low pleasant voice close at hand, +and Daphne, becoming suddenly aware of the odour of tobacco +mixed with the perfumes of a summer meadow, looked up and +saw Gerald Goring lounging against the door-post, smoking a +cigarette.</p> + +<p>‘Why erase the name?’ he asked. ‘It is a very good name—classical, +historical, and not altogether inappropriate. Nero +was a boat-builder himself, you know.’</p> + +<p>‘Was he?’ said Daphne, sitting limply in the bottom of her +boat, completely unnerved.</p> + +<p>‘Yes; the vessel he built was a failure, or at any rate the +result of his experiment was unsatisfactory, but the intention +was original, and deserves praise. I am sorry you have spoilt +the first letter of his name.’</p> + +<p>‘Don’t distress yourself,’ exclaimed Daphne, jumping up and +stepping briskly out of her boat. ‘I am going to change the +name of my boat, and I thought I could do it this morning as a +surprise for Lina; but it was a more difficult business than I +supposed. And now I must run home as fast as I can, and +make myself tidy for breakfast. My father is the essence of +punctuality.’</p> + +<p>‘But as half-past eight is his breakfast hour you need not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span> +be in a desperate hurry. It has only just struck six. Will you +come for a stroll?’</p> + +<p>‘No, thank you. I have ever so much to do before breakfast.’</p> + +<p>‘Czerny’s “Studies of Velocity”?’</p> + +<p>‘No.’</p> + +<p>‘French grammar?’</p> + +<p>‘No.’</p> + +<p>‘Be sure you are ready to start directly after breakfast.’</p> + +<p>Daphne scampered off through the wet grass, leaving Mr. +Goring standing by the boat-house door, looking down with an +amused smile at the mutilated name.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.<br> +<span class="fs70">‘AND SPENDING SILVER HAD HE RIGHT YNOW.’</span></h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">At</span> ten o’clock Daphne was down at the boat-house again, +ready for the aquatic excursion, looking as fresh and bright as +if nothing had ever occurred to vex her. She wore a workmanlike +attire of indigo serge—no gay fluttering scarlet ribbons this +time. Her whole costume was studiously plain, from the sailor +hat to the stout Cromwell shoe and dark blue stocking, the +wash-leather glove and leathern belt with a broad steel buckle. +Madoline’s flowing muslin skirts and flowery hat contrasted +charmingly with her sister’s more masculine attire.</p> + +<p>‘This looks like business,’ said Gerald, as Bink ran the boat +into the water, and held her while the ladies stepped on board. +‘Now, Daphne, whichever of us gets tired first must forfeit a +dozen pairs of gloves.’</p> + +<p>‘I think it will be you, from the look of you,’ returned +Daphne, as she rolled up her sleeves and took hold of an oar in +an off-hand waterman-like manner. ‘When you are tired I’ll +take the sculls.’</p> + +<p>‘Well, you see I am likely to be in very bad form. It is +four years since I rowed in the ‘Varsity race.’</p> + +<p>‘What, you rowed in the great race? What affectation to +talk about being in bad form. I should think a man could +never forget training of that kind.’</p> + +<p>‘He can never forget the theory, but he may feel the want +of practice. However, I fancy I shall survive till we get to +Goring Lane, and that you’ll win no gloves to-day. I suppose +you never wear anything less than twelve buttons?’</p> + +<p>‘Madoline gives me plenty of gloves, thank you,’ replied +Daphne with dignity. ‘My glove-box is not supported by +voluntary contributions.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span></p> + +<p>‘Daphne, do you know that for a young woman who is +speedily to become my sister you are barely civil?’ said Gerald.</p> + +<p>‘I beg your pardon, I am practising a sisterly manner. I +never met with a brother and sister yet who were particularly +civil to each other.’</p> + +<p>They were rowing quietly up the stream, lowering their +heads now and then to clear the drooping tresses of a willow. +The verdant banks, the perpetual willows, were beautiful, but +with a monotonous beauty. It was the ripe middle of the year, +when all things are of one rich green—meadows and woods and +hills—and in a country chiefly pastoral there must needs be a +touch of sameness in the landscape. Here and there a spire +showed above the trees, or a gray stone mansion stood boldly +out upon the green hillside.</p> + +<p>Daphne had so arranged cushions and wraps upon the +principal seat as to conceal the mutilated name. Gerald rowed +stroke, she sat in the bows, and Madoline reclined luxuriously +in the stern with the Maltese terrier Fluff in her lap.</p> + +<p>‘If we are lucky we shall be at the Abbey an hour and a +half before your aunt and her ponies,’ said Gerald. ‘It was +extremely obliging of her to volunteer the inestimable boon of +her advice, but I fancy we should get on quite as well without +her.’</p> + +<p>‘It would have been unkind to let her think we didn’t want +her,’ said Madoline deprecatingly.</p> + +<p>‘That is so like you, Lina; you will go through life putting +up with people you don’t care about, rather than wound their +feelings,’ said Gerald carelessly.</p> + +<p>‘Aunt Rhoda is my father’s only sister. I am bound to +respect her.’</p> + +<p>‘I’ve no doubt the Old Man of the Sea was a very estimable +person in the abstract,’ said Gerald, ‘but Sindbad shunted him +at the first opportunity. Don’t look so distressed, dearest. +Aunt Rhoda shall patronise us, and dictate to us all our lives, +if it please you. By-the-by, what has become of your devoted +slave and ally, Turchill? I expected to find him on the premises +when I arrived at South Hill.’</p> + +<p>‘He went up to London last week with his mother, to make +a round of the theatres and picture-galleries. They will be +home in a few days, I daresay.’</p> + +<p>‘I wonder he can exist out of Warwickshire. He is so +thoroughly bucolic, so permeated by the flavour of his native +soil.’</p> + +<p>‘He is very kind and good and true-hearted,’ protested +Daphne, flushing indignantly; ‘and he is your old friend and +kinsman. I wonder you can speak so contemptuously of him, +Mr. Goring.’</p> + +<p>‘What, my vixenish little Pop—Daphne,’ cried Gerald,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span> +colouring at this slip of the tongue, ‘is it thus the cat jumps? +I would not underrate Edgar for worlds. He is out and away +the best fellow I know; but, however much you may admire +him, little one, that his mind is essentially bucolic is a fact—and +facts are stubborn things.’</p> + +<p>‘You have no right to say that I admire him. I respect +and esteem him, and I am not ashamed to own as much, +though you may think it a reason for laughing at me,’ retorted +Daphne, still angry. ‘He taught me to row this very boat. +He used to get up every morning at a ridiculously early hour, +in order to be at South Hill in time to give me a lesson before +breakfast.’</p> + +<p>‘A man might do twice as much for your <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">beaux yeux</i>, and +yet deem it no self-sacrifice.’</p> + +<p>‘Don’t,’ cried Daphne. ‘Didn’t I tell you ages ago that I +detest you when you flatter me?’</p> + +<p>Madoline looked up with momentary wonder at that expression +‘ages ago;’ but Daphne was so given to wild exaggerations +and a school-girl latitude of phrase, that ‘ages ago’ might +naturally mean yesterday.</p> + +<p>‘Daphne dearest, what has put you out of temper?’ she +asked gently. ‘I’m afraid you’re getting tired.’</p> + +<p>‘If she give in before we get to Goring Lane I shall claim +a dozen pairs of gloves.’</p> + +<p>‘I am not the least little bit tired; I could row you to +Naseby, if you liked,’ replied Daphne haughtily; whereupon +the lovers began to talk of their own affairs, somewhat lazily, +as suited the summer morning and the quiet landscape, where a +light haze that yet lingered over the fields seemed the cool and +misty forecast of a blazing afternoon.</p> + +<p>Goring Lane was an accommodation road, leading down from +the home farm to the meadows on the river bank, and here they +found a light open carriage and a pair of strong country-made +gray horses waiting for them.</p> + +<p>Gerald had sent his valet over before breakfast to make +all arrangements for their reception. The man was waiting +beside the carriage, and to Daphne’s horror she beheld in him +the grave gentleman in gray who had helped to convey provisions +for the Fontainebleau picnic: but not a muscle of the +valet’s face betrayed the fact that he had ever seen this young +lady before.</p> + +<p>At the end of the lane they came into a shady park-like +avenue, and then to a gray stone gateway, pillared, mediæval, +grandiose; on the summit of each granite pillar a griffin of the +most correct heraldic make grasped a shield, and on the shield +were quarterings that hinted at a palmer’s pilgrimage in the +Holy Land, and a ragged staff that suggested kindred with the +historic race of Dudley.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span></p> + +<p>The lodge-keeper’s wife and her three children were standing +by the open gate, ready to duck profusely in significance of +delight in their lord’s return. The male bird as usual was +absent from the nest. Nobody ever saw a man at an entrance +lodge.</p> + +<p>The avenue of limes was of but thirty years’ growth, but +there was plenty of good old timber on the broad expanse of +meadow-land which Mr. Goring had converted into a park. +There was a broad blue lake in the distance, created by the +late Mr. Goring, an island in the middle of it, also of his creation; +while a fleet of rare and costly foreign aquatic birds of +Mr. Goring’s importation were sailing calmly on the calm water. +And yonder, in the green valley, with a wooded amphitheatre +behind it, stood the Abbey, built strictly after the fashion of +the fifteenth century, but every block of stone and every lattice +obviously of yesterday.</p> + +<p>‘It wouldn’t be half a bad place if it would only mellow +down to a sober grayness, instead of being so uncomfortably +white and dazzling,’ said Gerald as they drew near the +house.</p> + +<p>‘It is positively lovely,’ answered Madoline.</p> + +<p>She was looking at the gardens, which thirty years of care +and outlay had made about as perfect as gardens of the Italian +style can be. They were not such old English gardens as Lord +Bacon wrote about. There was nothing wild, no intricate +shrubberies, no scope for the imagination, as there was at South +Hill. All was planned and filled in with a Dutch neatness. +The parterres were laid out in blocks, and in the centre of each +rose a fountain from a polished marble basin. Statues by +sculptors of note were placed here and there against a background +of tall orange-trees, arbutus, or yew. Everything was +on a large scale, which suited this palatial Italian manner. +Such a garden might have fitly framed the palace of a Medici +or a Borgia; nay, in such a garden might Horace have walked +by the side of Mæcenas, or Virgil recited a portion of his +Æneid to Augustus and Octavia. There was a dignity, a splendour, +in these parterres which Daphne thought finer than +anything she had seen even at Versailles, whither Madame +Tolmache had escorted her English pupils on a certain summer +holiday.</p> + +<p>‘The rose-garden will please you better than this formal +pleasaunce, I daresay,’ said Gerald. ‘It is on the other side of +the house, and consists wholly of grass walks and rose-trees. +My dear mother gave her whole mind to the cultivation and +improvement of her gardens. I believe she was rather extravagant +in this one matter—at least, I have heard my father say +so. But I think the result justified her outlay.’</p> + +<p>‘And yet you want to build more hot-houses on my account,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span> +Gerald. Surely arrangements that satisfied Lady Geraldine will +be good enough for me,’ said Madoline.</p> + +<p>‘Oh, one ought to go on improving. Besides, you are fonder +of exotics than my mother was. And the rage for church decoration +is getting stronger every day. You will have plenty +of use for your hot-houses. And now we will go and take a +sketchy survey of the house, before we interview the worthy +MacCloskie. Has Miss Lawford’s gardener arrived?’ Gerald +asked of the gentleman in gray, who had occupied the box-seat, +and was again in attendance at the carriage-door, while a portly +butler and a powdered footman, both of the true English +pattern, waited in the Gothic porch.</p> + +<p>‘Yes, sir; Mr. MacCloskie is in the housekeeper’s room.’</p> + +<p>‘I hope they have given him luncheon.’</p> + +<p>‘No, sir, thank you, sir. He would take nothing but a +glass of claret and a cigar. He has taken a stroll round the +gardens, sir, so as to be prepared to give an opinion.’</p> + +<p>The house was deliciously cool, almost as if ice had been +laid on in the pipes which were used in winter for hot water. +The hall was as profoundly Gothic as that at Penshurst—it was +difficult to believe that the reek of a log fire piled in the middle +of the stone floor had never gone up through yonder rafters, that +the rude vassals of a feudal lord had never squatted by the +blaze, or slept on yonder ponderous oaken settles. Nothing was +wanting that should have been there to tell of an ancient ancestry. +Armour that had been battered and dented at Cressy or +Bannockburn, or at any rate most skilfully manipulated at Birmingham, +adorned the walls. Banners drooped from the rafters; +heads of noble stags that had been shot in Arden’s primeval +wood, spears and battle-axes that had been used in the Crusades, +and collected in Wardour Street, gave variety to the artistic +decoration of the walls, while tapestry of undoubted antiquity +hung before the doorways.</p> + +<p>These things had given pleasure to Mr. Giles-Goring, but +to his son they were absolutely obnoxious. Yet the father had +been so good a father, and had done such honest and useful +work in the world before he began to amass this trumpery, that +the son had not the heart to dislodge anything.</p> + +<p>They went through room after room—all richly furnished, +all strictly mediæval: old oak carving collected in the Low +Countries; cabinets that reached from floor to ceiling; sideboards +large enough to barricade a Parisian boulevard; all the +legends of Holy Writ exemplified by the patient Fleming’s chisel; +polished oaken floors; panelled walls. The only modern rooms +were those at one end of the Abbey, which had been refurnished +by Lady Geraldine during her widowhood, and here there was +all the lightness and grace of modern upholstery of the highest +order. Satinwood furniture and pale-tinted draperies; choice<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span> +water-colours and choicer porcelain on the walls; books in every +available nook.</p> + +<p>‘How lovely!’ cried Daphne, who had not been impressed +by the modern mediævalism of the other rooms. ‘This is where +I should like to live.’</p> + +<p>Lady Geraldine’s morning-room looked into the rose-garden. +She had not been able to do away with the mullioned windows, +but a little glass door—an anachronism, but vastly convenient—had +been squeezed into a corner to give her easy access to her +favourite garden.</p> + +<p>Madoline looked at everything with tender regard. Lady +Geraldine had been fond of her and kind to her, and had most +heartily approved her son’s choice. Tears dimmed Lina’s sight +as she looked at the familiar room, which seemed so empty without +the gracious figure of its mistress.</p> + +<p>‘I fancied you would like to occupy these rooms by-and-by, +Lina,’ said Gerald.</p> + +<p>‘I should like it of all things.’</p> + +<p>‘And can you suggest any alterations—any improvements?’</p> + +<p>‘Gerald, do you think that I would change a thing that your +mother cared for? The rooms are lovely in themselves; but +were they ever so old-fashioned or shabby, I should like them +best as your mother left them.’</p> + +<p>‘Lina, you are simply perfect!’ exclaimed Gerald tenderly. +‘You are just the one faultless woman I have ever met. Chaucer’s +Grisel was not a diviner creature.’</p> + +<p>‘I hope you are not going to try my sister as that horrid man +in the story tried Grisel,’ cried Daphne, bristling with indignation. +‘I only wish I had lived in those days, and had the reversion +of Count Walter, as a widower. I’d have made him repent +his brutality.’</p> + +<p>‘I have no doubt you would have proved skilful in the art of +husband-government,’ said Gerald. ‘But you needn’t be alarmed. +Much as I admire Grisel I shan’t try to emulate her husband. +I could not leave my wife in agony, and walk away smiling at +the cleverness of my practical joke. Well, Lina, then it is settled +that in these rooms there is to be no alteration,’ he added, +turning to Madoline, who had been taking up the volumes on a +little ebony bookstand and looking at their titles.</p> + +<p>‘Please make no alteration anywhere. Let the house be as +your father and mother arranged it.’</p> + +<p>‘My sweet conservative! And we are to keep all the old +servants, I conclude. They are all of my father’s and mother’s +choosing.’</p> + +<p>‘Pray keep them all. If you could any way find room for +MacCloskie, without offending your head gardener——’</p> + +<p>‘MacCloskie shall be superintendent of your own special hot-houses,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span> +my darling. It will be an easy, remunerative place—good +wages and plenty of perquisites.’</p> + +<p>A grinding of wheels on the gravel, and a tremendous peal +of the bell at the principal entrance proclaimed the advent of a +visitor.</p> + +<p>‘Aunt Rhoda, no doubt,’ said Gerald. ‘Let us be sober.’</p> + +<p>They went back to the hall to greet the new arrival. It was +Mrs. Ferrers’s youthful groom, a smart young gentleman of +the tiger species, who had made that tremendous peal. Mrs. +Ferrers’s roan ponies were scratching up the gravel; but Mrs. +Ferrers was not alone; a gentleman had just dismounted from +a fine upstanding bay, and that gentleman was Edgar Turchill.</p> + +<p>‘So glad to see you here, Aunt Rhoda,’ cried Gerald. ‘Why, +Turchill, they told me you were in London!’</p> + +<p>‘Came home last night, rode over to South Hill this morning, +overtook Mrs. Ferrers on the way, and——’</p> + +<p>‘I asked him to come on with me and to join in our round +of inspection,’ said Aunt Rhoda. ‘I hope I did not do very +wrong.’</p> + +<p>‘You did very right. I don’t think Turchill feels himself +much of a stranger at the Abbey, even though it has been a very +inhospitable place for the last year or so. And now before we +go in for any more business let’s proceed to luncheon. Your +boat has had a most invigorating effect on my appetite, Daphne. +I’m simply famished.’</p> + +<p>‘So you came in Daphne’s boat. She rows pretty well, +doesn’t she?’ asked Edgar, with a glance of mingled pride and +tenderness at his pupil.</p> + +<p>‘She might win a cup to-morrow. You have reason to be +proud of her.’</p> + +<p>They all went into the refectory, where, under the lofty +open timber roof, a small oval table looked like an island in a +sea of Turkey carpet and polished oak flooring.</p> + +<p>‘It would have served you right if we had had the long +dinner-table,’ Gerald said to Daphne, as he passed her with Mrs. +Ferrers on his arm.</p> + +<p>‘I thought we were going to picnic in the park,’ said Madoline.</p> + +<p>‘Daphne——Neither you nor Daphne seemed to care about +it,’ replied Gerald.</p> + +<p>‘This is a great deal more sensible,’ remarked Mrs. Ferrers.</p> + +<p>‘Oh, I don’t know; it’s awfully jolly to eat one’s luncheon +under the trees in such weather as this,’ said Edgar.</p> + +<p>‘For Mr. Turchill’s particular gratification, we will have +afternoon tea in the cloisters,’ said Gerald. ‘Blake,’ to the +butler, ‘let there be tea at half-past four on the grass in the +cloisters.’</p> + +<p>Daphne could eat or drink very little, though Edgar, who<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span> +sat next to her, was pressing in his offers of lobster mayonnaise, +and cold chicken, cutlets, sole à la maître d’hôtel, Perigord pie. +She was looking about her at the portraits on the walls.</p> + +<p>Facing her hung Prescott Knight’s picture of the man who +began his career by wheeling barrows, and who ended it by +building mighty viaducts, levelling hills, filling valleys, making +the crooked paths straight. It was a brave honest English face, +plain, rugged even, the painter having in no wise flattered his +sitter; but a countenance that was pleasanter to the eye than +many a handsome face. A countenance that promised truth and +honour, manliness and warm feelings in its possessor.</p> + +<p>Daphne looked from the portrait on the wall to the present +master of the Abbey. No; there was not one point of resemblance +between Gerald Goring and his father.</p> + +<p>Then she looked at another portrait hanging in the place of +honour above the wide Gothic mantelpiece. Lady Geraldine, +by Buckner: the picture of an elegant high-bred woman of +between thirty and forty, dressed in amber satin and black lace, +one bare arm lifted to pluck a rose from a lattice, the other hand +resting on a marble balustrade, across which an Indian shawl had +been flung carelessly. Face and figure were both perfect after +their kind—figure tall and willowy, a swan’s neck, a proud and +pensive countenance, with eyes of the same doubtful colour as +Gerald’s, the same dreamy look in them. Then Daphne turned +her gaze to the other end of the room, where hung the famous +Sir Peter Lely, a replica of the well-known picture in Hampton +Court, for which replica Mr. Giles-Goring had paid a preposterous +price to a poor and proud member of his wife’s family, +who was lucky enough to possess it. Strange that a singleminded, +honest-hearted man like John Giles-Goring should have +been proud of his son’s descent from a king’s mistress, and should +have hung the portrait of Felicia, Countess of Heronville, above +the desk at which he read family prayers to his assembled household. +Yes; Lady Heronville’s eyes were like Gerald’s, dreamily +beautiful.</p> + +<p>Everybody at the table had plenty to say, except Daphne. +She was absorbed by her contemplation of the pictures. Edgar +was concerned at her want of appetite. He tried to entertain +her by telling her of the plays and pictures he had seen.</p> + +<p>‘Your father ought to take you to town before the season is +over. There is so much to see,’ he said; ‘and though I am told +that all the West End tradespeople are complaining, it seems to +me that London was never so full as this year. Hyde Park in +the morning and afternoon is something wonderful.’</p> + +<p>‘I should like to go to the opera,’ said Daphne rather listlessly. +‘Madame Tolmache took us to hear “Faust” one evening. +She said that an occasional visit to the opera was the +highest form of cultivation for the youthful mind. I believe<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span> +she had a box given her by the music-master, and that she +turned it to her own advantage that way—charging it in her +bills, don’t you know. I shall never forget that evening. It was +at the end of August, and Paris was wrapped in a white mist, +and the air had a breathless, suffocating feeling, and the streets +smelt of over-ripe peaches. But when we got out of the jolting +fly that took us from the station to the theatre, and went to a +box that seemed in the clouds, we had to go up so many stairs +to reach it, and the music began, and the curtain went up, it +was like being in a new world. I felt as if I were holding my +breath all the time. Even Martha Dibb—that stupid, good-natured +girl I told you about—seemed spell-bound, and sat with +her mouth open, gasping like a fish. Nilsson was Marguerite, +and Faure was Mephistopheles. I shall remember them to the +end of my life.’</p> + +<p>‘You’ll hear them again often, I hope. Nilsson was singing +the other night, when I took my mother to hear Wagner’s great +opera. The music is quite the rage, I believe; but I don’t like +it as well as “Don Giovanni.”’</p> + +<p>Luncheon was over by this time—a formal ceremonious +luncheon, such as Daphne detested. It was her punishment for +having been uncivil last night when the picnic idea was mooted. +And now they all repaired to the gardens, and perambulated the +parterre, and criticised the statues: Leda with her swan, Venus +with an infant Cupid, Hebe offering her cup, Ganymede on his +eagle—all the most familiar personages in Lemprière. The +fountains were sending up their rainbow spray in the blazing +afternoon sun. The geraniums, and calceolarias, and pansies, +and petunias, and all the tribe of begonias, and house-leeks, +newly bedded out, seemed to quiver in the fierce bright light.</p> + +<p>‘For pity’s sake let us get out of this burning flowery furnace,’ +cried Gerald. ‘Let’s go to the rose-garden; it’s on the shady +side of the house, and within reach of my mother’s favourite +tulip-trees.’</p> + +<p>The rose-garden was a blessed refuge after that exposed parterre +facing due south. Here there was velvet turf on which to +walk, and here were trellised screens and arches wreathed with +the yellow clusters of the Celine Forestier, and the Devoniensis. +Mrs. Ferrers was a person who always discoursed of flowers by +their botanical or fashionable names. She did not call a rose a +rose, but went into raptures over a Marguerite de St. Armand, a +Garnet Wolseley, a Gloire de Vitry, or an Etienne Levet, as the +case might be.</p> + +<p>Here, smoking his cigar, which he politely suppressed at their +approach, they discovered Mr. MacCloskie, the hard-faced, sandy-haired +Scottish gardener.</p> + +<p>‘You have been taking a look at my grounds, I hear, MacCloskie,’ +Mr. Goring said pleasantly.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span></p> + +<p>‘Yes, sir; I’ve looked about me a bit. I think I’ve seen +pretty well everything.’</p> + +<p>‘And the hot-houses leave room for improvement, I suppose?’</p> + +<p>‘Well, sir, I’m not wishing to say anything disrespectful to +your architect,’ began MacCloskie, with that deliberation which +gave all his speeches an air of superior wisdom, ‘but if he had +tried his hardest to spend the maximum of money in attaining +the minimum of space and accommodation—to say nothing of +his ventilation and his heating apparatus, which are just abominable—he +couldn’t have succeeded better than he has—unconsciously.’</p> + +<p>‘Dear me, Mr. MacCloskie, that’s a bad account. And yet +the gardeners here have managed to rub on very decently for a +quarter of a century, with no better accommodation than you +have seen to-day.’</p> + +<p>‘Ay, sir, that’s where it is. They just roobed on, poor fellows. +And I can only say that it’s very creditable to them to do +as well as they have done, and if they’re about a quarter of a +century behind the times nobody can blame them.’</p> + +<p>‘Then we must build new houses—that’s inevitable, I conclude.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, sir, if you want to grow exotics.’</p> + +<p>‘Yet I used to see a good deal of stephanotis about the rooms +in my father’s time.’</p> + +<p>‘Ay, there’s a fine plant growing in a bit of a glass—shed,’ +said Mr. MacCloskie with ineffable contempt. ‘Necessity’s the +mother of invention, Mr. Goring. Your gardeners have done +just wonders. But with all deference to you, sir, that kind of +thing wouldn’t suit me. And if Miss Lawford has any idea of +my coming here by-and-by——’ with a respectful glance at his +mistress, as he stood at ease, contemplating the spotless lining +of his top-hat.</p> + +<p>‘Miss Lawford would like you to continue in her service +when she is Mrs. Goring. Perhaps you will be good enough to +give me an exact specification of the space you would require, +and the form of house you would suggest. I wish Miss Lawford +to be in no way a loser when she exchanges South Hill for +Goring Abbey.’</p> + +<p>‘Thank you, sir, you are very good, sir,’ murmured the +Scotchman, as if it were for his gratification the houses were to +be built. ‘This is a very fine place, sir; it would be a pity if it +were to be behind the times in any particular.’</p> + +<p>The head gardener bowed and withdrew, everyone—even +Aunt Rhoda—breathing more freely when he had vanished.</p> + +<p>‘Isn’t he too utterly horrid?’ asked Daphne. ‘If there is a +being I detest in this world it is he. Were I in Lina’s place I +should take advantage of my marriage to get rid of him; but<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span> +she will just go down to her grave domineered over by that +man,’ concluded Daphne, mimicking MacCloskie’s northern +tongue.</p> + +<p>‘He is not the most agreeable person in the world,’ said +Lina; ‘but he is thoroughly conscientious.’</p> + +<p>‘Did you ever know a disagreeable person who did not set up +for being a paragon of honesty?’ exclaimed Daphne contemptuously.</p> + +<p>They roamed about the rose-garden, which was a lovely +place to loiter in upon a summer day, and lingered under the +tulip-trees, where there were rustic chairs and a rustic table, +and every incentive to idleness. Beyond the tulip-trees there +was a shrubbery on the slope of the hill, a shrubbery which sheltered +the rose-garden from bleak winds, and made it a thoroughly +secluded spot. While the rest of the party sat talking under the +big broad-leaved trees, Daphne shot off to explore the shrubbery. +The first thing that attracted her attention was a large wire +cage among the laurels.</p> + +<p>‘Is that an aviary?’ she asked.</p> + +<p>‘No,’ answered Gerald, rising and going over to her. ‘These +are my father’s antecedents.’</p> + +<p>He pulled away the laurel branches which had spread themselves +in front of the cage, and Daphne saw that it contained +only a shabby old barrow, a pickaxe, and shovel.</p> + +<p>‘Those were the stock-in-trade with which my father began +his career,’ he said. ‘I don’t believe he had even the traditional +half-crown. I’ve no doubt if he had possessed such a +coin his mates would have made him spend it on beer. He +began life, a barefooted, ignorant lad, upon a railroad in the +north of England; and before his fortieth birthday he was one +of the greatest contractors and one of the best-informed men +of his time; but he never mastered the right use of the aspirate, +and he never could bring himself to wear gloves. It was +his fancy to keep those old tools of his, and to take his visitors +to look at them, after they had gone the round of house and +gardens.’</p> + +<p>‘I hope you are proud of him,’ said Daphne, with a bright +penetrating glance which seemed to pierce Mr. Goring’s soul. +‘I should hate you if I thought that, even for one moment in +your life, you could feel ashamed of such a father.’</p> + +<p>‘Then I’m afraid I must endure your hate,’ said Gerald. +‘No; I have never felt ashamed of my father: he was the +dearest, kindest, most unselfish, most indulgent father that ever +spoiled an unworthy son. But I have occasionally felt ashamed +of that barrow, when it has been exhibited and explained to a +new acquaintance, and I have seen that the now acquaintance +thought the whole thing—the mock mediæval abbey, and the +barrow, and my dear simple-hearted dad—one stupendous joke.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span></p> + +<p>‘I should be more ashamed of Felicia, Countess of Heronville, +than of that barrow, if I were you,’ exclaimed Daphne, +flushed and indignant.</p> + +<p>‘You little radical! Mistress Felicia was by no means an +exemplary person, but she was one of the loveliest women at +Charles’s court, where lovely women congregated by common +consent, while all the ugly ones buried themselves at their +husbands’ country seats, and thought that some fiery comet +must be swooping down upon the world because of wickedness +in high places. Don’t be too hard upon poor Lady Heronville. +She died in the zenith of her charms, while quite a young +woman.’</p> + +<p>‘Do you think she ought to be pitied for that?’ demanded +Daphne. ‘Why, it was the brightest fate Heaven could give +her. The just punishment for her evil ways would have been a +long loveless old age, and to see her beauty fade day by day, and +to know that the world she loved despised and forgot her.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Whom the gods love die young, was said of old;</div> + <div class="verse indent1">And many deaths do they escape by this.”’</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>‘Where did you find those lines, little one?’</p> + +<p>‘In a book we used to read aloud at Madame Tolmache’s, +“Gems from Byron.”’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, I see! Mere chippings, diamond dust. I was afraid +you’d been at the Koh-i-noor itself.’</p> + +<p>‘Are we to have some tea, Gerald?’ asked Madoline, crossing +to them and looking at her watch as she came. ‘It is half-past +four, and we must be going home soon.’</p> + +<p>‘To the cloisters, ladies and gentlemen, to all that there is of +the most mediæval in the Abbey.’</p> + +<p>They passed under a Gothic archway and found themselves +on a square green lawn, in the midst of which was another fountain +in a genuine old marble basin, a Roman relic dug up thirty +years ago in the peninsula of Portland. A cloistered walk surrounded +this grass-plot. A striped awning had been put up +beside the fountain, and under this the tea-table was spread.</p> + +<p>‘Now, Lina, let us see if you can manage that ponderous tea-kettle,’ +said Gerald.</p> + +<p>‘It is the handsomest I ever saw,’ sleepily remarked Mrs. +Ferrers, who had found the afternoon somewhat dreary, since +nobody had seemed to want her advice about anything. ‘But +I must confess that I prefer the Rector’s George the Second +silver, and old Swansea cups and saucers, to the highest exemplars +of modern art.’</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.<br> +<span class="fs70">‘YEVE ME MY DETH, OR THAT I HAVE A SHAME.’</span></h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Sir Vernon Lawford</span> was sitting alone in his study on the +morning after the visit to Goring Abbey, when the door opened +suddenly with a sharp jerk, and his younger daughter stood +before him. The very manner in which the door opened told +him, before he looked up from his desk, that the intruder was +Daphne, and not the always welcome Madoline.</p> + +<p>He looked at his daughter with cold severe eyes, as at +a person who had no right to be there. Ever since she could +remember, Daphne had feared her father much more than she +loved him; but never had he seemed to her so awful a being as +he appeared this morning in his own room, surrounded by all +the symbols of power—the bronze bust of Cicero looking down +at him from the bookcase; his despatch-box open at his side, +bristling with pen-knives and paper-knives, and stern official +stationery; his ponderous silver inkstand, presented by the +Warwickshire yeomanry in acknowledgment of his merits as +colonel; his russia-leather bound dictionaries and directories, +and brazen letter-weighing machine—and all the pomp and circumstance +of his business life about him.</p> + +<p>‘Well, Daphne, what do you want?’ he asked, looking at +her without a ray of sympathetic feeling in his handsome gray +eyes.</p> + +<p>‘If you please, papa,’ she faltered, blushing deeply under +that severe gaze, and pleating up the edge of her lawn-tennis +pinafore in supreme nervousness, ‘I don’t think I’m really +finished.’</p> + +<p>‘Finished!’ he exclaimed, looking at her as if he thought +she was an idiot. ‘Finished what? You never finish anything, +or begin anything either, so far as I can hear, that is worth +doing.’</p> + +<p>‘My education, I mean, papa,’ she said, looking at him with +eyes so lovely in hue and expression, so piteous in their timid +pleading, that they ought to have touched him. ‘I know you +sent me to Madame Tolmache to be finished, and that she was +very expensive; but I’m afraid I came away horribly ignorant; +and I begin to feel that a year or two more of schooling would +be of very great value to me. I am older now, don’t you know, +papa; and I should try more earnestly to improve myself. +Indeed, indeed, papa, I would work very hard this time,’ urged +Daphne, remorsefully remembering how little she had worked +in the past. ‘I don’t care where you send me: to Asnières, or +to Germany, or anywhere: so that I could only go on with my +education.’</p> + +<p>‘Go on with it at home,’ answered Sir Vernon contemptuously.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span> +‘You can read, and write, and spell, I suppose. Yes; +I have some of your letters asking me for different things in +those pigeon-holes. Any woman who can do as much as that +can improve herself. There are books enough on those shelves’—with +a glance at his classical and correct collection—‘to make +you wiser than any woman need be. But as for this freak of +wanting to go back to school——’</p> + +<p>‘It is no freak, papa. It is my most earnest desire. I feel +it would be better—for all of us.’</p> + +<p>She had changed from red to white by this time, and stood +before her father like a culprit, downcast and deadly pale.</p> + +<p>‘It would not be better for me who would have to pay the +bills. I have paid a pretty penny already for your education; +and you may suppose how vastly agreeable it is to me to hear +your frank confession of ignorance.’</p> + +<p>‘It is best for me to tell the truth, papa. Do not deny me +this favour. It is the first great thing I have ever asked of +you.’</p> + +<p>‘It is a very foolish thing, and I should be a fool if I humoured +your caprice.’</p> + +<p>She gave a little cry of mental pain.</p> + +<p>‘How can I convince you that it is no caprice?’ she asked +despairingly. ‘I was lying awake all last night thinking about +it. I am most thoroughly in earnest, papa.’</p> + +<p>‘You were thoroughly in earnest about your boat; and now +you are tired of it. You were intensely anxious to come home; +and now you are tired of home. You are a creature of whims +and fancies.’</p> + +<p>‘No, I am not tired of my boat,’ she cried passionately. ‘I +love it with all my heart, and the dear river, and this place, and +Madoline—and you—if you would only let me love you. Father,’ +she said in a low tremulous voice, coming hurriedly to her father +and kneeling at his feet, with clasped hands uplifted beseechingly, +‘there are times in a woman’s life when a light shines +suddenly upon her, showing her where her duty lies. I believe +that it is my duty to go back to school, somewhere in France, or +Germany, where I can get on with my education and grow serious +and useful, as a woman ought to be. It will be very hard, +it will be parting from all I love best in the world, but I feel +and know that it is my duty. Let me go, dear father. The +outlay of a few pounds cannot affect you.’</p> + +<p>‘Can it not? That shows how little you know of the world. +When a man is overweighted as I am in this place, living up to +every sixpence of his income, and so fettered that he cannot +realise an acre of his estate, every hundred he has to spend is of +moment. Your education has been a costly business already; +and I distinctly refuse to spend another sixpence on it. If you +have not profited by my outlay, so much the worse for you.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span> +Get up, child.’ She was still on her knees, looking at him in +blank despair. ‘This melo-dramatic fooling is the very last +thing to succeed with a man of my stamp. I detest heroics.’</p> + +<p>‘Very well, father,’ she answered in a subdued tone, strangling +her sobs and standing straight and tall before him. ‘I +hope if you should ever have cause to blame me for anything in +the future you will remember this refusal to-day.’</p> + +<p>‘I shall blame you if you deserve blame, you may be sure of +that,’ he answered harshly.</p> + +<p>‘And never praise me when I deserve praise, and never love +me, or sympathise with me, or be a father to me—except in +name.’</p> + +<p>‘Precisely,’ he said, looking downward with a gloomy brow. +‘Except in name. And now be kind enough to leave me. I +have a good many letters to write.’</p> + +<p>Daphne obeyed without a word. When she was in the corridor +outside, and had shut the door behind her, she stopped for +a few moments leaning against the wall, looking straight before +her with a countenance of inexpressible sadness.</p> + +<p>‘It was the only thing I could do,’ she murmured with a +heavy sigh.</p> + +<p>Sir Vernon told his elder daughter that afternoon of Daphne’s +absurd fancy about going back to school.</p> + +<p>‘Did you ever hear of such a mass of inconsistency?’ he +exclaimed angrily. ‘After worrying you continually with appealing +letters to be brought home, she is tired of us all and +wants to be off again in less than six months.’</p> + +<p>‘It is strange, papa, especially in one who is so thoroughly +sweet and loving,’ said Madoline thoughtfully. ‘Do you know +I’m afraid it must be my fault.’</p> + +<p>‘In what way?’</p> + +<p>‘I have been urging her to continue her education; and perhaps +I may have inadvertently given her the idea that she ought +to go back to school.’</p> + +<p>‘That is simply to suppose her an idiot, and unable to comprehend +plain English,’ retorted Sir Vernon testily. ‘You are +always making excuses for her. Hark!’ he cried, as a bright +girlish laugh came ringing across the summer air. ‘There she +is, playing tennis with Turchill. Would you suppose that two +hours ago she was kneeling to me like a tragedy queen, her eyes +streaming with tears, entreating to be sent back to school?’</p> + +<p>‘I’ll reason her out of her fancy, dear father. She always +gives way to me when I wish it.’</p> + +<p>‘I am glad she has just sense enough to understand your +superiority.’</p> + +<p>‘Dearest father, if you would be a little more affectionate to +her—in your manner, I mean—I believe she would be a great +deal happier.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span></p> + +<p>Another ringing laugh from Daphne.</p> + +<p>‘She is monstrously unhappy, is she not?’ exclaimed Sir +Vernon. ‘My dear Lina, that girl is a born <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">comédienne</i>. She +will always be acting tragedy or comedy all her life through. +This morning it was tragedy; this afternoon it is comedy. Do +not let yourself be duped by her.’</p> + +<p>‘Believe me, papa, you misjudge her.’</p> + +<p>‘I hope it may be so.’</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>‘Daphne, what is this fancy of yours about going back to +school?’ asked Madoline, when she and her sister were sitting +in the conservatory that evening in the sultry summer dusk, +while Sir Vernon and the two young men were talking politics +over their claret. ‘I was quite grieved to hear of it, believing, +as I did, that you were very happy at home.’</p> + +<p>‘Why, so I am—intensely happy—with you, darling,’ answered +Daphne, taking her sister’s hand, and twisting the old-fashioned +brilliant hoops, which Lina had inherited from her +grandmother, round and round upon the slender finger. ‘So +I am, dear, utterly happy. But happiness is not the be-all and +end-all of this life, is it, Lina? The Rector is continually telling +us that it isn’t, in those prosy port-winey old sermons of +his; but if he were only candid about his feelings he would say +that the end and aim of this life was dinner. I don’t suppose +I was born only to be happy, was I, Lina? We unfortunate +mortals are supposed to belong to the silkworm rather than to +the butterfly species, and to work out a career of usefulness +in the grub and worm stages, before we earn the right to flutter +feebly for a little while as elderly moths. Youth, from a Christian +point of view, is meant for work and self-abnegation, and +duty, and all that kind of thing; isn’t it, Lina?’</p> + +<p>‘Every stage of life has its obligations, dearest; but your +duties are very easy ones,’ answered Madoline gently. ‘You +have only to be respectful and obedient to your father, and to +do as much good as you can to those who need your kindness, +and to be grateful to God for the many good gifts He has lavished +upon you.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes; I suppose that upon the whole I am a very fortunate +young person, although I am a pauper,’ said Daphne sententiously. +‘I have youth, and the use of all my faculties, and a +ridiculously good constitution. I know I can walk knee-deep +in wet grass and never catch cold, and drink quarts of iced +water when I am in a fever of heat, and do all manner of things +that people consider tantamount to suicide, and be none the +worse for my folly. And then I have a fine house to live +in; though I have the sense that I am nobody in it; and I +have a very aristocratic father—to look at. Yes, Madoline, I +have all these things, and they are of no account to me; but I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span> +have your love, and that is worth them all a hundred times +over.’</p> + +<p>The sisters sat with clasped hands, Madoline touched by the +wayward girl’s affection. The moon was shining above the +deodaras; the last of the nightingales was singing amidst the +darkness of the shrubbery.</p> + +<p>‘Why do you want to go back to school, Daphne?’ asked +Lina again, coaxingly.</p> + +<p>‘I don’t want to go.’</p> + +<p>‘But this morning you were begging papa to send you +back.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes; I had an idea that I ought to improve myself—this +morning. But as papa refused to grant my request in a very +decisive manner, I have put the notion out of my head. I +thought that another year with Madame Tolmache might have +improved my French, and reconciled me to the necessity for a +subjunctive mood, which I never could see while I was at +Asnières; or that a twelvemonth in Germany might have enabled +me to distinguish the verbs that require the dative case +after them, from the verbs that are satisfied with the accusative, +which at present is a thing utterly beyond me. But papa +says no, and, as I am much fonder of boating and tennis and +billiards than of study, I am not going to find fault with papa’s +decision.’</p> + +<p>This was all said so lightly, with so much of the natural +recklessness of a high-spirited girl who has never had a secret +in her life, that Madoline had not a moment’s doubt of her +sister’s candour. Yet there was a hardness in Daphne’s tone +to-night that grieved her.</p> + +<p>‘Who is fond of billiards?’ asked Gerald’s lazy tones, a little +way above them, and, looking up, they saw him leaning with +folded arms upon the broad marble balustrade. ‘Are you coming +up to the drawing-room to give us some music, or are we +coming down to the billiard-room to play a match with you?’ +he inquired.</p> + +<p>‘Whichever my father likes,’ answered Madoline.</p> + +<p>‘Sir Vernon will not play this evening. He has gone to his +room to read the evening papers. I think he has not forgiven +Turchill for the series of flukes by which he won that game last +night. Edgar and I will have a clear stage and no favour this +evening, and we mean to give you two young ladies a tremendous +licking.’</p> + +<p>‘You will have an easy victim in me,’ said Madoline. ‘I have +not played half-a-dozen times since you left home.’</p> + +<p>‘Devotion surpassing Penelope’s. And Daphne, I suppose, +is still a tyro at the game. We must give you seventy-five out +of a hundred.’</p> + +<p>‘You are vastly condescending,’ exclaimed Daphne, drawing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span> +herself up. ‘You will give me nothing! I don’t care how +ignominiously I am beaten; but I will not be treated like a +baby.’</p> + +<p>‘<i lang="de" xml:lang="de">Und etwas schnïppish doch zugleich</i>,’ quoted Mr. Goring, +smiling to himself in the darkness.</p> + +<p>And now Edgar Turchill came out of the drawing-room, and +the two young men went down the shallow flight of steps to +the conservatory, where Madoline and her sister were still +seated in their wicker-work chairs in front of the open door, +through which the moonlit garden looked so fair a scene of +silent peace.</p> + +<p>‘Daphne is quite right to reject your humiliating concessions,’ +said Edgar. ‘She and I will play against you and Madoline, and +beat you.’</p> + +<p>‘Easily done, my worthy Saxon,’ answered Gerald, who was +apt to make light of his friend’s ancient lineage, in a good-natured +easy-going way. ‘I have never given more than a fraction +of my mind to billiards.’</p> + +<p>‘Then you must be a deuced bad player,’ said Edgar bluntly. +They all went down into the billiard-room, where Daphne’s +eyes sparkled with unaccustomed fire in the lamplight, as if the +mere notion of the coming contest had fevered her excitable +brain. Turchill, who was thoroughly earnest in his amusements, +took off his coat with the air of a man who meant business. +Gerald Goring slipped out of his as if he were going to +lie down for an after-dinner nap on one of the broad morocco-covered +divans.</p> + +<p>And now began the fight. Gerald and Madoline were obviously +nowhere, from the very beginning. Daphne had a firmness +of wrist, a hawklike keenness of eye, an audacity of purpose +that accomplished miracles. The more difficult the position the +better her stroke. Her boldness conquered where a more cautious +player must have failed. She sent her adversaries’ ball +rattling into the pockets with a dash that even stimulated Gerald +Goring to applaud his antagonist. And while she swelled the +score by the most startling strokes, Edgar crept quietly after her +with his judicious and careful play—doing wonderful things with +his arms behind his back, in the easiest manner.</p> + +<p>‘I throw up the sponge,’ cried Gerald, after struggling feebly +against his fate. ‘Lina, dearest, forgive me for my candour, but +you are playing almost as wretchedly as I. We are both out of +it. You two young gladiators had better finish the game by +playing against each other up to a hundred, while Lina and I +look on and applaud you. I like to see youth energetic, even if +its energies are misdirected.’</p> + +<p>He seated himself languidly on the divan which commanded +the best view of the table. Lina sat by his side, her white +hands moving with an almost rhythmical regularity as she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span> +knitted a soft woollen comforter for one of her numerous pensioners.</p> + +<p>‘My busy Penelope, don’t you think you night rest from +your labours now that Ulysses is safe at home, and the suitors +are all put to flight?’ asked Gerald, looking admiringly at the +industrious hands. ‘You have no idea how horribly idle you +make me feel.’</p> + +<p>‘I think idleness is the privilege of your sex, Gerald; but it +would be the penalty of ours. I am wretched without some kind +of work.’</p> + +<p>‘Another case of misdirected energy,’ sighed Gerald, throwing +himself lazily back against the India-matting dado, and +clasping his hands above his head, as he watched the antagonists.</p> + +<p>Daphne was playing as if her life depended on her victory. +Her slim figure was braced like a young athlete’s, every muscle +of the round white arm defined under her muslin sleeve—the +bare supple wrist and delicate hand looking as strong as steel. +She moved round the table with the swift lightness of some wild +thing of the woods—graceful, shy, untamable, half savage, yet +wholly beautiful.</p> + +<p>Edgar Turchill went on all the while in his businesslike way, +playing with either hand, and behaving just as coolly as if he +had been playing against Sir Vernon. Yet every now and then, +when it was Daphne’s turn to play, he fell into a dreamy contemplative +mood, and stood on one side watching her as if she +were something too wonderful to be quite human.</p> + +<p>‘There’s a stroke!’ he cried, as she left him tight under the +cushion, with nothing to play for. ‘I taught her. Oughtn’t I +to be proud of such a pupil?’</p> + +<p>‘You taught me sculling, and lawn-tennis, and billiards,’ said +Daphne, considering what she should do next. ‘All I have ever +learnt worth knowing.’</p> + +<p>‘Daphne!’ murmured Madoline, looking up reproachfully +from her ivory needles.</p> + +<p>‘I say it advisedly,’ argued Daphne, making another score. +‘Edgar, I am not at all sure you are marking honestly. Mr. +Goring would mark for us if he were not too lazy.’</p> + +<p>‘Not too lazy,’ murmured Gerald languidly, ‘but too delightfully +occupied in watching you. I would not spoil my pleasure +by mixing it with business for the world.’</p> + +<p>‘What is the use of book-learning?’ continued Daphne, +going on with her argument. ‘I maintain that Edgar has taught +me all I know worth knowing, for he has taught me how to be +happy. I adore the river; I doat upon billiards; and next best +after billiards I like lawn-tennis. Do you suppose I shall ever +be happier for having learnt French grammar, or the Rule of +Three!’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span></p> + +<p>‘Daphne, you are the most inconsistent person I ever met +with,’ said Madoline, almost angry. ‘Only this morning you +wanted to go back to school to finish your education.’</p> + +<p>‘Did she?’ asked Gerald, suddenly attentive.</p> + +<p>‘That was all nonsense,’ exclaimed Daphne, colouring violently.</p> + +<p>Mr. Turchill laughed heartily at the idea.</p> + +<p>‘Go back to school!’ he exclaimed. ‘What, after having +tasted liberty, and learnt to shoot Stratford bridge, and to beat +her master at billiards—for that last cannon makes the hundred, +Daphne! Back to school, indeed! What a little humbug you +must be to talk of such a thing!’</p> + +<p>‘Yes,’ answered Daphne coolly, as she put away her cue, and +came quietly round to her sister’s side; ‘I am a little bit of a +humbug. I think I try to humbug myself sometimes. I persuaded +myself this morning that I really thirsted for knowledge; +but my father contrived to quench that righteous thirst with +a very big dose of cold water—so henceforth I renounce all +attempts to improve myself.’</p> + +<p>The clock on the chimney-piece struck the half-hour after ten.</p> + +<p>‘I ordered my dog-cart for ten,’ said Gerald; ‘I hope we +have not transgressed, Lina, by staying so late?’</p> + +<p>‘I am not going till eleven, unless Miss Lawford sends me +away,’ said Turchill. ‘Eleven is the mystic hour at which Sir +Vernon usually tells me to go about my business. I know the +ways and manners of the house better than a wretched wanderer +like you, whose last idea of time is derived from some wretched +old Dalecarlian town-clock.’</p> + +<p>‘We had better go back to the drawing-room,’ suggested +Madoline. ‘My father has finished his letters by this time, I +daresay.’</p> + +<p>‘Then good-night everybody,’ said Daphne. ‘I’m going into +the garden to cool myself after that fearful struggle, and then +to bed.’</p> + +<p>She ran off through the conservatory while Gerald was opening +the opposite door for Madoline to go up to the drawing-room +by the indoor staircase.</p> + +<p>Daphne stopped to draw breath on the moonlit terrace.</p> + +<p>‘How ridiculously I have been gabbling!’ she said to herself, +with her hands clasping her burning forehead. ‘Why +can’t I hold my tongue? I am detestable to myself and everybody.’</p> + +<p>‘Daphne,’ said someone close at her side, in a tone of friendliest +concern, ‘I’m afraid you’re really tired.’</p> + +<p>It was Edgar Turchill, who had followed her through the +conservatory.</p> + +<p>‘Tired! Not at all. I would play against you again to-night—and +beat you—if it were not too late.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span></p> + +<p>‘But I am sure you are tired; there is a something in your +voice—strained, unnatural. Have you been vexed to-day? +My poor little Daphne,’ he went on tenderly, taking her hand, +‘something has gone wrong with you, I am sure. Has your +aunt been lecturing?’</p> + +<p>‘No. My father was unkind to me this morning; and I +was weak enough to take his unkindness to heart; which I +ought not to have done, being so well broken in to it.’</p> + +<p>‘And did you really and truly wish to go back to school?’</p> + +<p>‘I really and truly felt that I was an ignoramus, and that +I had better go on with my education while I was young enough +to learn.’</p> + +<p>‘Daphne, if you had all the knowledge of all the girls in +Girton screwed into that little golden head of yours, you +wouldn’t be one whit more charming than you are now.’</p> + +<p>‘I daresay the effect would be the other way; but I might +be a great deal more useful. I might teach in a poor school, or +nurse the sick, or do something in some way to help my fellow-creatures. +But sculling, and billiard-playing, and lawn-tennis—isn’t +it a horridly empty life?’</p> + +<p>‘If there were not birds and butterflies, and many bright +useless things, this world wouldn’t be half so beautiful as it is, +Daphne.’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, now you are dropping into poetry, like Mr. Wegg, and +I must go to bed,’ she retorted, with good-humoured petulance, +cheered by his kindness. ‘Good-night, Edgar. You are always +good to me. I shall always like you,’ she said gently.</p> + +<p>‘Always like me. Yes, I hope so, Daphne. And do you +still think that you would rather have had me than Gerald +Goring for your brother?’</p> + +<p>‘Ten thousand times.’</p> + +<p>‘Yet he is a thoroughly amiable fellow, kind to everyone, +generous to a fault.’</p> + +<p>‘A man with a million of money can’t be generous,’ answered +Daphne; ‘he can never give anything that he wants for +himself. Generosity means self-sacrifice, doesn’t it? It was +generous of you to leave Hawksyard at six in the morning in +order to teach me to scull.’</p> + +<p>‘I would do a great deal more than that to please you, and +count it no sacrifice,’ said Edgar gravely.</p> + +<p>‘I am sure you would,’ answered Daphne, with easy frankness.</p> + +<p>She was so thoroughly convinced that he would never +leave off caring for Madoline, and would go down to his grave +fondly faithful to his first misplaced affection, that no word or +tone or look of his, however significant, suggested to her any +other feeling on his part than an honest brotherly regard for +herself.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span></p> + +<p>‘Tell me what you think of Goring, now that you have had +time to form an opinion about him.’</p> + +<p>‘I think that he is devoted to Lina, and that is all I want +to know about him,’ answered Daphne decisively.</p> + +<p>‘And do you think him worthy of her?’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, that is a wide question. There was never a man living +except King Arthur that I should think absolutely worthy of +my sister Madoline; but as he is lying in Glastonbury Abbey, I +think Mr. Goring will do as well as anyone else. I hope Lina +will govern him, for his own sake as well as hers.’</p> + +<p>‘You think him weak, then?’</p> + +<p>‘I think him self-indulgent; and a self-indulgent man is +always a weak man, isn’t he? Look at Gladstone now, a man +of surpassing energy, of illimitable industry, a man who will +eat a snack of cold beef and drink a glass of cold water for his +luncheon, at his desk, in the midst of his work, anyhow. Mr. +Lampton, the new member who went up to see him, gave us a +sketch of him in his study, living so simply and working so +hard, so thoroughly homely and unaffected.’</p> + +<p>‘Daphne, I thought you were a hardened little Tory!’</p> + +<p>‘So I am; but I can admire the individual though I may +detest his politics. That is the kind of man I should like +Lina to marry: a man without a selfish thought, a man made +of iron.’</p> + +<p>‘Don’t you think a wife might hurt herself now and then +against the rough edges of the iron? Those unselfish men are +apt to demand a good deal of self-sacrifice from others.’</p> + +<p>‘And you think Lina was made to sit in a drawing-room all +her life, among hot-house flowers. Well, I believe she will be +very happy at Goring Abbey. She likes a quiet domestic life, +and to live among the people she loves. And Mr. Goring’s +selfishness will hardly trouble her. She has had such splendid +training with papa.’</p> + +<p>‘Daphne, do you think it is quite right to speak of your +father in that way?’ asked Edgar reproachfully.</p> + +<p>He was wounded by her flippant tone, hurt by every evidence +of faultiness in one whom he hoped the future would develop +into perfect woman and perfect wife.</p> + +<p>‘Would you like me to be a hypocrite?’</p> + +<p>‘No, Daphne. But if you can’t speak of Sir Vernon as he +ought to be spoken of, don’t you think it would be better to +say nothing at all?’</p> + +<p>‘For the future I shall be dumb, in deference to Mr. Turchill—and +the proprieties. But it was nice to have one friend +in the world with whom I could be thoroughly confidential,’ +she added coaxingly.</p> + +<p>‘Pray be confidential with me.’</p> + +<p>‘I can’t, if you once begin to lecture. I have a horror of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span> +people who talk to me for my own good. That is Aunt Rhoda’s +line. She is never tired of preaching to me for my good, and +I never feel so utterly bad as I do after one of her preachments. +And now I really must say good-night. Don’t forget that you +are engaged to dine at the Rectory to-morrow.’</p> + +<p>‘Are not you and Lina going?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, and Mr. Goring. It is to be a regular family gathering. +Papa is asked, but I cherish a faint hope that he may not +feel in the humour for going. I beg your pardon,’ exclaimed +Daphne, making him a ceremonious curtsy. ‘My honoured +parent has been invited, and wherever he is his children must +be happy. Is that the kind of thing you like?’ she asked tripping +away to the little half-glass door at the other end of the +terrace.</p> + +<p>Edgar ran after her to open the door for her; but she was +fleet as Atalanta, and there was nobody to distract her with +golden apples. She shut the door and drew the bolt, just as +Edgar reached it, and nodded a smiling good-night to him +through the glass. He stopped to see the white frock vanish +from the lamp-lit lobby, and then turned away to light a cigarette +and take a solitary turn on the terrace before going back to the +drawing-room to make his adieux.</p> + +<p>It was a spot where a man might love to linger on such a +night as this. The winding river, showing in fitful glimpses +between its shadowy willows; the distant woods; the dim +lights of the little quiet town; the tall spire rising above +the trees; made up a landscape dearer to Edgar Turchill’s honest +English heart than all the blue mountains and vine-clad valleys +of the Sunny South. He was a son of the soil, with all his +desires and prejudices and affections rooted in the land on +which he had been born. ‘How sweet—how completely lovable +she is,’ he said to himself, meditating over that final cigarette, +‘and how thoroughly she trusts me! Her mind is as clear as +a rivulet, through which one can count every pebble and every +grain of golden sand.’</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.<br> +<span class="fs70">‘AND TO THE DINNER FASTE THEY HEM SPEDDE.’</span></h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. MacCloskie’s</span> suggestions for new hot-houses at Goring +Abbey were on so large a scale as to necessitate a good deal of +consultation with architect and builder before the new constructions +and alterations of existing structures were put in hand. +The head gardener at South Hill had tried his hardest to secure +the whole organisation and direction of the work for himself, +and to have large powers in the choice of the men who were to +carry it out.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span></p> + +<p>‘Ye’ll not need any architect, Mr. Goring, if ye’ll joost let +me explain my mind to the builder,’ said this modest Caledonian. +‘Architects know a deal about the Parthenon and the Temple of +the Winds, and that kind of old-fashioned classical stuff, but +there’s not one of ’em knows how to plan a good workable hot-house, +or to build a flue that won’t smoke when the wind’s +contrary. Architects are very good for the fronts of clubhouses +and ceevil-service stores, and that like; but if you trust +your new houses to an architect, I’ll give odds when they’re done +there’ll be no place for me to put my coals. If you’ll just give +me free scope——’</p> + +<p>‘You are very good, Mr. MacCloskie,’ answered Gerald with +velvety softness, ‘but my father was a thoroughly practical man, +and I believe he knew as much of the science of construction as +any man living; yet he always employed an architect when he +wanted anything built for himself, were it only a dustbin. I’ll +stick to his lines.’</p> + +<p>‘Very well, sir, you must please yourself. But an orchid-house +is a creetical thing to build. The outside of it may be as +handsome as St. Peter’s at Rome; but your orchids won’t thrive +unless they like the inside arrangements, and for them ye’ll want +a practical man.’</p> + +<p>‘I’ll get a practical man, Mr. MacCloskie; you may be sure +of that,’ answered Gerald, ineffably calm, though the Scot was +looking daggers.</p> + +<p>The morning before Mrs. Ferrers’s family dinner was devoted +to the architect, who came down from London to Goring Abbey, +expressly to advise and be instructed. He was entertained at +luncheon at the Abbey; and Lina drove over under her aunt’s +wing to meet him, while Gerald’s thoroughbred hack—a horse of +such perfect manners that it mattered very little whether his +rider had hands or no hands—ambled along the turfy borders of +the pleasant country road beside the phaeton.</p> + +<p>Daphne had her day all to herself, since, knowing her to be +alone at South Hill, Edgar had no excuse for going there; and, +as Mr. Turchill argued with himself, a man must give some +portion of his life to the dearest old mother and the most picturesque +old house in the county. So, Edgar, with his fancies +flying off and circling about South Hill, contrived to spend a +moony day at home, mending his fishing-rods, reviewing his +guns, writing a few letters, and going in and out of his mother’s +homely old-fashioned morning-room twenty times between +breakfast and luncheon.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Turchill had been invited to the family dinner at +Arden Rectory, and had accepted the invitation, though she was +not given to dissipation of any kind, and she and her son found +a good deal to say about the coming feast during Edgar’s desultory +droppings-in.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span></p> + +<p>‘I hope you’ll like her, mother,’ said Edgar, stopping, with a +gun in one hand and an oily rag in the other, to look dreamily +across the moat to the quiet meadows beyond, where the dark +red Devon cows contrasted deliciously with the fresh green turf +sprinkled with golden buttercups and silvery marguerites.</p> + +<p>‘Like her!’ echoed Mrs. Turchill, lifting her soft blue eyes +in mild astonishment from her matronly task of darning one of +the best damask table-cloths. ‘Why she is the sweetest girl I +know. I would have given ten years of my life for you to have +married her.’</p> + +<p>This was awkward for Edgar, who had spoken of Daphne, +while Mrs. Turchill thought of Madoline.</p> + +<p>‘Not with my consent, mother,’ he said, laughing, and reddening +as he laughed. ‘I couldn’t have spared a single year. +But I wasn’t speaking of Madoline just then. I know of old +how fond you are of her. I was talking of poor little Daphne, +whom you haven’t seen since she came from her French school.’</p> + +<p>‘French school!’ exclaimed Mrs. Turchill contemptuously. +‘I hate the idea of those foreign schools, regular Jesuitical places, +where they take girls to operas and theatres and give them fine +notions,’ pursued the Saxon matron, whose ideas on the subject +were slightly mixed. ‘Why couldn’t Sir Vernon send her to the +Misses Tompion, at Leamington? That’s a respectable school if +you like. Good evangelical principles, separate bedrooms, and +plain English diet. I hope the French school hasn’t spoilt +Daphne. She was a pretty little girl with bright hair, I remember, +but she had rather wild ways. Something too much of a +tomboy for my taste.’</p> + +<p>‘She was so young, mother, when you saw her last, not +fifteen.’</p> + +<p>‘Well, I suppose French governesses have tamed her down, +and that she’s pretty stiff and prim by this time,’ said Mrs. +Turchill with chilling indifference.</p> + +<p>‘No, mother, she is a kind of girl whom no training would +ever make conventional. She is thoroughly natural, original +even, and doesn’t mind what she says.’</p> + +<p>‘That sounds as if she talked slang,’ said Mrs. Turchill, who, +although the kindest of women in her conduct, could be severe +of speech on occasion, ‘and of all things I detest slang in a +woman. I hope she is industrious. The idleness of the young +women of the present day is a crying sin.’</p> + +<p>Edgar Turchill seemed hardly to be aware of this last remark. +He was polishing the gun-metal industriously with that horrible +oily rag which accompanied him everywhere on his muddling +mornings at home.</p> + +<p>‘She’s accomplished, I suppose,’ speculated Mrs. Turchill—‘plays, +and sings, and paints on velvet.’</p> + +<p>‘Ye—es; that’s to say I’m not sure about the velvet,’ answered<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span> +Edgar faintly, not remembering any special artistic performances +of Daphne’s except certain attempts on a drawing-block, +which had seemed to him too green and too cloudy to lead +to much, and which he had never beheld in an advanced stage. +‘She is awfully fond of reading,’ he added in rather a spasmodic +manner, after an interval of silent thought. ‘The poetry she +knows would astonish you.’</p> + +<p>‘That would be easy,’ retorted Mrs. Turchill. ‘My father +and mother didn’t approve of poetry, and Cowper, Thomson, +and Kirke White were the only poets allowed to be read by us +girls at old Miss Tompion’s—these ladies are nieces of my Miss +Tompion, you know, Edgar.’</p> + +<p>‘How can I help knowing it, mother, when you’ve told me a +hundred and fifty times?’ exclaimed her son, more impatiently +than his wont.</p> + +<p>‘Well, Edgar, my dear, if you’re tired of my conversation—’</p> + +<p>‘No, you dear peppery old party, not a bit. Go on like an +old dear as you are. Only I thought you were rather hard upon +poor little Daphne just now.’</p> + +<p>‘How can I be hard upon her, when I haven’t seen her for +the last three years! Dear, dear, what a small place Leamington +was in my time,’ pursued Mrs. Turchill, musing blandly upon +the days of her youth; ‘but it was much more select. None of +these rich people from Birmingham; none of these Londoners +coming down to hunt; but a very superior class—invalids, elderly +people who came to drink the waters, and to consult Doctor +Jephson.’</p> + +<p>‘It must have been lively,’ murmured Edgar, not deeply +interested.</p> + +<p>‘It was not lively, Edgar, but it was select,’ corrected Mrs. +Turchill with dignity, as she paused with her head on one side +to admire the neatness of her own work.</p> + +<p>She was the kindest and best of mothers, but Edgar felt on +this particular occasion that she was rather stupid, and a trifle +narrow in her ideas. A purely rustic life has its disadvantages, +and a life which is one long procession of placid prosperous days, +knowing little more variety than the change of the seasons, is +apt to blunt the edge of the keenest intellect. Mrs. Turchill +ought to have been more interested in Daphne, Edgar thought.</p> + +<p>‘She will be delighted with her when she sees her,’ he reasoned, +comforting himself. ‘Who can help being charmed with +a girl who is so thoroughly charming?’</p> + +<p>And then he took up his gun and his rag, and strolled away +to another part of the roomy old house, so soberly and thoroughly +old-fashioned, not with the gimcrack spurious old fashion of to-day, +but with the grave ponderous realities of centuries ago—walls +four feet thick, deeply-recessed windows, massive untrimmed +joists, low ceilings, narrow passages, oak wainscoting,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span> +inconveniences and shortcomings of all kinds, but the subtle +charm of the remote past, the romantic feeling of a house that +has many histories, pervading everything. Edgar would not +have changed Hawksyard and his three thousand a-year for Goring +Abbey and a million. The house and the land around it—or +at any rate the land—had belonged to his race from time immemorial, +far back in the dim days of the Heptarchy. Tradition +held that the first of the Turchills had been a sokeman who +possessed a yard of land on the old feudal tenure, one of his +obligations being that he should breed hawks for the king’s falconers, +and thus the place had come in time to be called Hawksyard, +long after the last hawk bred there had flown away to join +some wild branch of the honey-buzzard family in the tree-tops +of primeval Arden, and the yard of land had swelled into a very +respectable manor. Edgar rather liked to believe that the +founder of his race had been a sokeman, who had held thirty +acres of land from the king at a penny an acre, and had furnished +labourers for the royal harvest, and had ridden up and down the +field with a wand in his hand to see that his men worked properly. +This curious young man was as proud of Turchill the +sokeman as of Turchill the high sheriff. If it was a humble +origin its humility was of such ancient date that it became distinction. +Turchill of the thirty acres was like Adam, or Paris, +or David. In the long line of the Turchills whose bones were +lying in the vaults below Hawksyard Church there had been +men distinguished in the field, the Church, and the law; men +who had fought on sea and land; men who had won power in +the State, and used it well, true alike to king and commons. But +the ruck of the Turchills had been country squires like Edgar, +and Edgar’s father; men who farmed their own land and lived +upon it, and who had no ambitions and few interests or desires +beyond their native soil.</p> + +<p>Hawksyard was a real moated grange. The house formed +three sides of a quadrangle, with a heavily buttressed garden +wall for the fourth side. The water flowed all round the solid +base of the building, a wide deep moat, well stocked with pike +and eels, carp and roach. The square inner garden was a prim +parterre of the seventeenth century, and there was not a flower +grew there more modern than Lord Bacon’s day. This was a +Turchill fancy. All the novelties of nineteenth-century horticulture +might flourish in the spacious garden on the other side +of the moat; but this little bit of ground within the gray old +walls was a sacred enclosure, dedicated to the spirit of the past. +Here the old yew-trees were clipped into peacocks. Here grew +rosemary; lavender; periwinkle, white, purple, and blue; germander; +flags; sweet marjoram; primroses; anemones; hyacinths; +and the rare fritillaria; double white violets, which +bloom in April, and again at Bartholomew-tide; gilliflowers;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span> +sweetbrier; and the musk-rose. Here the brazen sun-dial, on +its crumbling stone pedestal, reminded the passer-by that no +man is always wise. Here soft mosses, like tawny velvet, crept +over the gray relics of an abbey that had been destroyed soon +after the grange was built—the stone coffin of a mitred abbot; +the crossed legs of a knightly crusader, with a headless heraldic +dog at his feet. Here was the small circular fish-pond into which +the last of the abbots was supposed to have pitched headforemost, +and incontinently drowned himself, walking alone at midnight +in a holy trance.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Turchill was almost as fond as Edgar was of Hawksyard; +but her affection took a commonplace turn. She was not +to the manner born.</p> + +<p>She had come to the grange from a smart nineteenth-century +villa, and though she was very proud of the grave old house of +which her husband had made her the mistress, her pride was +mingled with an idea that Hawksyard was inconvenient, and +that its old fashion was a thing to be apologised for and deprecated +at every turn. Her chief delight was in keeping her house +in order; and her servants were drilled to an almost impossible +perfection in every duty appertaining to house-cleaning. Nobody’s +brasses, or oak floors, or furniture, or family plate, or pewter +dinner-service, ever looked so bright as Mrs. Turchill’s. Nowhere +were windows so spotless; nowhere was linen so exquisitely +white, or of such satin-like smoothness. Mrs. Turchill lived for +these things. When she was in London, or at the sea-side, she +would be miserable on rainy days at the idea that Jane or Mary +would leave the windows open, and that the brass fenders and +fire-irons were all going to ruin.</p> + +<p>Edgar spent a moony purposeless day, dawdling a good deal +in the garden on the other side of the moat, where the long old-fashioned +borders were full of tall white lilies and red moss-roses, +vivid scarlet geranium, heliotrope and calceolaria, a feast +of sweet scents and bright colours. There was a long and wide +lawn without a flower bed on it—a level expanse of grass; and +on the side opposite the flower border there was a row of good +old mulberry and walnut trees; then came a light iron fence, +and a stretch of meadow land beyond it. The grounds at Hawksyard +made no pretence of being a park. There was not even a +shrubbery, only that straight row of old trees, standing up out +of the grass, with a gravel walk between them and the fence, +across which Edgar used to feed and fondle his cows, or coax the +shy brood mares and their foals to social intercourse.</p> + +<p>He looked round his domain doubtfully to-day, wondering if +it were good enough for Daphne, this poor table-land of a +garden, a flat lawn, a long old-fashioned border crammed with +homely flowers, the yew-tree arbour at the end of yonder walk. +How poor a thing it seemed after South Hill, with its picturesque<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span> +timber and extensive view, its broad terrace and sloping lawn, +its rich variety of shrubs and conifers!</p> + +<p>‘It isn’t because I am fond of the place that she would care +for it,’ he told himself despondently. ‘I’m afraid there’s nothing +romantic or striking about it—except the moat. I’m glad she’s +so fond of water.’</p> + +<p>Edgar smoked a cigarette or two under the mulberry-trees, +looked at his cows, talked to some of his men, and thus contrived +to wear away the afternoon till the clock over the gateway +struck five.</p> + +<p>‘Mother’s tea-time. I’ll go and have a cup with her,’ he said +to himself.</p> + +<p>Going out to dinner was a tremendous piece of business with +Mrs. Turchill. She was more serious and solemn about it than +a strictly modern lady would feel about going to be married. +Even in an instance of this kind, where the dinner was supposed +to be entirely unceremonious, a friendly little gathering arranged +on the spur of the moment, she was still full of fuss and preparation. +She had spent an hour in her bed-chamber before luncheon, +arranging and discussing with her maid Deborah what +gown she would or would not wear on the occasion; and this +discussion involved a taking out and unfolding of all her dinner-gowns, +and an offering of divers laces upon divers bodices, to see +which went best with which. A review of this kind generally +ended by a decision in favour of black velvet, or satin, or silk, +or brocade, as the case might be; Mrs. Turchill being much +richer in gowns than in opportunities for wearing them.</p> + +<p>‘I always like myself best in black,’ she would say, with a +glance at the reflection of her somewhat florid complexion in the +Chippendale glass.</p> + +<p>‘You always look the lady in your velvet, mum,’ Deborah +would answer sententiously.</p> + +<p>Then after a day of quiet usefulness about her house the +worthy matron would collect her energies over a leisurely cup of +tea, and perhaps allow herself the refreshment of a nap after her +tea, before she began the solemn business of the toilet.</p> + +<p>The carriage had been ordered for a quarter past seven, +though it was but half an hour’s drive to Arden Rectory, and at +seven o’clock Mrs. Turchill was seated in the white parlour, in +all the dignity of her velvet gown and point-lace cap, her hereditary +amethysts, supposed to be second only to those once +possessed by George the Third’s virtuous consort, and her scarlet +and gold Indian shawl. She was a comely matron, with a complexion +that had never been damaged by cark or care, gas or late +hours: a rosy-faced country-bred dame, with bright blue eyes, +white teeth, and plentiful brown hair, in which the silver threads +were hardly visible.</p> + +<p>Edgar was standing by the open window, just where he had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span> +stood in the morning with his gun, sorely perplexed as to the +disposal of those fifteen minutes which had to be got through +before the most punctual of coachmen would bring the carriage +to the door. The London papers were lying unheeded on the +table; but Edgar had felt very little interest of late in the welfare +of nations, or even in the last dreadful murder in Whitechapel.</p> + +<p>‘I hope my cap is right,’ said Mrs. Turchill anxiously.</p> + +<p>‘How could it be wrong, mother, when you’ve Deborah and +your looking-glass, and have never been known to dress yourself +in a hurry?’</p> + +<p>‘I dislike doing anything in a hurry, Edgar. It is against +my principles. But I never feel sure about the set of my cap. +I am afraid Deborah’s eye is not quite correct, and a glass is +dreadfully deceiving. I wish you’d look, Edgar, if it isn’t too +much trouble.’</p> + +<p>This was said reproachfully, as her son was kneeling on the +window-seat staring idly down into the moat, as if he wanted to +discover the whereabouts of an ancient pike that had evaded +him last year.</p> + +<p>‘My dear mother,’ he exclaimed, turning himself about to +survey her, ‘to my eye—which may be no better than Deborah’s—that +lace arrangement which you call a cap appears mathematically +exact, as precise as your own straight, honest mind. +There’s Dobson with the carriage. Come along, mother.’</p> + +<p>He led her out, established her comfortably in her own particular +seat in the large landau, and seated himself opposite to +her with a beaming countenance.</p> + +<p>‘How happy you look, Edgar!’ said Mrs. Turchill, wondering +at this unusual radiance. ‘One would think it were a novelty +for you to dine out. Yet I am sure,’ somewhat plaintively, +‘you don’t very often dine at home.’</p> + +<p>‘The Rectory dinners are not to be despised, mother.’</p> + +<p>‘Mrs. Ferrers is an excellent manager, and does everything +very nicely; but as you don’t much care what you eat that +would hardly make you so elated. I am rather surprised that +you care about meeting Madoline and Mr. Goring so often,’ +added Mrs. Turchill, who had not quite forgiven Lina for having +refused to marry her son.</p> + +<p>That is the worst of making a confidante of a mother. She +has an inconveniently long memory.</p> + +<p>‘I have nothing but kindly feelings for either of them,’ answered +Edgar. ‘Don’t you know the old song, mother—“Shall +I, wasting in despair, die because a woman’s fair?” I don’t look +much like wasting in despair, do I, old lady?’</p> + +<p>‘I should be very sorry to see you unhappy, Edgar; but I +shall never love any wife of yours as well as I could have loved +Madoline.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span></p> + +<p>‘Don’t say that, mother. That’s too hard on the future Mrs. +Turchill.’</p> + +<p>This was a curious speech from a youth who six months ago +had protested that he should never marry. But perhaps this +was only Edgar’s fun. Mrs. Turchill shared the common delusion +of mothers, and thought her son a particularly humorous +young man.</p> + +<p>What a sweetly Arcadian retreat Arden Rectory looked on +this fair summer evening, and how savoury was the odour of a +<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">sole au gratin</i> which blended with the flowery perfumes of the +low-panelled hall! The guests had wandered out through the +window of the small drawing-room to the verandah and lawn +in front of it. That long French window was a blot upon the +architectural beauty of the half-timbered Tudor cottage, but it +was very useful for circulation between drawing-room and +garden.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ferrers and Madoline were sitting under the verandah; +Daphne was standing a little way off on the lawn talking to the +Rector and Gerald Goring. She was speaking with intense +animation, her face full of brightness. Edgar darted off to join +the group, directly he had shaken hands with the two ladies, +leaving his mother to subside into one of those new-fangled +bamboo chairs which she felt assured would leave its basket-work +impression on her velvet gown.</p> + +<p>‘Edgar,’ cried Daphne as he came towards her, ‘did you ever +hear of such a heathen—a man born on the soil—a very pagan?’</p> + +<p>‘Who is the culprit?’ asked Edgar; ‘and what has he done?’</p> + +<p>‘Mr. Goring has never seen Ann Hathaway’s cottage.’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t believe he knew who Ann Hathaway was till we +told him,’ said the Rector, with his fat laugh.</p> + +<p>‘And he has ridden and driven through Shottery hundreds +of times, and he never stopped to look at the cottage where +Shakespeare—the most wonderful man in the whole world—wooed +and won his wife.’</p> + +<p>‘I have heard it dimly suggested that she wooed and won +him,’ remarked Gerald placidly; ‘she was old enough.’</p> + +<p>‘You are too horrid,’ cried Daphne. ‘Would you be surprised +to hear that Americans cross the Atlantic—three thousand +miles of winds and waves and sea-sickness—on purpose to +see Stratford-on-Avon, and Shottery, and Wilmcote, and Snitterfield?’</p> + +<p>‘I could believe anything of a Yankee,’ answered Gerald, +unmoved by these reproaches. ‘But why Wilmcote? why +Snitterfield? They are as poky little settlements as you could +find in any agricultural district.’</p> + +<p>‘Did you ever hear of such hideous ignorance?’ cried Daphne, +‘and in a son of the soil. You are most unworthy of the honour +of having been raised in Shakespeare’s country. Why John<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span> +Shakespeare was born at Snitterfield, and Mary Arden lived +with her father at Wilmcote; and it was there he courted her.’</p> + +<p>‘John—Mary—oh, distant relations of the poet’s, I suppose?’ +inquired Gerald easily.</p> + +<p>‘This is revolting,’ exclaimed Daphne; ‘but he is shamming—he +must be shamming.’</p> + +<p>‘Punish him for his ignorance, whether it is real or pretended,’ +cried Edgar. ‘Make him row us all down to Stratford +to-morrow morning; and then we’ll walk him over to Shottery, +and make him give a new gown to the nice old woman who +keeps the cottage.’</p> + +<p>‘A new gown,’ echoed Daphne contemptuously; ‘he ought +to be made to give her a cow—a beautiful mouse-coloured +Channel Island cow.’</p> + +<p>‘I’ll give her anything you like, as long as you don’t bore +me to death about Shakespeare. I hate sights and lions of all +kinds. I went through Frankfort without looking at the house +where Goethe was born.’</p> + +<p>‘A depraved desire to be singular,’ said the Rector. ‘I +think he ought to forfeit a cow to Mrs. Baker. Rhoda, my +love,’ glancing furtively at his watch, ‘our friends are all here. +Todd is usually more punctual.’</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ferrers, Lina, and Mrs. Turchill had strolled out to +join the others. The prim rustic matron was looking at Daphne +with astonishment rather than admiration. She was pretty, no +doubt. Mrs. Turchill had never seen a more transparent complexion, +or lovelier eyes; but there was a reckless vivacity +about the girl’s manner which horrified the thoroughly British +matron.</p> + +<p>‘Daphne,’ said Edgar, ‘I hope you haven’t forgotten my +mother. Mother, this is Daphne.’</p> + +<p>Mrs. Turchill drew back a pace or two with extreme deliberation, +and sank gracefully in the curtsy which she had been +taught by the Leamington dancing-master—an undoubted +Parisian—five-and-thirty years ago. After the curtsy she extended +her hand and allowed Daphne to shake it.</p> + +<p>‘Come, Mrs. Turchill,’ said the Rector, offering his arm. +‘Goring, bring Miss Lawford; Turchill will take care of my +wife; and Daphne’—he paused, smiling at the fair young face +and slender girlish figure in soft white muslin—‘Daphne shall +have my other arm, and sit on my left hand. I feel there is a +bond of friendship between us now that I find she is so fond of +Shakespeare.’</p> + +<p>‘I’m afraid I know Hamlet’s soliloquies better than I do my +duty to my neighbour,’ said Daphne, on the way to the dining-room, +remembering how the Rector used to glower at her under +his heavy brows when she broke down in that portion of the +Church Catechism.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span></p> + +<p>Mrs. Ferrers, from her opposite seat at the oval table, had +a full view of her husband’s demeanour, across the roses and +maidenhair ferns and old Derby crimson and purple dessert +dishes. It was rather trying to her to see that he devoted himself +entirely to Daphne during the pauses of the meal; and +that, while he as in duty bound provided for all Mrs. Turchill’s +corporeal needs, and was solicitous that she should do ample +justice to his wines and his dishes, he allowed her mind to +starve upon the merest scraps of speech dropped into her ear at +long intervals.</p> + +<p>Nor was Edgar much better behaved to Mrs. Ferrers, for he +sank into such a slough of despond at finding himself separated +from Daphne, that his conversational sources ran suddenly dry, +and Rhoda’s lively inquiries about the plays and pictures he had +just been seeing elicited only the humiliating fact that she, who +had not seen them, knew a great deal more about them than he +who had.</p> + +<p>‘What did you think of the Millais landscape?’ she asked.</p> + +<p>‘Was there a landscape by Millais? I thought he was a +portrait painter.’</p> + +<p>This looked hopeless, but she tried again.</p> + +<p>‘And Frith’s picture; you saw that of course.’</p> + +<p>‘No, I didn’t,’ he replied, brightening; ‘but I saw the people +looking at it. It was immensely good, I believe. There was a +railing, and a policeman to make the people move on. My +mother was delighted. She and another lady trod on each +other’s gowns in their eagerness to get at the picture. I believe +they would have come to blows, if it hadn’t been for the policeman.’</p> + +<p>‘And there was Miss Thompson’s picture.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes; and another crowd. That is the sort of picture +mother enjoys. I think the harder the struggle is the better +she likes the picture.’</p> + +<p>Gerald and Madoline were sitting side by side, talking as +happily as if they had been in Eden. All the world might have +heard their conversation—there were no secrets, there was no +exchange of confidences—and yet they were as far away from +the world about them, and as completely out of it, as if they +had been in the planet Venus, rising so calmly yonder above the +willows, and sending one tremulous arrow of light deep down +into the dark brown river. For these two Mrs. Todd’s most +careful achievements were as nothing. Her <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">sole au gratin</i> might +have been served with horse-radish sauce—or fried onions; her +<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">vol-au-vent</i> might have been as heavy as suet-pudding; her +<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">blanquette</i> might have been bill-sticker’s paste; her <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">soufflé</i> might +have been flavoured with peppermint instead of <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">vanille</i>; and +they would hardly have discovered that anything was wrong.</p> + +<p>And what delight it was by-and-by to wander out into the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span> +cool garden, leaving the Rector to prose to poor Edgar over +his Chambertin, and to lose themselves in the shadowy shrubbery, +where the perfume of golden broom and mock orange +seemed intensified by the darkness. Daphne sat in the quaint +old candle-lit drawing-room conversing with the two matrons—Aunt +Rhoda inclined to lecture; Mrs. Turchill inclined to +sleepiness, having eaten a more elaborate dinner than she was +used to, and feeling an uncomfortable tightness in the region of +her velvet waistband.</p> + +<p>Edgar got away from the Rector as soon as he decently +could, and came to the relief of the damsel.</p> + +<p>‘Well, mother, how are you and Daphne getting on?’ he +asked cheerily. ‘I hope you have made her promise to come to +see you at Hawksyard.’</p> + +<p>Mrs. Turchill started from semi-somnolence, and her waistband +gave a little creak.</p> + +<p>‘I shall be delighted if Madoline will bring her sister to call +on me some day,’ she replied stiffly, addressing herself to nobody +in particular.</p> + +<p>‘Call on you—some day! What an invitation!’ cried Edgar. +‘Why, mother, what has become of your old-fashioned hospitality? +I want Daphne to come and stay with you, and to run +about the house with you, and help you in your dairy and +poultry-yard—and—get used to the place.’</p> + +<p>Get used to the place! Why should Daphne get used to the +place? For what reason was a fair-haired chit in a white frock +suddenly projected upon Mrs. Turchill’s cows and poultry—cows +as sacred in her mind as if she had been a Hindoo; poultry +which she only allowed the most trusted of her dependents to +attend upon? She felt a sudden sinking of the heart, which +was much worse than after-dinner tightness. Could it be that +Edgar, her cherished Edgar, was going to throw himself away +upon such a frivolous chit as this; a mere school-girl, without +the slightest pretension to deportment?</p> + +<p>Daphne all this time sat in a low basket-chair by the open +window, and looked up at Edgar with calm friendly eyes—eyes +which were at least without guile when they looked at him.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.<br> +<span class="fs70">‘AFTER MY MIGHT FUL FAYNE WOLD I YOU PLESE.’</span></h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> day after the family dinner was hopelessly wet; so the +expedition to Shottery, proposed by Edgar Turchill and seconded +by Daphne, was indefinitely postponed. The summer fleeted +by, the beautiful bounteous summer, with her lap full of sweet-scented +flowers; the corn grew tall, the hay was being carted in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span> +many a meadow within sound of Stratford bells; and the woods +began to put on that look of dull uniform green which indicates +the beginning of the end. For the sisters at South Hill, for +Gerald Goring and Edgar Turchill, July and August had been +one long holiday. There was so little in life for these young +people to do except take their pleasure. Theirs was an existence +of perpetual rose-gathering; and the roses of life budded +and bloomed for them with an inexhaustible fertility. Perhaps +Madoline was the only one among them who had any idea of +duty. Edgar was an affectionate son, a good master, and a +liberal landlord, but he had never been called upon to sacrifice +his own inclinations for the welfare of others, and he had never +given his mind to any of the graver questions of the day. To +him it mattered very little how the labouring classes as a body +were taught and housed, so long as the peasants on his own land +had decent cottages, and were strangers to want. It irked him +not whether the mass of mankind were Jews or Gentiles, Ritualists, +Dissenters, or rank unbelievers, so long as he sat in the old +cloth-lined family pew on Sunday morning assisting at the +same service which had been all-sufficient for his father, and +seeing his dependents deporting themselves discreetly in their +places in the gallery. His life was a narrow life, travelling in +a narrow path that had been worn for him by the footsteps of +his ancestors. He was a good man in a limited way. But he +had never read the modern gospel, according to Thomas Carlyle, +which after all is but an expansion of the Parable of the Talents: +and he knew not that every man must work after some fashion +or other, and do something for the time in which he lives. He +was so thoroughly honest and true-hearted, that if the narrowness +and uselessness of his life had been revealed to him, he +would assuredly have girded his loins and taken up the pilgrim’s +staff. Never having had any such revelation he took his pleasure +as innocently as a school-boy at home for the holidays, and +had no idea that he was open to the same reproach which that +man received who had buried the wealth entrusted to him.</p> + +<p>He was as near happiness in this bright summer-tide as a +mortal can hope to be. The greater part of his days were spent +with Daphne, and Daphne was always delighted. True that +she was changeable as the light July winds, and that there were +times when she most unmercifully snubbed him. But to be +snubbed by her was better than the smiles and blandishments +of other women. She was given to that coyness and skittishness, +the <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">grata protervitas</i>, which seems to have been the chief +fascination of the professional beauty of the Augustan era. +She was as coy as Chloe; coquettish as Glycera; fickle as Lydia, +who, supposing there was only one lady of that name, and she +a real personage, was rather too bad. Daphne was half-a-dozen +girls is one; sometimes welcoming her swain so sweetly that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span> +he felt sure she loved him, and the next day turning from him +with scornful impatience, as if his very presence were weariness +to her.</p> + +<p>He bore it all. ‘Being her slave what could he do,’ etc. +He had Shakespeare’s sonnets by heart, and was somewhat of +the slavish lover therein depictured. His Lydia might flout him +to-day, and he was just as ready to fetch and carry for her on +the morrow. She had changed, and for the worse, since the +sweet fresh early summer-tide when they two had breakfasted +<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tête-à-tête</i> in the boat-house. She was not so even-tempered. +She was ever so much more capricious and exacting; and she +was prone to gloomy intervals which anyone other than a lover +might have ascribed to sulks. Edgar wondered, not without +sorrow, at the change; but it was not in him to blame her. He +made all manner of excuses. Bad health was, perhaps, at the +root of these discords. She might be a victim to obscure neuralgic +pains and aches, which she heroically concealed from her +friends—albeit her fair and fresh appearance belied the supposition. +Perhaps it was the weather which made her occasionally +cross. Who could go on in simpering placidity with the thermometer +at ninety in the shade?</p> + +<p>‘And then we spoil her,’ argued Edgar, urging his final plea. +‘She is so bewitching that one can’t help spoiling her. Madoline +spoils her. I am an idiot about her; and even Goring, for all +his contemptuous airs and graces, is almost as easily fooled by +her as the rest of us. If we were more rational in our treatment +of her, she would be less faulty. But then her very faults +are charming.’</p> + +<p>It had been, or had seemed to be, an utterly happy summer +for everybody at South Hill. Two months of splendid weather; +two months wasted in picnicking, and excursionising, driving, +boating, lawn-tennis, tea-drinking, journeying to and fro between +South Hill and Goring Abbey to watch the progress of +the hot-houses, which, despite the unlimited means of their +proprietor, progressed with a provoking slowness.</p> + +<p>For some little time after Gerald’s arrival Daphne had held +herself as much as possible in the background. She had tried +to keep aloof from the life of the two lovers; but this Madoline +would not suffer.</p> + +<p>‘You are to be in all our amusements, and to hear all our +plans, dear,’ she told her sister one day. ‘I never meant that +you and I should be less together, or less dear to each other, +because of Gerald’s return. Do you think my heart is not big +enough to hold you both?’</p> + +<p>‘I know it is, Lina. But I fancy Mr. Goring would like to +have it all to himself, and would soon get to look upon me as +an intruder, if I were too much with you. You had better +leave me at home to amuse myself on the river, or to play ball<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span> +with Goldie, who is more than a person as to sense and sensibility.’</p> + +<p>To this Madoline would not consent. Her love of her +sister was so tempered with pity, so chastened and softened +by her knowledge of the shadow that darkened the beginning +of Daphne’s life, that it was much deeper and stronger than +the affection common among sisters. She wanted to make up +to Daphne for all she had lost; for the cruel mother who had +deserted her in her cradle; for the father’s unjust resentment. +And then there was the delightful idea that Edgar Turchill, +that second best of men, whom she had rejected as a husband, +would by-and-by be her brother; and that Daphne’s future, +sheltered and cherished by a good man’s devoted love, would +be as complete and perfect a life as the fairest and sweetest of +women need desire to live. Madoline had quite made up her +mind that Edgar was to marry Daphne. That he was passionately +in love with her was obvious to the meanest capacity. +Everybody at South Hill knew it except perhaps Daphne herself. +That she liked him with placid sisterly regard was +equally clear. And who could doubt that time would ripen +this sisterly regard into that warmer feeling which could alone +recompense him for his devotion? Thus, against the girl’s own +better sense, it became an understood fact that Daphne was +to be a third in all the lovers’ amusements and occupations, +and that Mr. Turchill was very frequently to make a fourth in +the same. To Gerald Goring the presence of these two seemed +in no wise obnoxious. Daphne’s vivacity amused him, and he +looked upon his old friend Turchill as a considerably inferior +order of being, not altogether unamusing after his kind. He +was not an exacting lover. He accepted his bliss as a settled +thing; he knew that no rock on Cornwall’s rugged coast was +more securely based than his hold on Madoline’s affection. He +was troubled by no jealous doubts; his love knew no hot fits or +cold fits, no quarrelling for the after bliss of reconciliation. +There was nothing of the <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">grata protervitas</i> in Madoline’s gentle +nature. Her well-balanced mind could not have stooped to +coquetry.</p> + +<p>August was drawing to its close. It had been a month of +glorious weather, such halcyon days as made the farmer’s +occupation seem just the most delightful calling possible for +man. There was not much arable land within ken of South +Hill, but what cornfields there were promised abundant crops; +and one of the magnates of the land—who, in his dudgeon +against a revolutionary re-adjustment of the game-laws at that +time looming in the dim future, had rough-ploughed a thousand +acres or so of his best land rather than let it under obnoxious +conditions—may have thought regretfully of the corn that +might have been reaped off those breezy uplands and in those<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span> +fertile valleys, where at his bidding sprang cockle instead of +barley. It was a month of holiday-making for everybody—for +even the labour of the fields, looked at from the outside, +seemed like holiday-making. Quiet little Stratford, flushed +with spasmodic life by the arrival of a corps of artillery, tootled +on trumpets, and daddy-mammyed on drums; while the horn +of the Leamington coach blew lustily every morning and afternoon, +and the foxhound puppy at nurse at The Red Horse +found the middle of the highway no longer a comfortable place +for his after-dinner nap. It was the season of American tourists, +doing Stratford and its environs, guide-book in hand, and +crowding in to The Red Horse parlour, after luncheon, to see +the veritable chair in which Washington Irving used to sit.</p> + +<p>There came a drowsy sunny noontide when the lovers had +no particular employment for their day. They had been reduced +to playing billiards directly after breakfast, until Gerald +discovered that it was too warm for billiards, whereupon the +four players—Lina, Daphne, Gerald, and Turchill—repaired to +the garden in search of shade.</p> + +<p>‘Shade!’ cried Daphne indignantly. ‘Who wants shade? +Who could ever have too much of Phœbus Apollo? Not I. +We see too little of his godlike countenance, and I will never +turn my back upon him.’</p> + +<p>She seated herself on the burnt grass in the full blaze of +the sun, while the other three sat in the shadow of an immense +Spanish chestnut, which grew wide and low, making a leafy tent.</p> + +<p>‘This is a horrid idle way of spending one’s day,’ said +Daphne, jumping up with sudden impatience, after they had all +sat for half an hour talking lazily of the weather and their +neighbours. ‘Is there nothing for us to do?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, you excitable young person,’ answered Gerald; ‘since +your restless temper won’t let us be comfortable here, we’ll +make you exert yourself elsewhere. The river is the only place +where life can be tolerable upon such a day as this. The nicest +thing would be to be in it: the next best thing perhaps is to be +on it. You shall row us to Stratford Weir, Miss Daphne.’</p> + +<p>‘I should like it of all things. I am dying for something to +do,’ responded Daphne, brightening. ‘You’ll take an oar, won’t +you, Edgar?’</p> + +<p>‘Of course, if you’d really like to go. By-the-by, suppose +we improve the occasion by landing at Stratford, and walking +Gerald over to Shottery to see Ann Hathaway’s cottage.’</p> + +<p>‘Delicious,’ cried Daphne. ‘It shall be a regular Shakespearian +pilgrimage. We’ll take tea and things, and have kettledrum +in Mrs. Baker’s house-place. She’ll let me do what I like, +I know. And Mr. Goring shall carry the basket, as a punishment +for his hideous apathy. And we’ll talk to him about +Shakespeare’s early life all the way.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span></p> + +<p>‘Shakespeare’s life, forsooth!’ cried Gerald scornfully. +‘Who is there that knows anything about it? Half-a-dozen +entries in a parish register; a few traditional sayings of Ben +Jonson’s; and a pack of sentimentalists—English and German—evolve +out of their inner consciousness a sentimental biography. +“We may picture him as a youth going across the +fields to Shottery: because it is the shortest way, and a man of +his Titanic mind would naturally have taken it: yes, over the +same meadows we tread this day: on the same ground, if +not actually on the same grass.” Or again: “Seeing that +Apostle-spoons were still in common use in the reign of Elizabeth, +it may be fairly concluded that the immortal poet used +one for his bread and treacle: for who shall affirm that he did +not eat bread and treacle, that the inspired lad of the Stratford +grammar-school had not the same weaknesses and boyish +affections as his schoolmates? Who would not love to possess +Shakespeare’s spoon, or to eat out of Shakespeare’s porringer?” +That is the kind of rot which clever men write about Shakespeare: +and I think it is because I have been overdosed with +such stuff that I have learned to detest the bard in his private +character.’</p> + +<p>‘You are a hardened infidel, and you shall certainly carry +the basket.’</p> + +<p>‘What, madam, would you degrade me to a hireling’s office? +“Gregory, o’ my word, we’ll not carry coals.”’</p> + +<p>‘There, you see,’ cried Daphne triumphantly, ‘you can’t live +without quoting him. He has interwoven himself with our daily +speech.’</p> + +<p>‘Because we are parrots, without ideas of our own,’ answered +Gerald.</p> + +<p>‘Oh, I am proud of belonging to the soil on which he was +reared. I wish there was one drop of his blood in my veins. I +envy Edgar because his remote ancestry claim kin with the +Ardens. I almost wish I were a Turchill.’</p> + +<p>‘That would be so easy to accomplish,’ said Edgar softly, +blushing at his own audacity.</p> + +<p>Daphne noticed neither his speech nor his confusion. She +was all excitement at the idea of an adventurous afternoon, +were it only a visit to the familiar cottage.</p> + +<p>‘Madoline, dearest, may I order them to pack us a really +nice tea?’ she asked.</p> + +<p>‘Yes, dear, if we are all decided upon going.’</p> + +<p>‘It seems to me that the whole thing has been decided for +us,’ said Gerald, smiling indulgently at the vivacious face, radiant +in the broad noonday light, the willowy figure in a white +gown flecked and chequered with sunshine.</p> + +<p>‘You order me to row you down the Avon,’ said Daphne, +‘and I condemn you to a penitential walk to Shottery. You<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span> +ought by rights to go barefoot, dressed in a white sheet; only I +don’t think it would become you.’</p> + +<p>‘It might be too suggestive of the Turkish bath,’ said Gerald. +‘Well, I submit, and if needs be I’ll carry the basket, provided +you don’t plague me too much about your poet.’</p> + +<p>‘I move an amendment,’ interposed Edgar. ‘Sir Vernon is +to take the chair at Warwick at the Yeomanry dinner, so Miss +Lawford is off duty. Let us all go on to Hawksyard and dine +with the old mother. It’ll delight her, and it won’t be half bad +fun for us. There’ll be the harvest moon to light you home, +Madoline, and the drive will be delicious in the cool of the——’</p> + +<p>‘Cockchafers,’ cried Gerald. ‘They are particularly cool at +that hour—come banging against one’s nose with ineffable +assurance.’</p> + +<p>‘Say you’ll come, Lina,’ pleaded Edgar, ‘and I’ll send one of +Sir Vernon’s stable-boys to Hawksyard on my horse with a line +to the mater, if I may.’</p> + +<p>‘I should enjoy it immensely—if Gerald likes, and if you are +sure Mrs. Turchill would like to have us.’</p> + +<p>‘I think I’d better be out of it. I’m not a favourite with +Mrs. Turchill,’ said Daphne bluntly.</p> + +<p>‘Oh, Daphne!’ cried Turchill ruefully.</p> + +<p>‘Oh, Edgar!’ cried Daphne, mocking him. ‘Can you lay +your hand upon your heart, and declare, as an honest man, that +your mother likes me?’</p> + +<p>‘Perhaps not quite so much as she will when she knows more +of you,’ answers the Squire of Hawksyard, as red as a turkey-cock. +‘The fact is, she so worships Madoline that you are a +little thrown into the shade.’</p> + +<p>‘Of course. How could anyone who likes Madoline care +about me? It isn’t possible,’ retorted Daphne, with a somewhat +bitter laugh. ‘If I were one of a boisterous brood of underbred +girls I might have a chance of being considered just endurable; +but as Lina’s sister I am as the shadow to the sunlight; I am +like the back of a beautiful picture—a square of dirty canvas.’</p> + +<p>‘If you are fishing for compliments, you are wasting trouble,’ +said Gerald. ‘It is not a day on which any man will rack his +brains in the composition of pretty speeches.’</p> + +<p>‘May I write the note? May I send the boy?’ asked Edgar.</p> + +<p>Lina looked at her lover, and finding him consentient, consented; +whereupon Edgar hurried off, intensely pleased, to +make his arrangements.</p> + +<p>So far, he had been disappointed in the hope of seeing +Daphne a frequent guest at Hawksyard, the petted companion +and plaything of his mother. He had made for himself an +almost Arcadian picture: Daphne basking on the stone bench +in the Baconian garden; amusing herself with the poultry; +even milking a cow on occasion; and making junkets in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span> +picturesque old dairy. He had fancied her upstairs and downstairs, +in my lady’s chamber; unearthing all Mrs. Turchill’s +long-hoarded treasures of laces and ribbons, kept to be looked +at rather than to be worn; sorting the house-linen, which would +have stocked a Swiss hotel, and which ran the risk of perishing +by slow decay upon its shelves or ever it was worn by usage. +He had pictured her accepted as the daughter of the house; +waking the solemn old echoes with her glad young voice; fondling +his dogs; riding his hunters in the green lanes, and across +the level fields. She was pining to ride; but of the six horses +at South Hill there was not one which Sir Vernon would allow +her to mount.</p> + +<p>The pleasant picture was as yet only a phantasm of the +mind. Mrs. Turchill had not yet taken to Daphne. She was +a good woman—truthful, honest, kindhearted—but she had her +prejudices, and was passing obstinate.</p> + +<p>‘I don’t deny her prettiness,’ she said, when Edgar tried to +convince her that not to admire Daphne was a fault in herself, +‘but she is not a girl that I could ever make a friend of.’</p> + +<p>‘That’s because you don’t take the trouble to know her, +mother. If you would ask her here oftener——’</p> + +<p>‘I hope I know my place, Edgar,’ said the mistress of the +Grange stiffly. ‘If Miss Daphne Lawford wishes to improve my +acquaintance she knows where to find me.’</p> + +<p>But Daphne had taken no pains to secure to herself the advantages +of Mrs. Turchill’s friendship. There was no particular +reason why she should go to Hawksyard: so, after one solemn +afternoon call with Madoline—on which occasion they were +received with chilling formality in the best drawing-room: an +apartment with an eight-foot oak dado, deeply-recessed mullioned +windows, and a state bedroom adjoining—Daphne went +there no more. And now here was a splendid opportunity of +making her at home in the dear old house, and of showing her +all the surroundings which its master loved and cherished.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Best of Mothers</span>,’ wrote Edgar, ‘I am going to take you +by storm this afternoon. We—Lina, Daphne, Mr. Goring, and +I—are going to Shottery, and propose driving on to Hawksyard +afterwards. Get up the best dinner you can at so short a notice, +and give us your warmest welcome. You had better put out +some of Hirsch’s Liebfraumilch and a little dry cham. for Goring. +The girls drink only water. Let there be syllabubs and +junkets and everything pastoral. Don’t ask anyone to meet +them,’ added Edgar, with a dread of having the local parson +projected on his love-feast; ‘we want a jolly, free-and-easy +evening. Dinner at eight.—Your loving</p> + +<p class="right"> +<span class="smcap">Ted</span>.’<br> +</p> +</div> + +<p>This brief epistle was handed to Mrs. Turchill just as she +was sitting down to luncheon. Her first idea was to strike.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span> +Her son might have brought home half-a-dozen of his bachelor +friends, and it would have been a pleasure to her to kill fatted +calves and put out expensive wines. She would have racked her +brain to produce an attractive <em>menu</em>, and taxed the resources of +poultry-yard and dairy to the uttermost. But to be bidden to +prepare a feast for Madoline, who had rejected her paragon son, +for the rival who had supplanted him, and for Daphne, whom +she most cordially disliked, was something too much. She sat at +her simple meal bridling and murmuring to herself in subdued +revolt. She was tempted to ring for Deborah and confide her +wrongs to that sympathetic ear; but discretion and her very +genuine love for her son prevailed; and instead of summoning +Deborah, she sent for the cook, and announced the dinner party +as cheerfully as if it were the fulfilment of a long-cherished +desire.</p> + +<p>Daphne ran down to the boat-house before the others had +finished luncheon, and with Bink’s assistance made her boat a +picture of comfort. Gerald was excused from the burden of the +basket, as that could be conveyed in the carriage which was to +pick up the party at Shottery and take them on to Hawksyard. +The old name of the boat had been erased for ever by workmanlike +hands the day after Daphne’s futile attempt to obliterate it. +‘Nora Creina’ now appeared in fresh gilding above the deposed +emperor.</p> + +<p>‘You ought not to have altered it,’ said Gerald. ‘There was +something original in calling your boat after a bloodthirsty +lunatic. “Nora Creina” is the essence of Cockneyism.’</p> + +<p>‘It was the boat-builder’s suggestion,’ Daphne answered +indifferently. ‘What’s in a name?’</p> + +<p>‘True! Your boat by any other name would go as fast.’</p> + +<p>Daphne had to wait some time by the water’s edge before the +other three came quietly strolling across the meadow. She had +been sculling gently up and down under the willows while she +waited.</p> + +<p>‘Now then, Empress,’ said Gerald, when he had arranged +Lina’s shawls, and settled her comfortably in her place, ‘you are +to sit beside your sister. Edgar and I will take an oar apiece, +while you and Lina amuse ur conversation.’</p> + +<p>This nickname of Empress was a reminiscence of Daphne’s +adventure in Fontainebleau Forest. It matched very well with +her occasional imperiousness, and the association was known +only to Gerald Goring and herself. It amused him when he was +in a mischievous humour to call her by a name which she never +heard without a blush.</p> + +<p>‘I thought I was to row you,’ said Daphne.</p> + +<p>‘No, Empress; as it’s all down stream we of the sterner sex +will relieve you of the duty. Besides, you could never row +comfortably in that go-to-meeting get-up,’ said Gerald, looking<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span> +critically at Daphne’s straw-coloured Indian silk, embroidered +with scarlet poppies and amber wheat-ears, and fluffy with soft +lace about the neck and arms, and the Swiss milkmaid’s hat with +its wreath of cornflowers.</p> + +<p>‘I could not wear a boating-dress, as we are to dine with +Mrs. Turchill,’ said Daphne.</p> + +<p>‘You might have worn what you liked,’ protested Edgar +eagerly, ‘but you look so lovely in that yellow gown that I shall +be pleased for my mother to see you in it. She is weak about +gowns. I believe she has a wardrobe full of gorgeous attire, +which she and Deborah review once a week, but which nobody +ever wears.’</p> + +<p>‘The gowns will do for the chair-covers of a future generation,’ +said Gerald; ‘all the chair-covers in my mother’s morning-room +are made out of the Court trains of her grandmothers and +great-aunts. I believe a Court mantle in those days consumed +two yards and a half of stuff.’</p> + +<p>He had taken off his coat, and bared his arms to above the +elbow.</p> + +<p>‘What a splendid stroke you pull still, Goring!’ said Edgar +admiringly, ‘and you have the wrist of a navvy.’</p> + +<p>‘One of my paternal inheritances,’ answered Gerald coolly; +‘you know my father was a navvy.’</p> + +<p>At which frank speech everybody in the boat blushed except +the speaker.</p> + +<p>‘He must have been a glorious fellow,’ faltered Edgar, after +an awkward pause.</p> + +<p>‘Any man who can make a million of money, and keep it +without leaving speck or flaw upon his good name, must be a +glorious fellow,’ answered Gerald, with more heartiness than was +usual to him. ‘My father lived to do good to others as well as +to himself, and went down to his grave honoured and beloved. +I wish I were more like him.’</p> + +<p>‘That’s the nicest thing I ever heard you say,’ exclaimed +Daphne.</p> + +<p>‘Approbation from Sir Hubert Stanley——,’ murmured +Gerald; ‘I am beginning to feel proud of myself.’</p> + +<p>They landed at the boat-builder’s below the bridge, hard by +that decayed old inn which must have seen courtlier company +than the waggoners and wayfarers who drink there now. Then +they crossed Sir Hugh Clopton’s granite bridge, and walked +through the quiet town to the meadows that lead to Shottery. +It is but a mile from the town to the village, a mile of meadow +pathway, every step of which is haunted by ghostly footsteps—the +Sacred Way of English literature.</p> + +<p>‘It’s no use telling me not to talk about him,’ cried Daphne, +as she jumped lightly from the top of a stile, the ascent whereof +tested the capacity of a fashionable frock; ‘I cannot tread this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</span> +ground without thinking of him. I am positively bursting with +the idea of him.’</p> + +<p>‘Which is the fortunate he whose image haunts you?’ asked +Gerald, with that languid upward twitch of his dark brows which +gracefully expressed a mild drawing-room cynicism. ‘Do these +fields suggest grave thoughts about tenant-right or game-laws, or +the land question generally? Is it Beaconsfield or Gladstone +whose <em>eidolon</em> pursues you?’</p> + +<p>‘Please don’t be disgusting,’ cried Daphne. ‘<em>Can</em> one think +of anybody in these meadows except——’</p> + +<p>‘The inevitable William. A man does not live near Stratford +with impunity. He must be dosed. Well, child, what are +you bursting to say?’</p> + +<p>‘I have been thinking what a happiness it is to know that +the dear creature travelled so little,’ responded Daphne; ‘and +that whether he talks of Bohemia, or France, or Germany, Rome, +Verona, Elsinore, or Inverness——’</p> + +<p>‘Somebody wrote a treatise an inch thick to show that +Shakespeare may have gone to Scotland with the king’s players, +but I fancy he left his case as hypothetical as he found it,’ interjected +Gerald.</p> + +<p>‘Whether he talks of Athens—or Africa—he really means +Warwickshire,’ pursued Daphne. ‘It is his own native county +that is always present to his mind. Florizel and Perdita make +love in our meadows. There is the catalogue of flowers just as +they bloom to-day. And Rosalind’s cottage was in a lane near +the few old oaks which still remain to show where Arden Forest +once stood. And poor Ophelia drowned herself in one of the +backwaters of our Avon. I can show you the very willow growing +aslant the brook.’</p> + +<p>‘A backwater isn’t a brook,’ murmured Edgar mildly.</p> + +<p>‘I allow that local colour is not our William’s strong point,’ +answered Gerald. ‘Not being a traveller, he would have done +better had he never ventured beyond the limits of his Warwickshire +experience; for in that case he would not have imagined +lions in the streets of Rome, or a sea-coast in Bohemia.’</p> + +<p>‘Wait till you write a play or a novel,’ retorted Daphne, +‘and you’ll find you’ll have to adapt yourself to circumstances.’</p> + +<p>‘That’s exactly what your divine bard did not do. He +adapted circumstances to suit his plays.’</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.<br> +<span class="fs70">‘LOVE IS A THING, AS ANY SPIRIT, FREE.’</span></h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Past</span> a garden or two and a few cottages; a long garden +wail with heavy coping, shutting in treasures of fruit and vegetables;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span> +an old inn; a new school-house, built at the corner of a +lane shaded by as stately an avenue of elms as any nobleman +need desire for the approach to his mansion. And yet mansion +there is none at the end of this verdant aisle. The lane is only +an accommodation road leading to somebody’s farm. A youthful +monitor is trying to drill some small boys in front of the +school-porch, and the small boys are defying him; whereat a +shrill-voiced woman, unseen in the interior of the school, calls +out an occasional word of reproof. All the houses in the little +village belong to the past—they have the grace of a day that is +dead. In a farm garden a buxom servant in a kilted petticoat +is feeding a family of gigantic hens and chickens with something +thick and slab out of an iron pot.</p> + +<p>Daphne and her companions felt that there could have been +little change since the old romantic Elizabethan time. The village +lay off the beaten tracks. Three or four modern houses, +scattered about here and there in spacious gardens, were the +only addition time had made to Shottery.</p> + +<p>They walked briskly along the narrow road, across the bridge +where the shallow streamlet came tumbling picturesquely over +gray stones. Then a few paces, and before them stood the little +block of cottages which genius has transformed into a temple. +Whether the building was originally one house, it were difficult +to decide. The levels are different; but a variety in levels was +the order of that day. The whole block is a timber-framed +structure—a panelled house, the panels filled with dab and +wattle. Jutting casements, diamond-paned, look out upon an +ancient garden, and an ancient well. Beside the house and +garden there is an old orchard, where on this day a couple of +sheep are placidly nibbling the sweet grass. The cottage is +almost smothered in greenery. Honeysuckle, jasmine, roses, +hang about the walls as if they loved them. The old timber +porch is curtained with flowers.</p> + +<p>The South Hill carriage was waiting in the lane when Daphne +and her companions arrived. The basket had been duly delivered +over to Mrs. Baker. She was standing at the door awaiting +them with a smiling welcome.</p> + +<p>‘So glad to see you, ladies. The kettle’s on the boil, and you +can have your tea as soon as you please.’</p> + +<p>‘Thanks, you dear thing,’ cried Daphne; ‘but isn’t it almost +sacrilege to drink tea in his room?’</p> + +<p>‘It isn’t everybody I’d let do it, miss; not any of those +Americans; though I must say they’re uncommonly civil, and +know more about Shakespeare than the common run of English +do, and are more liberal in their ways too,’ added Mrs. Baker, +with a lively remembrance of half-crowns from Transatlantic +visitors.</p> + +<p>‘Mrs. Baker,’ began Daphne in a solemn tone, laying a little<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span> +tawny-gloved hand lightly on the collar of Gerald’s coat, ‘you +see this man?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, miss, and a very nice-looking gentleman he is for anybody +to look at,’ answered Mrs. Baker smirkingly, making up +her mind that the tall dark-eyed gentleman must belong to one +or other of the two young ladies.</p> + +<p>‘He may be nice to the outward eye,’ said Daphne gravely, +‘but he is dust and ashes inside. He is anathema maranatha, or +he ought to be, if there were anybody in Warwickshire who +knew how to anathematise him properly. He lives in this county—within +twelve miles of this house—and he has never been to +see the ingle-nook where Shakespeare courted his wife. I’m +afraid it won’t make the faintest impression upon his callous +mind when I tell him that you are a lineal descendant of the +Hathaways, and that this house has never been out of a Hathaway’s +possession since Shakespeare’s time.’</p> + +<p>‘I appreciate the lady for her own sake, and don’t care a jot +for her ancestry,’ answered Gerald, with a friendly air.</p> + +<p>They followed Mrs. Baker into the house-place, where all +was cool and shadowy after the glare of sunshine outside. It +was a low but somewhat spacious room, with casements looking +back and front; recessed casements, furnished with oaken seats, +one of which was known as the lovers’ seat; for here, the lovers +of the present day argued by analogy, William and Ann must +have sat to watch many a sunset, and many a moonlit sky. +Here they must have whispered their foolish lovers’ talk in the +twilight, and shyly kissed at parting. The fire-place was in a +deep recess, a roomy ingle-nook where half-a-dozen people could +have gathered comfortably round the broad open hearth. On +one side of the ingle-nook was a cupboard in the wall, known +as the bacon-cupboard; on the other the high-backed settle. +Opposite the fire-place there was a noble old dresser—polished +oak or mahogany—with turned legs and a good deal of elaborate +carpentry: a dresser which was supposed to be Elizabethan, +but which was suggestive rather of the Carolian period. The +dark brown panels made an effective background for an old +willow dinner-service.</p> + +<p>Daphne made Mr. Goring explore every inch of the house +which Mrs. Baker was able conveniently to show. She led him +up a breakneck little staircase, showed him lintels and doorposts, +and locks and bolts, which had been extant in Shakespeare’s +time; made him admire the queer little carved four-poster which +was even older than the poet’s epoch; and the old fine linen +sheet, richly worked by patient fingers, which had been in the +family for centuries, only used at a birth or a death. She excused +him from nothing; and he bore the infliction with calm +resignation, and allowed her to lead him back to the house-place +in triumph.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span></p> + +<p>Madoline and Edgar Turchill were sitting in the lovers’ seat, +talking, after having unpacked the basket, and made all preparation +for tea, assisted by Mrs. Baker’s modest handmaiden.</p> + +<p>‘Now, Mr. Goring,’ said Daphne, when she and Gerald and +the old lady had rejoined the others, ‘how do you feel about +that Channel Island cow?’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, I am content,’ answered Gerald, laughing at her. ‘I +submit to the extortion; you carry matters with such a high +hand that if you were to demand all my flocks and herds I +should hardly feel surprised.’</p> + +<p>‘Mrs. Baker,’ said Daphne, with a businesslike air, ‘this +gentleman is going to give you a cow.’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, miss, you don’t mean it, surely!’ murmured Mrs. Baker, +overcome with confusion.</p> + +<p>‘Yes; a lovely fawn-coloured, hazel-eyed Alderney. Don’t +refuse her. He can as well afford to give you a cow as I can to +give you a neck-ribbon. When would you like the animal sent +home? To-morrow morning? Yes, of course; to-morrow +morning. You hear, Mr. Goring? And now you may consider +yourself forgiven, and I’ll show you the visitors’-book and all the +interesting autographs.’</p> + +<p>They went over to the table near the window, and turned +the leaves of that volume! Alas! how many a hand that had +written in it was now dust. Here was the signature of Charles +Dickens, nearly thirty years old, and pale with age. But the +descendant of the Hathaways remembered the day when it was +written, and recalled the visit with pride.</p> + +<p>‘He took the book out into the garden, and sat on the stone +slab over the well to write his name,’ she said. ‘I remember +how full of life and fun he and Mr. Mark Lemon were; he was +laughing as he wrote, and he looked at everything, and was so +pleased and so pleasant.’</p> + +<p>Sir Walter Scott’s name was in an older book. Both of these +were as dead—and as undying—as Shakespeare. And compared +with these two immortal names all the rest of the signatures in +the big book were zero.</p> + +<p>It was the merriest tea-party imaginable. Mrs. Baker’s best +Pembroke table had been brought into the middle of the room; +her best teapot and cups and saucers were set out upon it. +Cakes and hot-house fruit had been liberally supplied by Mrs. +Spicer. Daphne whispered in her sister’s ear a request that Mrs. +Baker might be invited to join them, to which Madoline nodded +a smiling assent. Was not the descendant of the Hathaways a +lady by right of her gentle manners and ancient descent? She +belonged to a class that is an honour to the land—the honest +independent yeoman who tills the soil his forefathers cultivated +before him. The birth and death sheet in the oak chest upstairs +was like a patent of nobility. And yet perhaps not one of these<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span> +agricultural Hathaways had ever enjoyed as large an income as +a first-class mechanic in a manufacturing town—a man who dies +and leaves not a rap behind him to show that he was once respectable. +They had been upheld in their places by the pride of race, +which the mechanic knows not.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Baker was installed in the place of honour in front of +the tea-tray, and asked everyone in her nice old-fashioned way +whether their tea was to their liking. Upon being coaxed to +talk she told stories about the defunct Hathaways, and explained +how the house that had once been all one dwelling-place had +come to be divided.</p> + +<p>It was Daphne and she who supplied the conversation. The +two young men looked on amused; Edgar openly admiring the +bright changeful face under the little Swiss hat. Lina was +pleased that her sister should be so innocently glad.</p> + +<p>‘O, how happy I am,’ cried Daphne suddenly, in a pause of +the talk, clasping her hands above her head in a kind of ecstasy. +‘If it could only last!’</p> + +<p>‘Why should it not last?’ asked Edgar, in his matter-of-fact +way.</p> + +<p>Gerald looked at her gravely, with a puzzled look. Yes; this +was the girl who had stood in the dazzling sunshine beside the +lake at Fontainebleau, in whose hand he had read the forecast +of an evil fate.</p> + +<p>‘God help her!’ he thought, ‘she is so impulsive—such a +creature of the moment. How is such an one to travel safely +through the thorny ways of life? Happily there seems little +fear of thorniness for her footsteps. Here is my honest Turchill +dying for her—and just the kind of man to make her an excellent +husband, and give the lie to palmistry. Yet it seems a +common place fate; almost as vulgar as the Italian warehouse in +Oxford Street.’</p> + +<p>He sat musing thus in the lazy afternoon atmosphere, and +watching Daphne with something of an artistic rather than an +actually friendly interest. It seemed a shallow nature that must +be always expressing itself in speech or movement. There could +be no depth of thought allied with such vivacity—keenness of +feeling, perhaps, but for the moment only.</p> + +<p>Nobody was in a hurry to leave the cottage. Tea-drinking +is of all sensualities the most intellectual. The mind is refreshed +rather than the body. There was nothing coarse in the meal. +The golden tinge of the almond pound-cake—a master work of +Mrs. Spicer’s—contrasted with the purple bloom of grapes and +blue-gages, the olive tint of ripe figs.</p> + +<p>‘We are making such a tremendous meal that I’m afraid we +shall none of us do justice to my mother’s dinner,’ remonstrated +Edgar at last, ‘and that will make her miserable.’</p> + +<p>‘A quarter to seven,’ said Gerald, stealing a glance at a little<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span> +effeminate watch. ‘Don’t you think it is time we should descend +from this Shakespearian empyrean to common earth?’</p> + +<p>This was the signal for a general move. The heavy, comfortable-looking +old carriage-horses had been walked up and +down in shady places, while the portly coachman dozed on his +box, and the more vivacious footman execrated the flies. And +now the landau bowled briskly along the smooth high road to +Hawksyard, containing as cheerful a quartette as ever went out +to dinner.</p> + +<p>Madoline was delighted to see her sister so happy, delighted +at Edgar’s obvious devotion. She had no doubt that his love +would be rewarded in due course. It is in a woman’s nature to +be grateful for such honest affection, to be won by such disinterested +fidelity.</p> + +<p>The brazen hands of the old clock at Hawksyard indicated +a quarter to eight, as the carriage drove across the bridge, and +under the arched gateway into the quadrangular garden, with +its sunk pathways, and shallow steps, and border-lines of crumbling +old stone. Mrs. Turchill was standing on the threshold—a +dignified figure in a gray poplin gown and old thread-lace cap +and ruffles—ready to receive them. She gave Madoline her +blandest smile, and was tolerably gracious to the rival who had +spoiled her son’s chances; but she could not bring herself to be +cordial to Daphne. Her silk bodice became as rigid as an Elizabethan +corset when she greeted that obnoxious damsel. She had +a shrewd suspicion that it was for her sake the fatted calf had +been killed, and all the available cream in the dairy squandered +upon sweets and made dishes, with a reckless disregard of next +Saturday’s butter-making. Yet as Daphne shyly put out her +hand to accept that cold greeting, too sensitive not to perceive +the matron’s unfriendliness, Mrs. Turchill could but own to herself +that the minx was passing lovely. The brilliant gray eyes, +shadowed with dark lashes; the dark brows and golden hair; +the complexion of lilies and roses; the sensitive mouth; the +play of life and colour in a face that varied with every thought—yes; +this made beauty which even Mrs. Turchill could not +deny.</p> + +<p>‘Handsome is that handsome does,’ thought the dowager. +‘God forbid that my boy should trust the happiness of his life +to such a butterfly.’</p> + +<p>Inwardly rebellious, she had nevertheless done her duty as a +good housekeeper. The old oak-dadoed drawing-room was looking +its prettiest, brightened by oriental jars and bowls of scarlet +geraniums and creamy roses, lavender and honeysuckle. The +silver chandelier and fire-irons were resplendent with recent +polishing. The diamond-paned lattices were opened to admit +the scent of heliotrope and mignonette from the garden on the +other side of the moat; while one deeply-recessed window looking<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span> +into the quadrangle let in the perfume of the old-world +flowers Francis Bacon loved.</p> + +<p>Edgar insisted upon showing Daphne the house during the +ten minutes before dinner.</p> + +<p>‘You have only been here once,’ he said, ‘and my mother +did not show you anything.’</p> + +<p>After the two girls had taken off their hats in the state bed-chamber +next the drawing-room—a room whose walls were +panelled with needlework executed by an ancestress of Edgar’s +in the reign of Charles the First—they all went off to explore +the house; ascending a steep secret stair which they entered +from a door in the panelling of the dining-room; exploring long +slippery corridors and queer little rooms that opened mysteriously +out of other rooms; and triangular dressing-closets +squeezed into a corner between a chimney and an outer-wall; +laughing at the old furniture: the tall toppling four-post bed-steads; +the sage-green tapestry; the capacious old grates, or +still older brazen dogs; the inimitable Dutch tiles.</p> + +<p>‘It must be heavenly to live in such a funny old house,’ cried +Daphne, as they came cautiously down the black oak staircase, +slippery as glass, pausing to admire a ramshackle collection of +Indian curios and Japanese pottery on the broad window-ledge +half-way down.</p> + +<p>‘If you would only try it,’ murmured Edgar close in her ear, +and looking ineffably sheepish as he spoke.</p> + +<p>Again the all-significant words fell unheeded. She skipped +lightly down the remaining stairs, protesting she could get accustomed +to them in no time.</p> + +<p>‘“So light a foot will ne’er wear out the everlasting flint,”’ +said Gerald.</p> + +<p>‘Didn’t I tell you so? You can’t live without quoting him,’ +cried Daphne triumphantly.</p> + +<p>The dinner went off merrily. It was a capital dinner in a +good old English style, ponderous but excellent. There were +none of those refinements which distinguished the board over +which Mrs. Ferrers presided. The attempts at elegance smacked +of a banished era. A turbot decorated with sliced lemon and +barberries; a befrilled haunch, exhibiting its noble proportions +in a heavy silver dish; a superabundance of creams and jellies +and trifles and syllabubs; an elaborate dessert lying in state on +the sideboard, to be slowly and laboriously transferred to the +polished oak after the cloth was drawn; and the coachman to +help wait at table. The whole thing was rustic and old-fashioned, +and Edgar was afraid Daphne was secretly turning it all into +ridicule. Yet she seemed happy, and she said so much in +praise of Hawksyard and of the perfect order in which the +house was kept, that Mrs. Turchill’s heart began to soften +towards her.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span></p> + +<p>‘You seem fond of the country, and of countrified ways, +Miss Daphne,’ said the matron relentingly. ‘Yet I should have +thought a young lady like you would have been pining for London, +and balls and theatres.’</p> + +<p>‘I never was at a dance in my life,’ answered Daphne, ‘and +only once at a theatre, and that was the great opera-house in +Paris. I don’t think I should ever care to go to a meaner +theatre. My thoughts went up so high that night, I shouldn’t +like to let them down again by seeing trumpery.’</p> + +<p>‘The London theatres are very nice,’ said Mrs. Turchill, not +quite following Daphne’s idea. ‘But they are rather warm in +summer. Yet one likes to go up to town in the height of the +season. There is so much to see.’</p> + +<p>‘Mother’s constitution is cast-iron when she gets to London,’ +said Edgar. ‘She is up at six every morning, and goes to the +picture-galleries as soon as the doors are opened; and does her +morning in Hyde Park, and her afternoon in Regent Street, +shopping, or staring in at the shop-windows; and eats her dinner +at the most crowded restaurant I can take her to; and winds up +at the theatre. I believe she’d accept a lobster-supper in the +Haymarket if I were to offer one.’</p> + +<p>‘Has Miss Daphne Lawford never been in London?’ asked +Mrs. Turchill.</p> + +<p>‘Oh, please don’t call me miss. I am never anything but +Daphne to my friends.’</p> + +<p>‘You are very kind,’ answered Mrs. Turchill, stiffening; ‘but +I don’t think I could take so great a liberty with you on such a +short acquaintance.’</p> + +<p>‘Short acquaintance!’ echoed Daphne, laughing. ‘Why, you +must have known me when I was in my cradle.’</p> + +<p>Mrs. Turchill grew suddenly red, as if the idea were embarrassing.</p> + +<p>‘I was invited to your christening,’ she said; ‘but—afterwards—there +were circumstances—Sir Vernon was so often +abroad. We did not see much of you.’</p> + +<p>‘If you wish me to feel at home at Hawksyard you must call +me Daphne, please,’ said the girl gently.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Turchill did not wish her to feel at home at Hawksyard; +yet she could not refuse compliance with so gracious a +request.</p> + +<p>The ladies rose to retire, Edgar opening the door for them.</p> + +<p>‘Do you want any more wine, Turchill?’ asked Gerald.</p> + +<p>‘No, not particularly; but you’ll try that other claret, won’t +you?’</p> + +<p>‘Not a drop of it. I vote we all adjourn to the garden.’</p> + +<p>So they all went out together into the twilit quadrangle, +where the old-fashioned flowers were folding their petals for +night and slumber, while the moon was rising above a cluster<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span> +of stone chimneys. Mrs. Turchill walked once round the little +enclosure, discoursing graciously with Madoline, and then confessed +to feeling chilly, and being afraid of the night air; although +a very clever doctor, with somewhat new-fangled ideas, +had told her that the air was as good by night as by day, provided +the weather were dry.</p> + +<p>‘I think I’ll go indoors and sit in the drawing-room till you +come in to tea,’ she said. ‘I hope you won’t think me rude.’</p> + +<p>Madoline offered to go with her, but this Mrs. Turchill would +not allow.</p> + +<p>‘Young people enjoy a moonlight stroll,’ she said; ‘I liked +it myself when I was your age. There’s no occasion for any of +you to hurry. I shall amuse myself with <cite>The Times</cite>. I haven’t +looked at it yet.’</p> + +<p>The four being left together naturally divided themselves +into two couples. Gerald and Lina seemed fascinated by the +flowery quadrangle, with its narrow walks, and ancient dial, on +which the moon was now shining. They strolled slowly up and +down the paths; or lingered beside the dial; or stood looking +down at the fish-pond. Daphne’s restless spirit soon tired of +these narrow bounds.</p> + +<p>‘Is there nothing else to look at?’ she asked.</p> + +<p>‘There are the stables, and the dairy, and the farm-yard. +But you must see those by daylight; you must come here for a +long day,’ said Edgar eagerly. ‘Would you like to see the garden +on the other side of the moat?’</p> + +<p>‘Above all things.’</p> + +<p>‘It is very flat,’ said Edgar apologetically.</p> + +<p>‘All the better for tennis.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, the lawn would make a magnificent tennis-ground. +We might have eight courts if we liked. But it is a very commonplace +garden after South Hill.’</p> + +<p>‘Don’t apologise. I am sure it is nice; a dear old-fashioned +sort of garden—hollyhocks, and sunflowers, and things.’</p> + +<p>‘My old gardener is rather proud of his hollyhocks.’</p> + +<p>‘Precisely; I knew he would be. And that horrid MacCloskie +will hear of nothing but the newest inventions in flowers. +He gives us floral figures in Euclid; floral hearthrugs sprawling +over the lawn, as if one of the housemaids had taken out a +Persian rug to dust it, and had forgotten to take it in again. +He takes tremendous pains to build up beds like supper-dishes—ornamental +salads, don’t you know—and calls that high-art +gardening. I would rather have your hollyhocks and sunflowers, +and the old-fashioned scented clematis climbing about everywhere +in a tangled mass of sweetness.’</p> + +<p>‘I’m glad you like antiquated gardens,’ said Edgar.</p> + +<p>They went under the archway, which echoed the sound of +their footsteps, and round by a gravel walk to the spacious lawn,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span> +and the long border which was the despair of the gardeners when +they tried to fill it, and which yet provided flowers enough to +keep all the sitting-rooms bright and sweet with summer bloom. +The moon was high above Hawksyard by this time: a glorious +harvest moon, pouring down her golden light upon tree and +flower, and giving intensity to the shadows under the wall. The +waters of the moat looked black, save where the moonbeams +touched them; and yonder under the tall spreading walnut +boughs the gravel walk was all in shadow.</p> + +<p>Daphne paced the lawn, disputing as to how many tennis-courts +one might have on such on extensive parallelogram. She +admired the height of the hollyhocks, and regretted that their +colour did not show by moonlight. The sunflowers appeared to +better advantage.</p> + +<p>‘What awful stories poets tell about them!’ said Daphne. +‘Just look at that brazen-faced creature, smirking at the moon; +just as if she had never turned her head sunwards in her life.’</p> + +<p>Edgar was in a sentimental mood, and inclined to see things +from a sentimental point of view</p> + +<p>‘It mayn’t be botanically true,’ he said, ‘but it’s a pretty idea +all the same;’ and then he trolled out in a fine baritone:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">‘No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets,</div> + <div class="verse indent3">But as truly loves on to the close;</div> + <div class="verse indent1">As the sunflower turns on her god, when he sets,</div> + <div class="verse indent3">The same look which she turned when he rose.’</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>‘What’s the use of singing that when you know it isn’t true?’ +cried Daphne contemptuously. ‘Do you suppose a stiff-necked +thing like that, with a stalk a quarter of an inch in diameter, +could turn and twist from east to west every day, without wringing +its head off? The idea is obviously absurd. What lovely +old walnut-trees!’ she exclaimed, looking across the lawn. ‘Centuries +upon centuries old, are they not?’</p> + +<p>‘I believe they were planted soon after George the Third +came to the throne.’</p> + +<p>‘Is that all? They look as old as the Wrekin.’</p> + +<p>They strolled across the wide lawn, and in among the shadows +of the old trees. The cows were moving stealthily about in the +meadow on the other side of the fence, as if sleep were the last +thing they ever thought of.</p> + +<p>‘And you really like Hawksyard?’ demanded Edgar earnestly.</p> + +<p>‘Like it! I think it is quite the most delicious place I ever +saw. Those high dadoes; these deep-set stone-mullioned windows; +those eccentric little bedrooms; that secret staircase, so +sweetly suggestive of murder and treason. The whole place is +so thoroughly original.’</p> + +<p>‘It is one of the few moated granges left in England,’ said +Edgar with an air of conscious merit.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</span></p> + +<p>‘It is quite too lovely.’</p> + +<p>‘Daphne, do you really mean what you say?’ he asked with +sudden intensity. ‘Are you only talking like this to please me—out +of kindness?’</p> + +<p>‘If I have a fault it is a habit of blurting out what I think, +without reference to other people’s feelings. I am thoroughly +in earnest about Hawksyard.’</p> + +<p>‘Then be its mistress,’ exclaimed Edgar, taking her hand, +and trying to draw her towards him; ‘be queen of my house, +darling, as you have long been sovereign of my heart. Make +me the happiest man that ever yonder old roof sheltered—the +proudest, the most entirely blest. Daphne, I am not poetical, or +clever. I can’t find many words, but—I love you—I love you.’</p> + +<p>She laughed in his face, a clear and silvery peal—laughed him +to absolute scorn; yet without a touch of ill-nature.</p> + +<p>‘My dear Edgar, this is too much,’ she cried. ‘A few months +ago you were fondly, devotedly, irrevocably in love with Lina. +Don’t you remember how we sympathised that afternoon in the +meadows? This is the sunflower over again: first to the sun +and then to the moon. No, dear Edgar, never talk to me of +love. I have a real honest regard for you. I respect you. I +trust you as my very brother. It would spoil all if you were to +persist in talking nonsense of this kind.’</p> + +<p>She left him, planted there—mute as a statue—frozen with +mortification, humiliation, despair.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">‘He either fears his fate too much,</div> + <div class="verse indent3">Or his deserts are small,</div> + <div class="verse indent1">Who dares not put it to the touch,</div> + <div class="verse indent3">To win or lose it all.’</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>He had tried his fate—hopefully, confidently even—lured on +by her deceptive sweetness; and all was lost.</p> + +<p>She had run lightly off. She was on the other side of the +lawn before he stirred from the attitude in which she left him; +his hands clenched, his head bent, his eyes staring stupidly at +the gravel walk.</p> + +<p>‘She does not care a straw for me,’ he said to himself, ‘not +a straw. And I thought she had grown fond of me. I thought +I had but to speak.’</p> + +<p>A friendly hand touched him lightly on the shoulder. It +was Gerald, the man for whom Fate had reserved all good +things—unbounded talents, unbounded wealth, the love of a +perfect woman.</p> + +<p>‘Cheer up, old fellow,’ said Gerald heartily. ‘Forgive me if +I heard more than you intended me to hear. Mrs. Turchill +sent me in quest of you and Daphne, and I came up—just as +you—’</p> + +<p>‘Just as I made an ass of myself,’ interrupted Edgar. ‘It<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span> +doesn’t matter. I don’t a bit mind your knowing. I have no +pride of that kind. I am proud of loving her, even in vain.’</p> + +<p>‘Don’t be down-hearted, man. A girl of that kind must be +played as an expert angler plays a frisky young salmon. She +has refused you to-night; she may accept you three months +hence.’</p> + +<p>‘She laughed at me,’ said Edgar, with deepest despondency.</p> + +<p>‘It is her disposition to laugh at all things. You must have +patience, man; patience and persistence. “My love is but a +lassie yet.” Thy beloved one still delights in the green fields; +her tender neck cannot bear the yoke. Wait, and she will turn +to thee—as—as the sunflower turns to the sun,’ concluded Gerald, +having vainly sought a better comparison.</p> + +<p>‘It doesn’t,’ cried Edgar dejectedly. ‘That is what we have +just been talking about. The sunflower is a stiff-necked impostor.’</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV.<br> +<span class="fs70">‘NOT FOR YOUR LINAGE, NE FOR YOUR RICHESSE.’</span></h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> two young men walked up and down under the walnut-trees +for nearly an hour, Gerald Goring playing the unaccustomed +part of consoler. He liked Edgar Turchill with an +honest liking. There was a shade of condescension, of unconscious +patronage, in the feeling; but it was thoroughly sincere. +The Saxon squire was of course distinctly on a lower intellectual +level than the man of mixed race—the man whose father +had thrust himself into the front ranks of life by the sheer +force of will and brains, unaided by conventional training of +any kind; whose mother had been the last development of a +family reared in courts and palaces. Compared with the quicksilver +that flowed in his own veins, Edgar Turchill’s blood was +a fluid that smacked of the vegetable kingdom—watery stuff +such as oozes out of a turnip or a cabbage when the cook-maid +cuts it. Yet the man could feel, and so keenly, that Gerald +was touched with tender pity.</p> + +<p>‘Don’t be down-hearted, old fellow,’ he said, walking slowly +under the spreading boughs, with his hand resting affectionately +upon Turchill’s shoulder. ‘Be sure things will work round in +time. She is a pert capricious minx; but she cannot help being +fond of you, if you are only patient.’</p> + +<p>‘I would wait for her as Jacob waited for Rachel, if I were +as sure of winning her,’ answered Edgar; ‘but I am afraid +there’s no chance. If she detested me; if the very sight of me +were odious to her; there might be some hope. But she likes +me—she is even fond of me; in a calm sisterly way. If you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span> +knew how sweet she was to me in the spring before you came—she +had no fits of temper then—when I taught her sculling; +how she used to boil a kettle down in the boat-house and——’</p> + +<p>‘Yes; it was awfully nice of her,’ interjected Gerald somewhat +impatiently, having heard the story of these boat-house +breakfasts several times before.</p> + +<p>‘If she were less kind I should have more hope,’ pursued +Edgar. ‘I think I shall go away—out of the country—where I +shall never see her lovely face. I have a great mind to go to +India and shoot big game.’</p> + +<p>‘And stick pigs?—a curious cure for the heart-ache. No, +old fellow; stay at home and bide your time. That’s your +game.’</p> + +<p>‘I could never look her in the face after to-night,’ said +Edgar.</p> + +<p>‘Nonsense, man! Treat this capricious minx as coolly as if +nothing had ever been said about love and despair. Let her +think to-night’s avowal the consequence of too much wine—a +mere after-dinner outburst of sentiment. Look her in the face, +forsooth! If you are a wise man, you may make her ashamed +to look you in the face before she is six months older. You +have spoilt her by your flatteries and footings and compliances. +Give her a little of the rough side of your bark. She professes +to care for you as a brother, quotha! Treat her with brotherly +discourtesy—brotherly indifference. Be as candid about her +faults and follies as if you were her very brother. When she +finds you can live without her she will begin to languish for the +old adulation.’</p> + +<p>‘I love her too well to be such a Jesuit,’ said Edgar.</p> + +<p>‘Pshaw! do you suppose Petruchio did not love Kate? He +knew there was but one way of taming his fair shrew, and he +used the wisdom Heaven had given him.’</p> + +<p>‘I couldn’t act a part where she is concerned,’ argued Edgar. +‘She would find me out in a moment.’</p> + +<p>They talked for a long time upon the same subject, wearing +the theme threadbare; travelling backwards and forwards over +the same line of argument, while the moon climbed higher and +higher in the cloudless blue; and in the end Edgar acknowledged +that it would be a foolish thing to leave his farm before +the harvest was all in; or his mother, before she had enjoyed +her annual fortnight at the sea-side; or to uproot himself violently +from his native soil in the vain hope of curing his heart-wound. +He had tried foreign air for his malady before, and +foreign air had done nothing for him; and this time he believed +the wound to be ever so much deeper. A lifetime in a strange +country would hardly heal it.</p> + +<p>At last Edgar consented to be led despondently back to the +house, which he had left a little while ago with his heart beating<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span> +high, full of hope and delight. They found the three ladies +seated in the quaint old drawing-room, dimly lighted by a dozen +or so of candles in the silver sconces against the wall. There was +nothing so distinctly modern as a moderator-lamp at Hawksyard.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Turchill was enlarging mildly in a lowered voice upon +the various shortcomings of her servants, who, although old +servants and infinitely better than other people’s, were yet so +far human in their faultiness as to afford food for conversation. +Madoline was listening with polite interest, throwing in an +encouraging word now and then, which was hardly needed, +for Mrs. Turchill’s monologue would have gone on just the +same without it. Daphne, exhausted by a long day’s vivacity, +had fallen asleep, bolt erect in a straight-backed cherry-wood +chair.</p> + +<p>Gerald Goring remembered that day at Fontainebleau when +he had told himself that Daphne asleep would be a very commonplace +young person; yet, as he looked at her to-night, he was +fain to own that even in slumber she was lovely. Was it some +trick of candle-light and shadow which gave such piquancy to +the delicate features, which gave such expression to the dark-pencilled +brows and drooping eyelids? The bright hair, the pale +yellow gown, the exquisite fairness of the complexion, gave a +lily-like loveliness to the whole figure. So pale; so pure; so +little earthly.</p> + +<p>‘Poor Edgar!’ sighed Mr. Goring. ‘He is very much to be +pitied. How desperately I could have loved such a girl, if I had +not already adored her opposite. And how I would have made +her love me,’ he added, remembering all their foolish talk, and +how easy it had seemed to him to play upon that sensitive +nature.</p> + +<p>‘I am afraid the tea is cold,’ said Mrs. Turchill. ‘You +gentlemen have been enjoying your cigars in the walnut walk, I +suppose.’</p> + +<p>The clatter of cups and saucers startled Daphne. She +opened her eyes, and saw Edgar looking at her with piteous +reproachfulness. She could calmly sleep just after giving him +his death-wound. There was a refinement of cruelty in such +indifference. Then he suddenly remembered Gerald’s advice, +and tried to seem equally at his ease.</p> + +<p>‘I’ll wager mother has been bemoaning the vices of the new +dairymaid, and the ingratitude of the old one in going away to +be married,’ said he. ‘That’s what sent you to sleep, wasn’t it, +Daphne?’</p> + +<p>‘I was tired. We had such a long afternoon,’ she answered +wearily.</p> + +<p>‘The carriage has been waiting half an hour,’ said Madoline. +‘I think we had better put on our hats, and then say +good-night.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span></p> + +<p>‘Mr. Goring will drive home with you, of course,’ said Mrs. +Turchill.</p> + +<p>‘Yes; I am going to see them safe home, Mrs. Turchill,’ +answered Gerald. ‘I am to stay at South Hill to-night, and +hear Sir Vernon’s account of the Yeomanry dinner.’</p> + +<p>Edgar, who had just been talking of eternal banishment, +was longing to ask for the fourth seat in the landau. The walk +home between midnight and morning would be delightful.</p> + +<p>‘I should have liked to hear about the dinner,’ he began +dubiously; and then meeting Gerald’s eye, quailed beneath its +friendly ridicule, and said no more.</p> + +<p>He escorted Daphne to the carriage, helped to arrange her +wraps with a steady hand, though his heart beat passionately all +the time; and bade her good-night in so thoroughly cheery a +voice, that she wondered a little to find how easily he had taken +her rejection of him.</p> + +<p>‘Poor dear Edgar!’ she said to herself as they drove along +the shadowy Warwickshire lane, through the calm beauty of +the summer night, ‘I daresay it was only an impulse of the +moment—or perhaps it was the moon—that made him propose +to me. Yet he seemed awfully in earnest, and I was afraid I +might have offended him by laughing. But, after being devoted +to Lina, and making me the confidante of his grief, it was +certainly rather impertinent to offer himself to me. But he is +a dear good-natured creature all the same, and I should be sorry +to offend him.’</p> + +<p>She was silent all the way home; sitting in her comfortable +corner of the carriage, wrapped to her chin in her soft white +shawl, to all appearance asleep. Yet not once did her senses +lose themselves in slumber. She was listening to the happy +lovers, as they talked of the past—that part of the past which +they had spent asunder. Gerald had been talking of a long +mule-ride in Switzerland under just such a moonlit sky. It was +no tremendous mountain ascent, only a ride from Evian up to a +village at the foot of the Dent d’Oche, to look down upon Lake +Leman and its lovely shores bathed in moonlight; the long dark +range of the Jura rising like a wall on the western side; +picturesque villages on the banks gleaming in the silver light, +with their old church towers half hidden by masses of dark +foliage; one lonely boat with its twin sails skimming like a +swallow across the moonlit water.</p> + +<p>‘It must have been delicious,’ said Lina.</p> + +<p>‘It was very nice—except that you were not there. “But +one thing want these banks of Rhine.”’</p> + +<p>‘And did you really miss me at such moments, Gerald? +When you were looking at some especially lovely scene, had you +really and truly a feeling that I ought to have been by your +side?’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span></p> + +<p>‘Really and truly; the better half of myself was missing. +Pleasure was only a one-sided affair, as that moon will appear +next week—an uncomfortable-looking fragmentary kind of +planet.’</p> + +<p>‘I love to hear of your travels, Gerald,’ said Lina softly. +‘Have you told me all about them, do you think?’</p> + +<p>‘All that’s worth telling, I fancy,’ he answered lightly, with +an involuntary glance at Daphne to see if she were really asleep.</p> + +<p>There was no quiver of the dark lashes, no movement in +the restful figure. Her face had that pale unearthly look which +all faces have in the moonlight. A pain shot through his heart +as he thought that it was thus she would look in death. It was +one of those involuntary flashes of thought which sometimes +flit across a mind unacquainted with actual sorrow—the phantom +of a grief that might be.</p> + +<p>When they arrived at South Hill Daphne wished her sister +and Mr. Goring a brief good-night, and went straight to her +room. She had no motive for awaiting her father’s home-coming. +He would have nothing to say to her. His only +greeting would be a look which seemed to ask what business she +had there. It was on the stroke of eleven. Madoline and +Gerald walked up and down the gravel drive in front of the +house, waiting for the carriage from Warwick; and during this +interval Mr. Goring told his sweetheart how Edgar Turchill had +been rejected by Daphne. Madoline was deeply distressed by +this news. She had made up her mind that her sister’s life was +to be made happy in this particular way. She had imagined a +fair and peaceful future in which she would be living at the +Abbey, and Daphne at Hawksyard—not a dozen miles apart. +And now this wilful Daphne had rejected the moated grange and +its owner, and that fair picture of the future had no more +reality in it than a mirage city seen from the dreary sands of a +desert.</p> + +<p>‘I thought she was attached to him,’ said Madoline, when +she had been told the whole story. ‘She has encouraged him +to come here; she has always seemed happy in his company. +Half her life, since she came from school, has been spent with +him.’</p> + +<p>‘In sober earnest, darling, I’m afraid this fascinating little +sister of yours is an arrant coquette. She has flirted with Edgar +because there was no one else to flirt with.’</p> + +<p>‘Please don’t say that, Gerald, for I know you are mistaken,’ +answered Madoline eagerly. ‘Daphne is no flirt. +She looks upon Edgar as a kind of adopted brother. I have +always known that, but I fancied that this friendly trustful +feeling of hers would lead in time to a warmer attachment. +As to coquetry, she does not know what it means. She is +thoroughly childlike and innocent.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</span></p> + +<p>‘Possibly, dearest. Yet in her childishness she knows how +to fool a man as thoroughly as Ninon de l’Enclos could have +done after half a century’s practice. However, I hope Edgar +will stand his ground and bring this wayward puss to her senses.’</p> + +<p>‘I cannot understand how she can help liking him,’ mused +Madoline. ‘He is so good, so frank, and brave, and true.’</p> + +<p>‘All noble qualities, and deserving a woman’s affection. +Yet the sentimental history of the human race tends to show +that a man endowed with all those virtues is not the most +dangerous to the fair sex.’</p> + +<p>‘Gerald,’ said Lina, ‘I have an idea that pride is at the +bottom of Daphne’s refusal.’</p> + +<p>‘Why pride? What kind of pride?’</p> + +<p>‘She has harped a good deal, at different times, upon her +penniless position; has called herself a pauper, half in joke, +half in earnest, but with a bitterness of tone that wounded me. +She may think that as Edgar is well off, and she has no fortune, +she ought not to accept him.’</p> + +<p>‘My dearest love, what an utterly quixotic idea. The only +thought a pretty young woman ever has about a man’s wealth +is that when she shall be his wife she can have more frocks than +the common run of women. There is no sense of obligation. +She is so conscious of the boon she bestows that she accepts his +filthy lucre as a matter of course.’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t think that would be Daphne’s way of thinking.’</p> + +<p>‘Dearest, if she were wholly your sister I should say not. +But as she is only your half-sister, I can suppose her only about +half as good again as the ruck of womankind.’</p> + +<p>‘You are very rich, are you not, Gerald?’</p> + +<p>‘Well, yes; it would take a large amount of idiocy on my +part to spoil the income my father left me. It might be done, +no doubt, if I went into the right circles. My ruin would be +only a question of so many years and so many racehorses. +But while I live as I am living now, there is very little chance +of my becoming acquainted with want.’</p> + +<p>‘I know, dear; and I don’t think it was for the sake of my +fortune you chose me, was it, Gerald?’</p> + +<p>‘My dearest love, I only wish some old nurse would turn +up on your wedding morning and tell you that you are not the +Lady Clare, so that I might prove to you how little wealth or +position influenced my choice. I think I know what you are +going to say, Lina. As I have more money than you and I +together—indulge our caprices as we may—are ever likely to +spend, why not give your fortune to Daphne?’</p> + +<p>‘Dear Gerald, how good of you to guess my wish! I should +like to divide my fortune with my sister when I come of age. +I don’t want to give her all, for half would be ample. And +I am so accustomed to the idea of independence, that I should<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span> +hardly like to be a pensioner even upon you. Will you speak +to the lawyers, Gerald, and find out how the gift had better be +made?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, dear; I’ll settle everything with the men of law. It +seems to me that you can do just what you like, as soon as you +come of age. But you’ll have to wait till then.’</p> + +<p>‘Only ascertain that it can be done, Gerald, and then I can +tell Daphne, and she will no longer fancy herself a pauper. It +may influence her in her conduct to Edgar.’</p> + +<p>‘It may,’ answered Gerald dubiously; ‘but somehow I don’t +think it will. Edgar must win the game off his own bat.’</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>The sisters were alone together in Madoline’s morning-room +after breakfast next day. Gerald had gone to the Abbey to +look after the builders, and settle various matters with his +steward. Daphne was sitting half in and half out of the +balcony, idle as was natural to her, but listless and discontented-looking, +which was a state of mind she did not often exhibit.</p> + +<p>There was no Edgar this morning, and she missed her faithful +slave.</p> + +<p>Perhaps he meant never to come to South Hill any more; +in which case it would be difficult for her to get rid of her life.</p> + +<p>‘Daphne,’ began Madoline gravely, ‘I have heard something +which has made me very unhappy; which has altogether surprised +and disappointed me. I am told that Edgar proposed to +you last night, and that you refused him.’</p> + +<p>‘Did he send you the news in a telegram?’ asked Daphne, +flaming red. ‘I don’t see how else you could have heard it.’</p> + +<p>‘No matter how I heard it, dear. It is the truth, I suppose.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes; it is the truth. But I despise him for telling you,’ +answered Daphne angrily.</p> + +<p>‘It was not he who told me. It was Gerald, who by accident +overheard the end of your conversation with Edgar, and +who——’</p> + +<p>‘What! he has been interfering, has he?’ cried Daphne, +looking still more angry. ‘It is supremely impertinent of him +to busy himself about my affairs.’</p> + +<p>‘Daphne! Is that the way you speak of my future husband—your +future brother?’</p> + +<p>‘He has no right to dictate whom I am to accept or reject. +What can it matter to him?’</p> + +<p>‘He does not presume to dictate: but it does matter a great +deal to him that my sister should choose the path in life which +is most likely to lead to happiness.’</p> + +<p>‘How can he tell which path will lead me to happiness? +Does he suppose that I am going to have a husband chosen +for me—as if I were a wretched French girl educated in a +convent?’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</span></p> + +<p>‘He thought—just as I thought—that you could hardly help +liking such a thoroughly good fellow as Edgar; a man so devoted +to you; so unselfish; such a good son.’</p> + +<p>‘What have I to do with his virtues? I don’t care a straw +for him, except as a friendly sort of creature who will do anything +I ask him, and who is very nice to play tennis or billiards +with. He ought not to be offended at my refusing him. It +would have been all the same had he been anyone else. I shall +never marry.’</p> + +<p>‘But why not, Daphne?’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, for no particular reason: except perhaps that I am too +fond of my own way, and shouldn’t like a master.’</p> + +<p>‘Daphne, there is something in your tone that alarms me. +It is so unnatural in a girl of your age. While you were at +Asnières, did you ever see anyone—you were such a child, that +it seems foolish to ask such a question—but was there anyone +at Asnières whom——’</p> + +<p>‘Whom I fell in love with? No, dearest, there was no one +at Asnières. Madame Tolmache was most judicious in her +selection of masters. I don’t think the most romantic school-girl, +fed upon three-volume novels, could have fancied herself +in love even with the best-looking of them.’</p> + +<p>‘I can’t make you out, Daphne. Yet I think you might +be very happy as Edgar Turchill’s wife. It would be so nice +for us to be living in the same county, within a few miles of +each other.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, that would be nice; and it would be nicer to be at +Hawksyard than to stay at South Hill when you are gone. Yet +you see I have too much self-respect to perjure myself, and +pretend to return poor Edgar’s affection.’</p> + +<p>‘I have been thinking, Daphne, that perhaps some sense of +mistaken pride may stand between you and Edgar.’</p> + +<p>And then, falteringly, ashamed of her own generosity, +Madoline told her sister how she meant to divide her fortune.</p> + +<p>‘What!’ cried Daphne, turning pale; ‘take his money? +Not a sixpence. Never speak of it—never think of such a thing +again.’</p> + +<p>‘Whose money, dear? It is mine, and mine alone. I have +the right to do what I like with it.’</p> + +<p>‘Would you dispose of it without asking Mr. Goring’s leave—without +consulting him?’</p> + +<p>‘Hardly, because I love him too well to take any step in life +without asking his advice—without confiding fully in him. But +he goes with me in this heart and soul, Daphne; he most +thoroughly approves my plan.’</p> + +<p>‘You are very good—he is very generous—but I will never +consent to accept sixpence out of your fortune. You may be +as generous to me as you like—as you have always been, darling.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span> +You may give me gloves and frocks and pocket-money, while +you are Miss Lawford: but to rob you of your rights; to lessen +your importance as Mrs. Goring; to feel myself under an obligation +to your husband—not for all this wide world. Not if +money could make me happy—which it could not,’ she added +with a stifled sob.</p> + +<p>‘Daphne, are you not happy?’ questioned Lina, looking at +her with sudden distress. ‘My bright one, I thought your life +here was all gladness and pleasure. You have seemed so happy +with Edgar, so thoroughly at your ease with him, that I fancied +you must be fond of him.’</p> + +<p>‘Should I be thoroughly at my ease with a man I loved, +unless—unless our attachment were an old story—a settled +business—like yours and Mr. Goring’s?’</p> + +<p>‘Why will you persist in calling him Mr. Goring?’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, he is such a grand personage—the owner of an abbey, +with cloisters, and half a mile of hot-houses—I could not bring +myself to call him by his christian-name.’</p> + +<p>‘As if the abbey and the hot-houses made any difference! +Well, darling, I am not going to worry you about poor Edgar. +You must choose your own way of being happy. I would not +for all the world that you should marry a man you did not love; +but I should have been so glad if you could have loved Edgar. +And I think, dear, that unintentionally—unconsciously even—you +have done him a wrong. You have led him to believe you +like him.’</p> + +<p>‘And so I do like him, better than anyone in the world—after +my own flesh and blood.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, dear. But he has been led to hope something more +than that. I fear he will feel his disappointment keenly.’</p> + +<p>‘Nonsense, Lina. Don’t you know that six months ago he +was still suffering from his disappointment about you? and now +you imagine he is going to break his heart for me. A heart so +easily transferred cannot be easily broken. It is a portable +article. No doubt he will carry it somewhere else.’</p> + +<p>She kissed her sister and ran out of the room, leaving +Madoline anxious and perplexed, yet not the less resolved to +endow Daphne with half her wealth as soon as she came of +age.</p> + +<p>‘Providence never intended that two sisters should be so +unequally circumstanced,’ she said to herself. ‘Willy-nilly, +Daphne must accept what I am determined to give her. The +lawyers will find out a way.’</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI.<br> +<span class="fs70">‘NO MAN MAY ALWAY HAVE PROSPERITEE.’</span></h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Edgar Turchill</span> did not go to the other end of the world +to hide his grief and mortification at this second overthrow of +his fondest hopes. He absented himself from South Hill for +nearly a month, yet so contrived as that his absence should not +appear the result of pride or anger. Mrs. Turchill’s annual sea-side +holiday was as much an institution as the opening of Parliament, +or the Derby: and she expected on all such occasions to +be escorted and accompanied by her only son. She liked a +fashionable watering-place, where there was a well-dressed crowd +to be seen on parade or pier; she required to have her leisure +enlivened by a good brass band; and she would accept nothing +less in the way of lodgings than an airy bay-windowed drawing-room +in the very best part of the sea front.</p> + +<p>‘If I am not to come to the sea-side comfortably I would +rather stay at home,’ she said to her confidante Deborah; an +axiom which Deborah received as respectfully as if it had been +Holy Writ.</p> + +<p>‘Of course, mum. Why should you come away from Hawksyard +to be cramped or moped?’ said Deborah. ‘You’ve all you +can wish for there.’</p> + +<p>Such murmurings as these had arisen when Edgar, sick to +death of Brighton and Eastbourne, Scarborough and Torquay, +had tempted his mother to visit some more romantic and less +civilised shore; where the accommodation was of the rough-and-ready +order, and where there was neither parade nor pier for the +exhibition of fine clothes to the music of brazen bands. For +picturesque scenery Mrs. Turchill cared not a jot. All wild and +rugged coasts she denounced sweepingly, as dangerous to life and +limb, and therefore to be avoided. The wildest bit of scenery +she could tolerate was Beachy Head; and even that grassy +height she deemed objectionable. Nor did she appreciate any +watering-place which could not boast a smart array of shop-windows. +She liked to be tempted by trumpery modern Dresden; +or to have her love of colour gratified by the latest invention in +bonnets and parasols. She liked a circulating library of the old-fashioned, +Miss Burney type; where she could dawdle away an +hour looking at new books and papers, soothed by the sympathetic +strains of a musical-box. She liked to have her son well-dressed +and in a top-hat, in attendance upon her during her +afternoon drive in the local fly, along a smooth chalky high-road +leading to nowhere in particular. She liked to attend local concerts, +or to hear Miss Snevillici, the renowned Shakespearian +elocutionist, read the Trial Scene in the ‘Merchant of Venice,’ +followed by Tennyson’s ‘Queen of the May.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span></p> + +<p>To poor Edgar this sea-side holiday seemed always a foretaste +of purgatory. It was ever so much worse than the fortnight’s +hard labour in London, for in the big city there were sights +worth seeing; while here, at the stereotyped watering-place, life +was one dismal round of genteel inactivity.</p> + +<p>But this year Edgar was seized with a sudden desire to hasten +the annual expedition.</p> + +<p>‘Mother, I think this lovely weather must break up before +long,’ he said briskly, with a laborious affectation of cheerfulness, +as he sat at dinner with his parent on the day after Daphne’s +cruelty. ‘What should you say to our starting for the sea-side +to-morrow?’</p> + +<p>‘To-morrow! My dear Edgar, that would be quite impossible. +I shall want a week for packing.’</p> + +<p>‘A week! Surely Deborah could put your things into a +portmanteau in six hours as easily as in six days.’</p> + +<p>‘You don’t know what you are talking about, my dear. A +lady’s wardrobe is so different from a man’s. All my gowns will +want looking over carefully before they are packed. And I +must have Miss Piper over from Warwick to do some alterations +for me. The fashions change so quickly nowadays. And some +of my laces will have to be washed. And I am not sure that I +shall not have to drive over to Leamington and order a bonnet. +I should not like to disgrace you by appearing on the parade +with a dowdy bonnet.’</p> + +<p>Edgar sighed. He would have liked to go to some wild +Welsh or Scottish coast, far from beaten tracks. He would +have liked some sea-side village in the south of Ireland—Dunmore, +or Tramore, or Kilkee; some quiet retreat nestled in a +hollow of the cliffs, where as yet never brass band nor fashionable +gowns had come; a place to which people came for pure +love of fine air and grand scenery, and not to show off their +clothes or advertise their easy circumstances. But he knew that +if he took his mother to such a place she would be miserable; +so he held his peace.</p> + +<p>‘Where would you like to go this year?’ he said presently.</p> + +<p>‘Well, I have been considering that point, Edgar. Let me +see now. We went to Brighton last year——’</p> + +<p>‘Yes,’ sighed Edgar, remembering what a tread-mill business +the lawn had seemed to him; how ineffably tiresome the Aquarium; +how monotonous the shops in the King’s Road, and the +entertainments at the Pavilion.</p> + +<p>‘And to Scarborough the year before.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes,’ with a still wearier sigh.</p> + +<p>‘And the year before that to Eastbourne; and the year before +that to Torquay. Don’t you think we might go to Torquay +again this year? I hear it is very much improved.’</p> + +<p>‘Very much built upon, I suppose you mean, mother. More<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</span> +smoky chimneys, more hotels, more churches, longer streets. I +should think, judging by what it had come to when we saw it, +that by this time Torquay must be a very good imitation of +Bayswater. However, if you like Torquay——’</p> + +<p>‘It is one of the few places I do like.’</p> + +<p>‘Then let it be Torquay, by all means. I’ll tell you what I’ll +do, mother. I’ll run down to Torquay to-morrow, find some +nice lodgings for you—I think by this time I know exactly what +you want in that way—and engage them for any day you like to +name.’</p> + +<p>‘That’s very kind of you, Edgar. But be sure you get some +reference as to the landlady’s character, so that you may be certain +there has been no fever case in the house during the last +twelvemonth. And it would be as well to get a local architect +to look at the drains. It would be a guinea well spent.’</p> + +<p>‘All right, mother; I’ll do anything you like. I am longing +for a blow of sea-air.’</p> + +<p>‘But it will be at least a week before I can come. What +will you do with yourself in the meantime?’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, I shall contrive to amuse myself somehow. I might go +on to Dartmouth, and charter a boat, and go up the Dart. I +want very much to see the Dart. Only say on what day I may +expect you at Torquay.’</p> + +<p>‘Am I to travel alone, Edgar?’</p> + +<p>‘You’ll have Deborah. And the journey won’t be difficult. +You’ll join the express at Swindon, don’t you know——’</p> + +<p>‘If you think I can trust to Deborah’s care of the luggage,’ +said Mrs. Turchill dubiously. ‘She’s very steady.’</p> + +<p>‘Steady! Well she ought to be at her age. You’ve only to +get the luggage labelled, you see, mother——’</p> + +<p>‘I never trust to that,’ answered the matron solemnly. ‘I +like Deborah to get out at every station where the train stops, +and see with her own eyes that my luggage is in the van. Railway +people are so stupid.’</p> + +<p>Edgar did not envy Deborah. Having thus adroitly planned +an immediate departure he was off soon after daybreak next +morning, and arrived at Torquay in time for dinner. He perambulated +the loneliest places he could find all the evening, brooding +over his disappointment, and wondering if there were any +foundation for Gerald Goring’s idea that Daphne was to be won +by him even yet. He slept at The Imperial, and devoted the +next morning to lodging hunting; till his soul sickened at the +very sight of the inevitable housemaid, who can’t answer the most +general inquiry—not so far as to say how many bedrooms there +are in the house, without reference to the higher powers—and +the inevitable landlady, who cannot make up her mind about the +rent till she has asked how many there are in family, and +whether late dinners will be required. Before sundown, however,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span> +after ascending innumerable flights of stairs, and looking +into a dismal series of newly-furnished rooms, he found a suite +of apartments which he believed would satisfy his mother and +Deborah; and having engaged the same for a period of three +weeks, he went down to the water’s edge, to a spot where boating +men most did congregate, and there negotiated the hire of +a rakish little yawl, just big enough to be safe in a summer +sea. In this light craft he was to sail at six o’clock next morning +with a man and a boy.</p> + +<p>‘How Daphne would enjoy knocking about this lovely coast +in just such a boat!’ he thought. ‘If she were my wife, I would +buy her as pretty a yacht as any lady could desire, and she +and I would sail half round the world together. She must be +tired of the Avon, poor child.’</p> + +<p>Daphne was very tired of the Avon. Never had the days of +her life seemed longer or drearier than they seemed to her just +now, when her faithful slave Edgar was no longer at hand to +minister to her caprices. A strange stillness seemed to have +fallen upon South Hill. Sir Vernon was laid up with that suppressed +gout which Daphne fancied was only another name for +unsuppressed ill-temper, so closely did the two complaints seem +allied. At such times Madoline was more than ever necessary +to his well-being. She sat with him in the library; she read to +him; she wrote his letters; and was in all things verily his right +hand. The most pure and perfect filial love sweetened an office +which would have seemed hard to an ungrateful or cold-hearted +daughter. Yet in the close retirement of the stern-looking businesslike +chamber, with its prim bookshelves and standard literature—not +a book which every decently-read student does not +know from cover to cover—she could but remember the bright +summer days that were done; the aimless wanderings in meadow +and wood; the drives to Goring Abbey; the tea-drinkings in the +cloisters or in the gardens; the happy season which was gone. +The knowledge that this one happy summer, the first she and +Gerald had ever spent together as engaged lovers, was ended and +over, made her feel as if some part of her own youth had gone +with it—something which could never come again. It had been +such an utterly happy period; such peerless weather; such a fair +gladsome earth, teeming with all good things—even the farmers +ceasing to grumble, and owning that, for once in a way, there +was hope of a prosperous harvest. And now it was over; the +corn was reaped, and sportsmen were tramping over the stubble; +the plough-horses were creeping slowly across the hill; the sun +was beginning to decline soon after five-o’clock tea; breathings +of approaching winter sharpened the sweet morning breezes; +autumnal mists veiled the meadows at eventide.</p> + +<p>Gerald Goring had gone to Scotland to shoot grouse. It<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span> +seemed to Daphne, prowling about gardens and meadows with +Goldie in a purposeless manner that was the essence of idleness, +as if the summer had gone in a breath. Yesterday she was here, +that glorious, radiant, disembodied goddess we call Summer—yesterday +she was here, and all the lanes were sweetened with +lime-blossoms, and the roses were being wasted with prodigal +profusion, and the river ran liquid gold; and to sit on a sunny +bank was to be steeped in warm delight. To-day there were +only stiff-looking dahlias, and variegated foliage, and mouse-coloured +plants, and house-leek borders, in the gardens where +the roses had been; and to sit on a grassy bank was to shiver +or to sneeze. The river had a dismal look. There had been +heavy rains within the last few days, and the willowy banks were +hidden under dull mud-coloured water. There was no more +pleasure in boating.</p> + +<p>‘You may oil her, or varnish her, or do anything that is +proper to be done with her before you put her away for the +winter, Bink,’ Daphne said to her faithful attendant; ‘I shan’t +row any more this year.’</p> + +<p>‘Lor, miss, we may have plenty more fine days yet.’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t care for that. I am tired of rowing. Perhaps I +may never row again.’</p> + +<p>She went into luncheon yawning, and looking much more +tired than Madoline, who had been writing letters for her father +all the morning.</p> + +<p>‘I wish I were a hunting young woman, Lina,’ she said.</p> + +<p>‘Why, dear?’</p> + +<p>‘Because I should have something to look forward to in the +winter.’</p> + +<p>‘If you could only employ yourself more indoors, Daphne.’</p> + +<p>‘Do I not employ myself indoors? Why, I play billiards +for hours at a stretch when I have anyone to play with. I +practised out-of-the-way strokes for an hour and a half this +morning.’</p> + +<p>‘I am sure, dear, you would be happier if you had some +more feminine amusements; if you were to go on with your +water-colour painting, for instance. Gerald could give you a +little instruction when he is here. He paints beautifully. I’m +sure he would be pleased to help you.’</p> + +<p>‘No, dear; I have no talent. I like beginning a sketch; +but directly it begins to look horrid I lose patience; and then I +begin to lay on colour in a desperate way, till the whole thing is +the most execrable daub imaginable; and then I get into a rage +and tear it into a thousand bits. It’s just the same with my +needlework; there always comes a time when I get my thread +entangled, and begin to pucker, and the whole business goes +wrong. I have no patience. I shall never finish anything. I +shall never achieve anything. I am an absolute failure.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span></p> + +<p>‘Daphne, if you only knew how it pains me to hear you talk +of yourself like that——’</p> + +<p>‘Then I won’t do it again. I would not pain you for the +wealth of this world—not even to have it always summer, instead +of a dull, abominable, shivery season like this.’</p> + +<p>‘Gerald says it is lovely in Argyleshire; balmy and warm; +almost too hot for walking over the hills.’</p> + +<p>‘He is enjoying himself, I suppose,’ said Daphne coldly.</p> + +<p>‘Yes; he is having capital sport.’</p> + +<p>‘Shooting those birds that make our dining-room smell so +nasty every evening, and helping to stock Aunt Rhoda’s larder.’</p> + +<p>‘He does not intend to stay after the end of this month. +He will be home early in October.’</p> + +<p>Daphne did not even affect to be interested. She was feeding +Goldie, who was allowed to come in to luncheon when Sir +Vernon was not in the way.</p> + +<p>‘I had a letter from Mrs. Turchill this morning,’ said Lina; +‘she is enjoying herself immensely at Torquay. Edgar is very +attentive and devoted to her, going everywhere with her. He is +a most affectionate son.’</p> + +<p>‘And a good son makes a good husband, doesn’t he, Lina? +Is that idea at the bottom of your mind when you talk of his +goodness to his very commonplace mother?’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t want to talk of him, Daphne, to any one who values +him so little as you do.’</p> + +<p>‘But I value him very much—almost as much as I do Goldie—but +not quite, not quite, my pet,’ she added reassuringly to the +dog, lest he should be jealous. ‘I have missed him horribly; +no one to tease; no one to talk nonsense with. You are so +sensible that I could not afford to shock you by my absurdities; +and Mr. Goring is so cynical that I fancy he is always laughing. +I miss Edgar every hour of the day.’</p> + +<p>‘And yet——’</p> + +<p>‘And yet I don’t care one little straw for him—in the kind +of way you care for Mr. Goring,’ said Daphne, with a sudden +blush.</p> + +<p>Lina sighed and was silent. She had not abandoned all +hope that Daphne would in time grow more warmly attached to +the faithful swain, whose society she evidently missed sorely in +these dull autumnal days, during which the only possible excitement +was a box of new books from Mudie’s.</p> + +<p>‘More “Voyages to the North Pole”; more “Three Weeks +on the Top of the Biggest Pyramid”; more “Memoirs of Philip +of Macedon’s Private Secretary,”’ cried Daphne, sitting on the +ground beside the newly-arrived box, and tossing all the instructive +books on the carpet, after a contemptuous glance at +their titles. ‘Here is Browning’s new poem, thank goodness! +and a novel, “My Only Jo.” Told in the first person and present<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span> +tense, no doubt; nice and light and lively. I think I’ll +take that and Browning, if you don’t mind, Lina; and you shall +have all the Travels and Memoirs.’</p> + +<p>With the help of novels and poetry, and long rambles even +in the wild showery weather, waterproofed and booted against +the storm, and wearing a neat little felt wide-awake which +weather could not spoil, Daphne contrived to get through her +life somehow while her faithful slave was away. Was it indeed +he whom she missed so sorely? Was it his footfall which her +ear knew so well; his step which quickened the beating of her +heart, and brought the warm blood to her cheek? Was it his +coming and going which so deeply stirred the current of her +life? Life had been empty of delight for the last three weeks; +but was it Edgar’s absence made the little world of South Hill +so blank and dreary? In her heart of hearts Daphne knew too +well that it was not. Yet Edgar had made an important element +in her life. He had helped her, if not to forget, at least +to banish thought. He had sympathised with all her frivolous +pleasures, and made it easier for her to take life lightly.</p> + +<p>‘If I were once to be serious I should break my heart,’ she +said to herself, as she sat curled up on the fluffy white rug by +one of the morning-room windows, her thoughts straying off +from ‘My Only Jo,’ which was the most frothy of fashionable +novels.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Turchill was so delighted with Torquay, in its increased +towniness and shoppiness, its interesting Ritualistic services, at +which it was agreeable to assist once in a way, however a well-regulated +mind might disapprove all such Papistical innovations, +that October had begun before she and her son returned to +Hawksyard. Edgar had been glad to stay away. He shrank +with a strange shyness from meeting Daphne; albeit he was +always longing for her as the hart for water-brooks. He +amused himself knocking about in his little yawl-rigged yacht, +thinking of the girl he loved. Mrs. Turchill complained that +he had grown selfish and inattentive. He rarely walked with +her on the parade; he refused to listen to the town band; he +went reluctantly to hear Miss Snevillici: and slumbered in his +too-conspicuous front seat while that lady declaimed the Balcony +Scene from ‘Romeo and Juliet.’</p> + +<p>‘If it were not for Deborah I should feel horribly lonely,’ +complained Mrs. Turchill. ‘And it is not right that I should +be dependent upon a servant for society.’</p> + +<p>Gerald had not yet returned. He had gone on a yachting +expedition with an old college chum. He was enjoying the +wild free life, and his letters to Madoline were full of fun and +high spirits.</p> + +<p>‘Next year we shall be here together, perhaps,’ he wrote. +‘I think you would like the fun. It would be so new to you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span> +after the placid pleasures of South Hill. And what a yacht +we would have! This I am now upon is a mere cockleshell +to the ship I would build for my dear love. There should be +room enough for you and all your pets—Fluff and the squirrel, +your books, your piano, and for Daphne, too, if she would like +to come; only she is such a wild young person that I should +live in constant fear of her falling overboard.’</p> + +<p>Madoline read this passage to Daphne laughingly. ‘You +see that he remembers you, dear. The thought of you enters +into his plans for the future.’</p> + +<p>‘He is very kind: I am much obliged to him,’ Daphne +answered icily.</p> + +<p>It was not the first time she had responded coldly to Madoline’s +mention of her lover. Her sister felt the slight against +her idol, and was deeply wounded.</p> + +<p>‘Daphne,’ she said in a voice that was faintly tremulous +in spite of her effort to be calm, ‘you have said many little +things lately—or perhaps it is hardly what you have said, but +only your looks and tones—which make me think that you +dislike Gerald.’</p> + +<p>‘Dislike him! No, that is impossible. He has all the +attributes which make people admired and liked.’</p> + +<p>‘Yet I don’t think you like him.’</p> + +<p>‘It is not in my nature to like many people. I like Edgar. +I love you, with all my heart and soul. Be content with that, +darling,’ said Daphne, kneeling by Madoline’s side, resting the +bright head, with its soft silken hair, on her shoulder—the face +looking downward and half hidden.</p> + +<p>‘No; I cannot be content. I made up my mind that Gerald +was to be as dear to you as a brother—as dear as the brother +you lost might have been, had God spared him and made him +all we could wish. And now you set up some barrier of false +pride against him.’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t know about false pride. I can hardly be very +fond of a man who ridicules me, and treats me like a child, or a +plaything. Affection will scarcely thrive in an atmosphere of +contempt.’</p> + +<p>‘Contempt! Why, Daphne, what can have put such an +idea into your head? Gerald likes and admires you. If you +knew how he praises your beauty, your fascinating ways! +You would not have him praise you to your face, would you? +My pet, I should be sorry to see you spoiled by adulation.’</p> + +<p>‘Do you suppose I want praise or flattery?’ cried Daphne +angrily. ‘I want to be respected. I want to be treated like +a woman, not a child. I——Forgive me, Lina dearest. I +daresay I am disagreeable and ill-tempered.’</p> + +<p>‘Only believe the truth, dear. Gerald has no thought of +you that is not tender and flattering. If he teases you a little<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span> +now and then it is only as a brother might tease you. He wishes +you to think of him in every way as a brother. It always +wounds me when you call him Mr. Goring.’</p> + +<p>‘I shall never call him anything else,’ said Daphne sullenly.</p> + +<p>‘And if you do not marry as soon as I do——’</p> + +<p>‘I shall never marry——’</p> + +<p>‘Dearest, forgive me for not believing that. If you are not +married next year you will have a second home at the Abbey. +Gerald and I have chosen the rooms we intend for you; the +dearest little boudoir over the porch, with an oriel window, just +such a room as will delight you.’</p> + +<p>‘You are all that is good: but I don’t suppose I shall be +able often to take advantage of your kindness. When you are +married it will be my duty to dance attendance upon papa, and +to try and make him like me. I don’t suppose I shall ever succeed +but I mean to make the effort, however unpleasant it may +be to both of us.’</p> + +<p>‘My sweet one, you are sure to win his love. Who could +help loving you?’</p> + +<p>‘My father has helped it all this time,’ answered Daphne, +still moody and with downcast eyes.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Edgar and his mother stayed away till the third week in +September. When they came back to Hawksyard cub-hunting +was in full swing, and Mr. Turchill rose at five o’clock three +mornings a week to ride to the kennels. He rode with two sets +of hounds, making nothing of distance. He bought himself a +fifth hunter—having four good ones already—which was naturally +supposed to overtop all the rest in strength, pace, and +beauty. His mother began to fear that the stables would be +her son’s ruin.</p> + +<p>‘Three thousand a-year was considered a large income when +your father and I were married,’ she said; ‘but it is a mere +pittance now for a country gentleman in your position. We +ought to be careful, Edgar.’</p> + +<p>‘Who said we were going to be careless, mother mine? I +am sure you are a model among housewives,’ said Edgar lightly.</p> + +<p>‘You’ve taken on a new man in the stable, I hear, Edgar—to +attend to your new horse, I suppose.’</p> + +<p>‘Only a new boy at fourteen bob a week, mother. We were +rather short-handed.’</p> + +<p>‘Short-handed! With four men!’</p> + +<p>Edgar could not stop to debate the matter. It was nine +o’clock, and he was eating a hurried breakfast before starting +on his useful covert hack for Snitterfield, where the hounds +were to meet. It was to be the first meet of the season, an +occasion for some excitement. Pleasant to see all the old +company, with a new face or two perhaps among them, and a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span> +sprinkling of new horses—young ones whose education had only +just begun. Edgar was going to exhibit his new mare, an +almost thoroughbred black, and was all aglow with pride at +the thought of the admiration she would receive. He looked +his best in his well-worn red coat, new buckskins, and mahogany +tops.</p> + +<p>‘I hope you’ll be careful, Edgar,’ said his mother, hanging +about him in the hall, ‘and that you won’t go taking desperate +jumps with that new mare. She has a nasty vicious look in her +hind legs; and yesterday, when I opened the stable-door to +speak to Baker, she put back her ears.’</p> + +<p>‘A horse may do that without being an absolute fiend, +mother. Black Pearl is the kindest creature in Christendom. +Good-bye.’</p> + +<p>‘Dinner at eight, I suppose,’ sighed Mrs. Turchill, who preferred +an earlier hour.</p> + +<p>‘Yes, if you don’t mind. It gives me plenty of time for a +bath. Ta, ta.’</p> + +<p>He had swung himself on to the thick-set chestnut roadster, +and was trotting merrily away on the other side of the drawbridge, +before his mother had finished her regretful sigh. The +groom had gone on before with Black Pearl. These hunting +mornings were the only occasions on which Mr. Turchill forgot +his disappointment. The keen delight of fresh air, a fast run, +pleasant company, familiar voices, brushed away all dark +thoughts. For the moment he lived only to fly across the level +fields, in a country which seemed altogether changed from the +scene of his daily walks and rides; all familiar things—hedges, +bills, commons, brooks—taking a look of newness, as if he were +galloping through a newly-invented world. For the moment he +lived as the bird lives—a thing of life and motion, a creature +too swift for thought or pain or care. Then, after the day’s +hard riding, came the lazy homeward walk side by side with a +friend, and friendly talk about horses and dogs and neighbours. +Then a dinner for which even a lover’s appetite showed no sign +of decay. Then pleasant exhaustion; a cigar; a nap; and a +long night of dreamless rest.</p> + +<p>No doubt it was this relief afforded by the hunting season +which saved Mr. Turchill from exhibiting himself in the dejected +condition which Rosalind declared to be an essential mark of a +lover. No lean cheek or sunken eye, neglected beard or sullen +spirit, marked Edgar when he came to South Hill. He seemed +so much at his ease, and had so much to tell about that first +meet at Snitterfield, and the delightful run which followed it, +that Daphne was confirmed in her idea that in affairs of the +heart Mr. Turchill belonged to the weathercock species.</p> + +<p>‘If he could get over your rejection of him, you may suppose +how easily he would get over mine,’ she said to her sister.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span></p> + +<p>Yet she was very glad to have Edgar back again: to be able +to order him about, to beat him at billiards, or waltz with him +in the dusky hall between five-o’clock tea and the dressing-bell, +while Lina played for them in the morning-room. In this one +accomplishment Daphne was teacher, and a most imperious mistress.</p> + +<p>‘If you expect me to be seen dancing with you at the Hunt +Ball, you must improve vastly between this and January,’ she +said.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII.<br> +<span class="fs70">‘AND IN MY HERTE WONDREN I BEGAN.’</span></h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">For</span> a man to waltz in the gloaming with a girl whom he +passionately loves, and who has contemptuously rejected him, is a +kind of pleasure too near the edge of pain to be altogether blissful. +Yet Edgar came every non-hunting day to South Hill, +and was always ready to dance to Daphne’s piping. He was +her first partner since the little crabbed old French master at +Asnières, who had taken a few turns with her now and then, +fiddling all the time, in order to show his other pupils what +dancing meant. He declared that Daphne was the only one of +them all who had the soul of a dancer.</p> + +<p>‘<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Elle est née sylphide.</i> She moves in harmony with the +music; she is a part of the melody,’ he said, as he scraped away +at the languishing Duc de Reichstadt valse, the tune to which +our grandmothers used to revolve in the days when the newly +imported waltz was denounced as an iniquity.</p> + +<p>The grand Hunt Ball, which took place only once in two +years at Stratford Town Hall, was to be held in the coming +January, and Sir Vernon had consented that Daphne should +appear at this festivity, chaperoned by her aunt and accompanied +by her elder sister. It was an assembly so thoroughly +local that Mrs. Ferrers felt it a solemn duty to be present: +even her parochial character, which to the narrow-minded might +seem incongruous, made it, she asserted, all the more incumbent +upon her to be there.</p> + +<p>‘A clergyman’s wife ought to show her interest in all innocent +amusements,’ she said. ‘If there were any fear of doubtful +people getting admitted, of course I would sooner cut off my +feet than cross the threshold; but where the voucher system is +so thoroughly carried out——’</p> + +<p>‘There are sure to be plenty of pretty girls,’ said the Rector, +‘and I believe there’s a capital card-room. I’ve a good mind to +go with you.’</p> + +<p>‘If it were in summer, Duke, I should urge it on you as a duty; +but in this severe weather the change from a hot room——’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</span></p> + +<p>‘Might bring on my bronchitis. I think you’re right, Rhoda. +And the champagne at these places is generally a doubtful +brand, while of all earthly delusions and snares a ball-supper is +the most hollow. But I should like to have seen Daphne at her +first ball. I am very fond of little Daphne.’</p> + +<p>‘I am always pleased for you to be interested in my relations,’ +replied Mrs. Ferrers, with a sour look; ‘but I must say, +of all the young people I ever had anything to do with, Daphne +is the most unsatisfactory.’</p> + +<p>‘In what way?’ asked Mr. Ferrers, looking lazily up from +his tea-cup.</p> + +<p>It was afternoon tea-time, and the husband and wife were +sitting <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tête-à-tête</i> before the fire in the Rector’s snug study, +where the old black oak shelves were full of the most delightful +books, which he was proud to possess but rarely looked at—inside. +The outsides, beautiful in tawny and crimson leather, +tooled and gilded and labelled and lettered, regaled his eye in +many a lazy reverie, when he reposed in his armchair, and +watched the firelight winking and blinking at those treasuries +of wit and wisdom.</p> + +<p>‘In what way is Daphne troublesome, my dear?’ repeated +the Rector. ‘I am interested in the puss. I taught her her Catechism.’</p> + +<p>‘I wish you had taught her the spirit as well as the letter,’ +retorted Mrs. Ferrers tartly. ‘The girl is an absolute pagan. +After flirting with Edgar Turchill in a manner that would have +endangered her reputation had she belonged to people of inferior +position, she has the supreme folly to refuse him.’</p> + +<p>‘What you call folly may be her idea of wisdom,’ answered +the Rector. ‘She may do better than Turchill—a young man +of excellent family, but with very humdrum surroundings, and +a frightful dead-weight in that mother, who I believe has a +life-interest in the estate which would prevent his striking out +in any way till she is under the turf. Such a girl as Daphne +should do better than Edgar Turchill. She is wise to wait for +her chances.’</p> + +<p>‘How worldly you are, Marmaduke! It shocks me to hear +such sentiments from a minister of the gospel.’</p> + +<p>‘My dear, he who was in every attribute a model for ministers +of the gospel boasted that he was all things to all men. +When I discuss worldly matters I talk as a man of the world. +I think Daphne ought to make a brilliant marriage. She has +the finest eyes I have seen for a long time—always excepting +those which illuminate my own fireside,’ he added, smiling +benignly on his wife.</p> + +<p>‘Oh, pray make no exception,’ she answered snappishly. ‘I +never pretended to be a beauty; though my features are certainly +more regular than Daphne’s. I am a genuine Lawford,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</span> +and the Lawfords have had straight noses from time immemorial. +Daphne takes after her unhappy mother.’</p> + +<p>‘Ah, poor thing!’ sighed the Rector. ‘She was a lovely +young creature when Lawford brought her home.’</p> + +<p>‘Daphne resembles her to a most unfortunate degree,’ said +Aunt Rhoda.</p> + +<p>‘A sad story,’ sighed the Rector; ‘a sad story.’</p> + +<p>‘I think it would better become us to forget it,’ said his +wife.</p> + +<p>‘My love it was you who spoke of poor Lady Lawford.’</p> + +<p>‘Marmaduke, I am disgusted at the tone you take about her. +Poor Lady Lawford indeed! I consider her quite the most +execrable woman I ever heard of.’</p> + +<p>‘She was beautiful; men told her so, and she believed them. +She was tempted; and she was weak. Execrable is a hard word, +Rhoda. She never injured you.’</p> + +<p>‘She blighted my brother’s life. Do you suppose I can +easily forgive that? You men are always ready to make excuses +for a pretty woman. I heard of Colonel Kirkbank, the +other day. Lady Hetheridge met him at Baden—a wreck. They +say he is immensely rich. He has never married, it seems.’</p> + +<p>‘That at least is a grace in him. “His honour rooted in dishonour +stood; and faith unfaithful kept him falsely true.”’</p> + +<p>‘You are in a sentimental mood this evening, Marmaduke,’ +sneered Rhoda. ‘One would suppose that you had been in love +with my brother’s second wife.’</p> + +<p>‘She has been so long in her grave that I don’t think you +and I need quarrel if I confess that I admired her. There is a +look in Daphne’s face now she has grown up that recalls her +mother almost painfully. I hope Todd won’t burn that pheasant, +Rhoda. I’m afraid she is getting a little careless. The +last was as dry as a stick.’</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Scotland made up for a chilly and inferior summer by an +altogether superior autumn. The days were ever so much +fairer and longer on that wild north coast than they were in +Warwickshire; and tempted by the beauty of sky and sea, +backed by the urgent desire of his bachelor friend, the skipper +of the smart schooner-rigged yacht <em>Kelpie</em>, Gerald Goring stayed +much longer than he had intended to stay; atoning, so far as +he could atone, for his prolonged absence, by writing his betrothed +the most delightful letters, and sending a weekly packet +of sepia sketches, which reflected every phase of sea and sky, +rock and hill. To describe these things with his brush was as +easy to Gerald as it is to other men to describe with their pens.</p> + +<p>‘It is an idle dreamy life,’ he wrote. ‘When I am not +shooting land-fowl on the hills, or water-fowl from my dingey, +I sit on the deck and sketch, till I grow almost into a seavegetable—a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</span> +zoophyte which contracts and expands with a +faintly pleasurable sensation—and calls that life. I read no end +of poetry—Byron, Shelley, Keats—and that book whose wisdom +and whose beauty no amount of reading can ever dry up—Goethe’s +“Faust.” I want no new books—the old ones are inexhaustible. +Curiosity may tempt me to look at a new writer; +but in an age of literary mediocrity I go back for choice to +the Titans of the past. Do you think I am scornful of your +favourites, Tennyson and Browning? No, love. They, too, +are Titans; but we shall value them more when they have +received the divine honours that can only come after death.</p> + +<p>‘I am longing to be with you, and yet I feel that I am +doing myself a world of good in this rough open-air life. I was +getting a little moped at the Abbey. The place is so big, and +so dreary, like the palace of the Sleeping Beauty—waiting to +wake into life and brightness at the coming of love and you. +The lonely rooms are haunted by my dear mother’s image, and +by the sense of my loss. When you come I shall be so happy +in the present that the pain of past sorrow will be softened.</p> + +<p>‘I sit sketching these romantic caves—where we earn our +dinner by shooting the innocent rock-pigeons—and thinking of +you, and of my delight in showing you this coast next autumn.</p> + +<p>‘Yes, love, we will have a yacht. I know you are fond of +the sea. Your sister is a fanatic in her love of the water. How +she will delight in these islands!’</p> + +<p>He thought of Daphne sometimes, as he sat in the bow of +the boat, lulled almost to slumber by the rise and fall of the +waves gently lapping the hull. His brush fell idle across the +little tin colour-box, and he gave himself up to listless reverie. +How Daphne would love this free unfettered life: a life in +which there were no formalities; no sitting prim and straight +at an orderly dinner-table; no conventional sequence of everyday +ceremonies in a hideous monotony. It was a roving gipsy +life which must needs please that erratic soul.</p> + +<p>‘Poor little Daphne! It is strange that she and I don’t +get on better,’ he said to himself. ‘We were such capital +friends at Fontainebleau. Perhaps the recollection of that day +is in some way disagreeable to her. She has been very stand-offish +to me ever since—except by fits and starts. There are +times when she forgets to be formal; and then she is charming.’</p> + +<p>Yes; there had been times—times when all that was picturesque +and poetical in her nature asserted itself, and when +her future brother-in-law succumbed to the spell, and admired +her just a little more warmly than he felt to be altogether well +for his peace, or perchance for hers.</p> + +<p>Perhaps he, too, had been somewhat formal—had fenced +himself round with forms and ceremonies—lest some lurking +sentiment which he had never dared to analyse, or even to think<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</span> +about, should grow stronger. He wanted to be honest; he +wanted to be true and loyal. But the lovely young face, so +piquant, so entrancing in its exquisite girlishness, came across +his fancies too often for perfect repose of conscience. The +memory of those two summer days at Fontainebleau—idle, +foolish, unconsidered hours—was an ever-present part of his +mind. It was so small a thing; yet it haunted him. How +much better it would have been, he thought, if Daphne had +been more candid, had allowed him to speak freely of that +innocent adventure! Concealment gave it a flavour of guilt. +A hundred times he had been on the point of letting out the +secret by this or that allusion, when Daphne’s blush and the +quiver of Daphne’s lip had startled him into caution. This +made a secret understanding between them in spite of his own +desire to be honest; and it worried him to think that there +should be any such hidden bond.</p> + +<p>Madoline was the love of his life, the hope and glory of his +days. He had no doubt as to his feelings about her. From his +boyhood he had admired, revered, and loved her. He was only +three years her senior, and in their early youth the delicately-nurtured, +carefully-educated girl, reared among grown-up +people, and far in advance of her years, had seemed in all +intellectual things the boy’s superior. Lady Geraldine was idle +and self-indulgent; she petted and spoiled her son, but she +taught him nothing. Had he not a private tutor—a young +clergyman who preferred the luxurious leisure of the Abbey +to the hard work of a curacy—and was not his education +sufficiently provided for when this well-recommended young +Oxonian had been engaged at a munificent salary? The young +Oxonian was as fond of shooting, billiards, cricket, and boating +as his pupil; so the greater part of Gerald’s early youth was +devoted to these accomplishments; and it was only the boy’s +natural aptitude for learning whatever he wished to learn which +saved him from being a dunce. At fifteen he was transferred +to Eton, where he found better cricketing and a better river +than in Warwickshire.</p> + +<p>From Lady Geraldine the boy had received no bent towards +high thoughts or a noble ambition. She loved him passionately, +but with a love that was both weak and selfish. She would +have had him educated at home, a boudoir sybarite, to lie on +the Persian rug at her feet and read frivolous books in fine +bindings; to sit by her side when she drove; to be pampered +and idolised and ruined in body and soul. The father’s strong +sense interfered to prevent this. Mr. Giles-Goring was no +classic, and he was a self-taught mathematician, while the boy’s +tutor had taken honours in both branches of learning; but he +was clever enough to see that this luxurious home-education +was a mockery, that the lad was being flattered by an obsequious<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</span> +tutor, and spoiled by a foolish mother. He sent the Oxonian +about his business, and took the boy to Eton, not before Lady +Geraldine had done him as much harm as a doting mother can +do to a beloved son. She had taught him, unintentionally and +unconsciously, perhaps, to despise his father. She had taught +him to consider himself, by right of his likeness to her and his +keen sympathy with all her thoughts and fancies and prejudices—a +sympathy to which she had, as unconsciously, trained and +schooled him—belonging to her class and not to his father’s. +The low-born father was an accident in his life—a good endurable +man, and to be respected (after a fashion) for his lowly +worth, but spiritually, eclectically, æsthetically, of no kin with +the son who bore his name, and who was to inherit, and perhaps +waste, his hard-won wealth.</p> + +<p>The mother and son had a code of signals, little looks and +subtle smiles, with which they communicated their ideas before +the blunt plain-spoken father. Lady Geraldine never spoke +against her husband: nor did she descend even in moments of +confidence to vulgar ridicule. ‘So like your father,’ she would +say, with her languid smile, of any honest unconventional act +or speech of Mr. Giles-Goring’s; and it must be confessed that +Mr. Giles-Goring was one of those impulsive outspoken men +who do somewhat exercise a wife’s patience. Lady Geraldine +never lost her temper with him; she was never rude; she never +overtly thwarted his wishes, or opposed his plans; but she +shrugged her graceful shoulders, and lifted her delicately-pencilled +eyebrows, and allowed her son to understand what +an impassable gulf yawned between her, the daughter of a +hundred earls—or at least half-a-dozen—and the self-made +millionaire.</p> + +<p>Escaping from the stifling moral atmosphere of his mother’s +boudoir, Gerald found his first ideas of a higher and a nobler +life at South Hill. At the Abbey he had been taught to believe +that there were two good things in the world, rank and money; +but that even rank, the very flower of life, must droop and fade +if not manured with gold. At South Hill he learned to think +lightly of both, and to aspire to something better than either. +For the sake of being praised and admired by Madoline he +worked, almost honestly, at Eton and Oxford. She kindled +his ambition, and, inspired by her, his youth and talent blossomed +into poetry. He sat up late at nights writing impassioned +verse. He dashed off wild stanzas in the ‘To Thyrza’ style, +when his brain was fired by the mild orgies of a modern wine, +and the fiercer rapture of a modern bear-fight. And Madoline +was his only Thyrza. He was not a man who can find his Egeria +in every street. For a little while he fancied that it was in him +to be a second Byron; that the divine breath inflated his lungs; +that he had but to strike on the cithara for the divine accords<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</span> +to come. He strummed cleverly enough upon the sacred strings, +spoiled a good deal of clean paper, and amused himself considerably. +Then, failing—in consequence of an utter absence of the +critical faculty—to win the prize for English verse, he turned +his back upon the Muses, and henceforward spoke with ridicule +of his poetic adolescence. Still the Muse had exercised her +elevating influence; and, inspired by her and by Madoline, +Gerald Goring had learned to despise those lesser aims which his +mother had held before him as the sublimities of life.</p> + +<p>He was fond of art, and had a marked talent for painting; +but as he never extended his labours or his studies beyond the +amateur’s easy course, he was not likely to rise above the amateur’s +level. Why should a man who is sure to inherit a million +submit to the drudgery of severe technical training in order to +take the bread out of the mouths of painters who must needs +live by their art? Gerald painted a little, now landscape, now +figure, as the spirit moved him; sculptured a little; poetised a +little; set a little song of his own to music now and then to +please Lina; and was altogether accomplished and interesting. +But he would have liked to be great, to have had his name +bandied about for praise or blame upon the lips of men; and it +irked him somewhat to know and feel that he was not of the +stuff which makes great men; or, in other words, that he entirely +lacked that power of sustained industry which can alone achieve +greatness. For his own inward satisfaction, and for Lina’s sake, +he would have liked to distinguish himself. But the pathway of +life had been made fatally smooth for him; it lay through a +land of flowery pastures and running brooks, a happy valley of +all earthly delights; and how could any man be resolute enough +to turn aside from all sensuous pleasures to climb rugged rocky +hills in pursuit of some perchance unattainable spiritual delight? +There was so much that wealth could give him, that it would +have been hardly natural for Gerald Goring to live laborious +days for the sake of the one thing which wealth could not give. +He had just that dreamy poetic temperament which can clothe +sensual joys with the glory and radiance of the intellectual. +Politics, statecraft, he frankly detested; science he considered +an insult to poetry. He would have liked the stir and excitement, +the fever and glory of war; but not the daily dry-as-dust +work of a soldier’s life, or the hardships of campaigning. He +was not an unbeliever, but his religious belief was too vague +for a Churchman. Having failed to distinguish himself as a +poet, and being too idle to succeed as a painter, he saw no royal +road to fame open to him; and so was content to fall back +from the race, and enjoy the delicious repose of an utterly aimless +life. He pictured to himself a future in which there should +be no crumpled rose-leaf; a wife in all things perfect, fondly +loved, admired, respected; children as lovely as a poet’s dream<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</span> +of childhood; an existence passed amidst the fairest scenes of +earth, with such endless variety of background as unlimited +wealth can give. He would not, like Tiberius, build himself a +dozen villas upon one rock-bound island; but he would make +his temporary nest in every valley and by every lake, striking +his tents before ever satiety could dull the keen edge of enjoyment.</p> + +<p>Nor should this ideal life, though aimless, be empty of good +works. Madoline should have <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">carte blanche</i> for the gratification +of her benevolent schemes, great or small, and he would be ready +to help her with counsel and sympathy; provided always that +he were not called upon to work, or to put himself <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">en rapport</i> +with professional philanthropists—a most useful class, no doubt, +but obnoxious to him as a lover of ease and pleasure.</p> + +<p>He had looked forward with placid self-satisfaction to this +life ever since his engagement—and indeed for some time before +that solemn betrothal. From his boyhood he had loved Madoline, +and had believed himself beloved by her. Betrothal +followed almost as a matter of course. Lady Geraldine had +spoken of the engagement as a settled thing, ever so long before +the lovers had bound themselves each to each. She had told +Lina that she was to be her daughter, the only girl she could +love as her son’s wife; and when Gerald was away at Oxford, +Lina had spent half her life at Goring with his mother, talking +about him, worshipping him, as men are worshipped sometimes +by women infinitely above them.</p> + +<p>From the time of his engagement—nay, from the time when +first his boyish heart recognised a mistress—Gerald’s affection +for Madoline had known no change or diminution. Never had +his soul wavered. Nor did it waver in his regard and reverence +for her now, as he sat on the sunlit deck of the <em>Kelpie</em> in this +fair autumn weather, his brush lying idle by his side, his +thoughts perplexed and wandering. Yet there was a jar in the +harmony of his life; a dissonant interval somewhere in the +music. The thought of Daphne troubled him. He had a suspicion +that she was not happy. Gay and sparkling as she was +at times, she was prone to fits of silence and sullenness unaccountable +in so young a creature: unless it were that she +cherished some secret grief, and that the hidden fox so many of +us carry had his tooth in her young breast.</p> + +<p>He was no coxcomb, not in the least degree inclined to suppose +that women had a natural bent towards falling in love +with him: yet in this case he was troubled by the suspicion that +Daphne’s stand-offishness was not so much a token of indifference +or dislike, as the sign of a deeper feeling. She had been +so variable in her manner to him. Now all sweet, and anon all +sour; now avoiding him, now showing but too plainly her intense +delight in his presence—by subtlest signs; by sudden<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</span> +blushes; by loveliest looks; by faintly quivering lip of +trembling hand; by the swift lighting up of her whole face at +his coming; by the low veiled tones of her soft sweet voice. +Yes; by too many a sign and token—fighting her hardest to hide +her secret all the time—she had given him ground for suspecting +that she loved him.</p> + +<p>He recalled, with unspeakable pain, her pale distressed face +that day of their first meeting at South Hill; the absolute +horror in her widely-opened eyes; the deadly coldness of her +trembling hand. Why had she called her boat by that ridiculous +name: and why had she been so anxious to cancel it? +The thought of those things disturbed his peace. She was so +lovely, so innocent, so wild, so wilful.</p> + +<p>‘My bright spirit of the woods,’ he said to himself, ‘I should +like your fate to be happy. And yet—and yet—’</p> + +<p>He dared not shape his thought further, but the question +was in his mind: ‘Would I like her fate to be far apart from +mine?’</p> + +<p>Why had she rejected Edgar Turchill, a man so honestly, so +obviously devoted to her?—able, one might suppose, to sympathise +with all her girlish fancies, to gratify every whim.</p> + +<p>‘She ought to like him; she must be made to like him,’ he +said to himself, his heart suddenly aglow with virtuous, almost +heroical resolve.</p> + +<p>His heart had thrilled that night in the shadow of the +walnut boughs when he heard Daphne’s contemptuous rejection +of her lover. He had been guiltily glad. And yet he +was ready to do his duty: he was eager to play the mediator, +and win the girl for that true-hearted lover. He meant to be +loyal.</p> + +<p>‘Poor Daphne!’ he sighed. ‘Her cradle was shadowed by a +guilty mother’s folly. She had been cheated out of her father’s +love. She need have something good in this life to make +amends for all she has lost. Edgar would make an admirable +husband.’</p> + +<p>The <em>Kelpie</em> turned her nose towards home next day; and +soon Gerald was dreamily watching the play of sunbeam and +shadow on the heathery slopes above the Kyles of Bute, very +near Greenock, and the station and the express train that was +to carry him home. He turned his back almost reluctantly on +the sea life, the unfettered bachelor habits. Though he longed +to see Madoline again, almost as fondly as he had longed for her +four months ago when he was leaving Bergen, yet there was +a curious indefinable pain mingled with the lover’s yearning. +An image thrust itself between him and his own true love; +a haunting shape was mingled with all his dreams of the +future.</p> + +<p>‘Pray God she may marry soon, and have children, and get<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</span> +matronly and dull and stupid!’ he said to himself savagely; ‘and +then I shall forget the dryad of Fontainebleau.’</p> + +<p>He travelled all night and got to Stratford early in the +afternoon. He had given no notice of his coming, either at the +Abbey or South Hill, and his first visit was naturally to the +house that held his betrothed. His limbs were cramped and +stiffened by the long journey, and he despatched his valet and +his portmanteau to Goring in a fly, and walked across the fields +to South Hill. It was a long walk and he took his time about it, +stopping now and then to look somewhat wistfully at the brown +river, on whose breast the scattered leaves were drifting. The +sky was dull and gray, with only faint patches of wintry sunlight +in the west; the atmosphere was heavy; and the year seemed +ever so much older here than in Scotland.</p> + +<p>He passed Baddesley and Arden, with only a glance across +the smooth lawn at the Rectory, where the china-asters were in +their glory, and the majolica vases under the rustic verandah +made bright spots of colour in the autumn gloom. Then, instead +of taking the meadow-path to South Hill, he chose the +longer way, and followed the windings of the Avon, intending +to let himself into the South Hill grounds by the little gate +near Daphne’s boat-house.</p> + +<p>He was within about a quarter of a mile of the boat-house +when he saw a spot of scarlet gleaming amidst the shadows of +the rustic roof. The boat-house was a thatched erection of +the Noah’s Ark pattern, and the front was open to the water. +Below this thatched gable-end, and on a level with the river, +showed the vivid spot of red. Gerald quickened his pace unconsciously, +with a curious eagerness to solve the mystery of +that bit of colour.</p> + +<p>Yes; it was as he had fancied. It was Daphne, seated alone +and dejected on the keel of her upturned boat. The yellow +collie darted out and leapt up at him, growling and snapping, +as he drew near her. Daphne looked at him—or he so fancied—with +a piteous half-beseeching gaze. She was very pale, and +he thought she looked wretchedly ill.</p> + +<p>‘Have you been ill?’ he asked eagerly, as they shook hands. +‘Quiet, you mongrel!’ to the suspicious Goldie.</p> + +<p>‘Never was better in my life,’ she answered briskly.</p> + +<p>‘Then your looks belie you. I was afraid you had been +seriously ill.’</p> + +<p>‘Don’t you think if I had Lina would have mentioned it to +you in a postscript, or a <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">nota bene</i>, or something?’</p> + +<p>‘Of course.’</p> + +<p>‘I detest cold weather, and I am chilled to the bone, in spite +of this thick shawl,’ she answered lightly, glancing at the scarlet +wrap which had caught Gerald’s eye from afar.</p> + +<p>‘I wonder you choose such a spot as this for your afternoon<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</span> +meditations. It is certainly about the dampest and chilliest +place you could find.’</p> + +<p>‘I did not come here to meditate, but to read,’ answered +Daphne. ‘I have got Browning’s new poem, and it requires a +great deal of hard thinking before one can quite appreciate it; +and if I tell you that Aunt Rhoda is in the drawing-room, and +means to stick there till dinner-time, you will not require any +further reason for my being here.’</p> + +<p>‘That’s dreadful. Yet I must face the gorgon. I am dying +to see Lina.’</p> + +<p>‘Naturally; and she will be enraptured at your return,’ +answered Daphne in her most natural manner. ‘She has been +expecting you every day i’ the hour.’</p> + +<p>‘“For in a minute there are many days”—Shakespeare.’</p> + +<p>‘Thank God! I don’t object to the bard of Avon half so +strongly now. I have been in a country where everybody +quotes an uncouth rhymester whom they call Bobbie Bairrns. +Shakespeare seems almost civilised in comparison. Will you +walk up to the house with me?’</p> + +<p>She looked down at her open book. She had not been reading +when he came unawares upon her solitude. He had seen +that; just as surely as he had seen the faint convulsive movement +of her throat, the start, the pallor that marked her surprise +at his approach. He had acquired a fatal habit of watching and +analysing her emotions; and it seemed to him that she had +brightened since his coming, that new light and colour had +returned to her face; almost as you may see the revival of a +flower that has drooped in the drought, and which revivifies +under the gentle summer rain.</p> + +<p>She looked at her book doubtfully, as if she would like to +say no.</p> + +<p>‘You had better come with me. It is nearly tea-time, and +I know you are dying for a cup of tea. I never knew a woman +that wasn’t.’</p> + +<p>‘Exhausted nature tells me that it is tea-time. Yes; I suppose +I had better come.’</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII.<br> +<span class="fs70">‘LOVE WOL NOT BE CONSTREINED BY MAISTRIE.’</span></h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">A man</span> who lives within easy reach of two good packs of fox-hounds, +and in a fair hunting country on the very edge of the +shires, can hardly mope, albeit he may feel that, in a general +way, his heart is broken. Thus it was with Edgar Turchill, who +hunted four days a week, and came to South Hill on the off-days<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</span> +to suffer and enjoy all those hot fits and cold fits, those desperate +delights plucked from the jaws of pain, which a man feels +when he adores a girl who does not care a straw for him. He had +been rejected, even with contumely, as it seemed to him: yet so +dearly did he delight in Daphne’s society that if he were destined +never to win her for his own, the next best blessing he asked from +Fate was to be allowed to dangle about her for ever—to fetch +and carry, to be snubbed, and laughed at, and patronised, as it +pleased her wilful humour.</p> + +<p>The autumn and early winter were mild—a capital season for +hunting.</p> + +<p>‘What selfish creatures you sporting men are!’ cried Daphne +one morning, looking gloomily out at the gloomy November day; +‘so long as you can go galloping over the muggy fields after innocent +foxes you don’t care how dreary the world is for other people. +We want a hard frost, for then we might have some skating on +the pond. I wish the Avon would freeze, so that we could skate +to Tewkesbury.’</p> + +<p>‘I daresay we shall have plenty of hard weather in January,’ +said Edgar apologetically. It was one of his off-days, and he +had ridden over to South Hill directly after luncheon. ‘You +ought to hunt, Daphne.’</p> + +<p>‘Of course I ought; but Sir Vernon does not see it in the +same light. When I mildly suggested that I thought you +wouldn’t mind lending me a horse—’</p> + +<p>‘Mind!’ cried Edgar. ‘That little mare of mine would carry +you to perfection; and she’s so clever you’d have nothing to do +but to sit upon her.’</p> + +<p>‘Exactly. It would be a foretaste of paradise. But at my +hinting such a possibility my father gave me a look that almost +annihilated me.’</p> + +<p>‘You may be more independently situated next season,’ suggested +Mr. Goring, looking up from the billiard-table, where he +was amusing himself with a few random strokes while Madoline +was putting on her hat and jacket for a rustic ramble. ‘You +may have your own stable, perhaps, and a nice sporting husband +to look after it for you.’</p> + +<p>Daphne reddened angrily at the suggestion; while poor Edgar +put on his sheepish look, and took refuge at the billiard-table.</p> + +<p>‘Are you coming out for a walk, Empress?’ asked Gerald +carelessly.</p> + +<p>‘I don’t know. It’s such dreary work prowling about a +wintry landscape. I think I shall stay at home and read.’</p> + +<p>‘You’d better come,’ pleaded Edgar, feeling that he would +not be allowed the perilous bliss of a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tête-à-tête</i> afternoon with +her, and that, if such bliss were permissible, the pleasure would +be mixed with too deep a pain. Out in the fields and lanes, +with Goring and Madoline, he might enjoy her society.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</span></p> + +<p>She half consented to go, and then, discovering that Madoline +was going to make some calls, changed her mind.</p> + +<p>‘I’ll go to my room and finish my third volume,’ she said.</p> + +<p>‘What a misanthrope you are, Daphne—a female Timon! I +think I shall call you Timonia henceforward,’ retorted Gerald.</p> + +<p>‘When it is a question of making ceremonious afternoon +visits, I rather hate my fellow-creatures,’ replied Daphne, with +charming frankness. ‘The nicest people one knows are not half +so nice as the figments of fancy one meets in a book; and if the +book-person waxes stupid, we can shut him up—which one can’t +do to a living friend.’</p> + +<p>So Daphne wished Mr. Turchill good-day, and went off to +her own den—the pretty chintz-draperied bedroom, with its frivolities +and individualities in the way of furniture and ornament, +and its privileged solitude.</p> + +<p>Edgar, feeling that he might be a nuisance to the other two +if he offered to accompany them, prepared to take his leave, yet +with a lingering hope that Madoline would ask him to remain.</p> + +<p>Her kindness divined his wish, and she asked him to stay to +dinner.</p> + +<p>‘You’re very kind,’ he faltered, having dined at South Hill +once in the current week, and sorely afraid that he was degenerating +into a sponge, ‘but I’ve got a fellow to see at Warwick; +I shall have to dine with him. But if you’ll let me come back +in the evening for a game at billiards?’</p> + +<p>‘Let you? Why, Edgar, you know my father is always glad +to see you.’</p> + +<p>‘He is very good—only—I’m afraid of becoming a nuisance. +I can’t help hanging about the place.’</p> + +<p>‘We are always pleased to have you here—all of us.’</p> + +<p>Edgar thanked her warmly. He had fallen into a dejected +condition; fancying himself of less account than the rest of men +since Daphne had spurned him; a creature to be scorned and +trampled under foot. Nor did Daphne’s easy kindness give him +any comfort. She had resumed her tone of sisterly friendship. +She seemed to forget that he had ever proposed to her. She was +serenely unconscious that he was breaking his heart for her. +Why could he not get himself killed, or desperately hurt in the +hunting-field, so that she might be sorry for him? He was +almost angry with his horses for being such clever jumpers, and +never putting his neck in peril. A purl across a bullfinch, a +broken collar-bone, might melt that obdurate heart. And a man +may get through life very well with a damaged collar-bone.</p> + +<p>‘I’m afraid the collar-bone wouldn’t be enough,’ mused +Edgar. ‘It doesn’t sound romantic. A broken arm, worn in a +sling, might be of some use.’</p> + +<p>He would have suffered anything, hazarded anything, to improve +his chances. He tried to lure Daphne to Hawksyard<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</span> +again; tempting her with the stables, the dogs, the poultry-yard; but +it was no use. She had always some excuse for +declining his or his mother’s invitations. She would not even +accompany Lina when she went to call upon Mrs. Turchill. She +had an idea that Edgar was in the habit of offering his hand +and heart to every young lady visitor.</p> + +<p>‘He made such an utter idiot of himself the night we dined +there,’ she said to Lina. ‘I shall never again trust myself upon +his patrimonial estate. On neutral ground I haven’t the least +objection to him.’</p> + +<p>‘Daphne, is it kind to speak of him like that, when you +know that he was thoroughly in earnest?’</p> + +<p>‘He was thoroughly in earnest about you before. True love +cannot change like that.’</p> + +<p>‘Yet I am convinced that he is true, Daphne,’ Lina answered +seriously.</p> + +<p>Autumn slipped into winter. There was a light frost every +night, and in the misty mornings the low meadows glittered +whitely with a thin coating of rime, which vanished with those +early mists. There was no weather cold enough to curdle the +water in the shallow pond yonder by the plantation, or to stop +Lord Willoughby’s hounds. Daphne sighed in vain for the +delight of skating.</p> + +<p>Christmas at South Hill was not a period of exuberant mirth. +Ever since his second wife’s death Sir Vernon Lawford had held +himself as much aloof from county society as he conveniently +could, without being considered either inhospitable or eccentric. +There was a good deal done for the poor, in a very quiet way, +by Madoline, and the servants were allowed to enjoy themselves; +but of old-fashioned festivity there was none. Mr. and Mrs. +Ferrers were asked to dine on Christmas Day. Aunt Rhoda +suggested that they should be asked, and accepted the invitation +in advance; in order, as she observed, that the bond of family +union might be strengthened by genial intercourse upon that +sacred anniversary. Gerald was of course to be at South Hill, +where at all times he spent more of his waking hours than at +Goring Abbey. Edgar had spoken so dolefully of the dulness of +a Christmas Day at Hawksyard that Madoline had been moved +by pity to suggest that Mrs. Turchill and her son might be +invited to the family feast.</p> + +<p>‘That will make it a party,’ said Sir Vernon, when his daughter +pleaded for this grace, ‘and I am not well enough to stand a +party.’</p> + +<p>He was not well. Of that fact there could be no doubt. +He had been given to hypochondriacal fancies for the last five +years, but there was a certain amount of fact underlying these +fancies. The effeminately white hand was growing more transparent; +the capricious appetite was more difficult to tempt; the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</span> +slow promenade on the garden terrace was growing slower; the +thin face was more drawn; the aquiline nose was sharper in +outline. There was a chronic complaint of some obscure kind, +vaguely described by a London specialist, and dimly understood +by the family doctor, which must eventually shorten the baronet’s +life; but his mind was so vigorous and unbending, his countenance +so stern, his manner so uncompromising, that it was difficult +to believe that Death had set his mark upon him. To his +elder daughter alone he revealed the one tender feeling left in +him—and that was his very real affection for herself; a love +that was chastened and poetised by his reverent and regretful +memory of her mother.</p> + +<p>‘Dear father, it need not be a party because of the Turchills. +Edgar is like one of ourselves, and Mrs. Turchill is so very +quiet.’</p> + +<p>‘Ask them, Lina, ask them, if it will be any pleasure to you.’</p> + +<p>‘I think it will please Edgar. He says Hawksyard is so +dreary at Christmas.’</p> + +<p>‘If people had not set up a fictitious idea of Christmas gaiety, +they would not complain of the season being dull,’ said Sir +Vernon somewhat impatiently. ‘That notion of unlimited +junketing doesn’t come from any real religious feeling. Peace +on earth and goodwill towards men doesn’t mean snapdragon +and childish foolery. It is a silly myth of the Middle Ages, +which sticks like a burr to the modern mind.’</p> + +<p>‘It is a pleasant idea that kindred and old friends should +meet at that sacred time,’ argued Lina gently.</p> + +<p>‘Yes, if kindred in a general way could meet without quarrelling. +That there should be a good deal done for the poor at +Christmas I can understand and approve. It is the central +point of winter; and then there is the Divine association which +beautifies every gift. And that children should look forward +to Christmas as an extra birthday in every nursery is a pretty +fancy enough. But that men and women of the world should +foregather and pretend to be fonder of one another on that day +than at any other season is too hollow a sham for my patience.’</p> + +<p>Madoline wrote a friendly invitation to Mrs. Turchill, and +gave her note to Edgar to carry home that evening.</p> + +<p>‘It’s awfully good of you,’ he said ruefully, when she told +him the purport of her letter, ‘but I’m afraid it won’t answer. +Mother stands on her dignity about Christmas Day; and I +don’t think wild horses would drag her away from her own +dining-room. I shall have to dine <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tête-à-tête</i> with her, poor old +dear; and we shall sit staring at the oak panelling, and +pretending to enjoy the plum-pudding made according to the +old lady’s own particular recipe handed down by her grandmother. +There has been an agreeable sameness about our +Christmas dinner for the last ten years. It is as solemn as a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</span> +Druidical sacrifice. I could almost fancy that mother had been +out in the woods at daybreak cutting mistletoe with a golden +sickle.’</p> + +<p>Edgar was correct in his idea of his mother’s reply. Mrs. +Turchill wrote with much ceremony and politeness that, delighted +as she and her son would have been to accept so gratifying +an invitation, she must on principle reluctantly decline it. +She never had dined away from her own house on Christmas +Day, and she never would. She considered it a day upon which +families should gather round their own firesides, etc., etc., etc., +and remained, with affectionate regards, etc.</p> + +<p>‘How can a family of two gather round the fireside?’ +asked Edgar dolefully. ‘The dear old mother writes rank nonsense.’</p> + +<p>‘Don’t be down-hearted, Turchill,’ said Gerald. ‘Perhaps +by Christmas twelvemonth you may be a family of three; and +the year after that a family of four; and the year after that, +five. Who knows? Time brings all good things.’</p> + +<p>‘I am just as grateful to you, Madoline, as if mother had +accepted,’ said Edgar, ignoring his friend’s speech, though he +blushed at its meaning. ‘It will be ineffably dreary. If the +old lady should go to bed extra early—she sometimes does on +Christmas Day—I might ride over, just—just——’</p> + +<p>‘In time for a rattling good game of billiards,’ interjected +Gerald. ‘Lina and I are improving. You and Daphne needn’t +give us more than twenty-five in fifty.’</p> + +<p>‘I’ll have a horse ready saddled. Mother likes me to read +some of the verses in the “Christian Year” to her after tea. +I’m afraid I’m not a good reader, for Keble and I always send +her to sleep.’</p> + +<p>‘Be particularly monotonous on this occasion,’ said Daphne, +‘and come over in time for a match.’</p> + +<p>‘You wouldn’t be shocked if I came in as late as ten +o’clock?’</p> + +<p>‘I mean to sit up till two,’ protested Daphne. ‘It is my +first Christmas at home, since I was in the nursery. It must +be a Shakespearian Christmas. We’ll have a wassail bowl: +roasted apples bobbing about in warm negus, or something of +that kind. I shall copy out some mediæval recipes for Spicer. +Come as late as you like, Edgar. Papa is sure to go to bed +early. Christmas will have a soporific effect upon him, as well +as upon Mrs. Turchill, no doubt; and the Ferrers people will go +when he retires; and we can have no end of fun in the billiard-room, +where not a mortal can hear us.’</p> + +<p>‘You seem to be providing for a night of riot—a regular +orgy—something almost as dissipated as Nero’s banquet on the +lake of Agrippa,’ said Gerald, laughing at her earnestness.</p> + +<p>‘Why should not one be merry for once in one’s life?’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</span></p> + +<p>‘Why indeed?’ cried Gerald, ‘<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Vogue la galère</i>.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Forget me not, en <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">vogant la galère</i>.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent">There’s a line from an early English poet for you, my Shakespearian +student.’</p> + +<p>Christmas Day was not joyless. Daphne, so fitful in her +mirth, so sudden in her intervals of gloom—periods of depression +which Sir Vernon, Aunt Rhoda, and Madoline’s confidential +maid and umquhile nurse Mowser, stigmatised as sulks—was on +this occasion all sunshine.</p> + +<p>‘I have made up my mind to be happy,’ she said at breakfast; +which meal she and Madoline were enjoying alone in +the bright cheery room, the table gay with winter flowers and +old silver, a wood fire burning merrily in the bright brass grate. +‘Even my father’s coldness shall not freeze me. Last Christmas +Day I was eating my heart at Asnières, and envying that +vulgar Dibb, whose people had had her sent home, and hoping +savagely that she would be ever so sick in crossing the Channel. +There I was in that dreary tawdry school-room, with half-a-dozen +mahogany-coloured girls from Toulon, and Toulouse, +and Carcassonne; and now I am at home and with you, and I +mean to be happy. Discontent shall not come near me to-day. +And you will taste my wassail bowl, won’t you, Lina?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, dear, if it isn’t quite too nasty.’</p> + +<p>Lina had given her younger sister license for any kind of +mediæval experiments, in conjunction with Mrs. Spicer; and +there had been much consultation of authorities—Knight, and +Timbs, and Washington Irving—and a good deal of messing +in the spacious still-room, with a profligate consumption of +lemons and sherry, and spices and russet apples. With the +dinner at which her father and the Rectory people were to +assist, Daphne ventured no interference; but she had planned +a Shakespearian refection in the billiard-room at midnight—if +they could only get rid of Aunt Rhoda, whose sense of propriety +was so strong that she might perhaps insist upon staying till the +two young men had taken their departure.</p> + +<p>‘I wish we could have old Spicer in to matronise the party,’ +said Daphne. ‘She looks lovely in her Sunday evening gown. +She would sit smiling benevolently at us till she dropped +asleep; instead of contemplating us as if she thought the next +stage of our existence would be a lunatic asylum, as Aunt +Rhoda generally does when we are cheerful.’</p> + +<p>‘I’m afraid you must put up with Aunt Rhoda to-night, +Daphne,’ answered Madoline. ‘She has suggested that she and +the Rector should have the Blue Room, as the drive home +might bring on his bronchitis.’</p> + +<p>‘His bronchitis, indeed!’ cried Daphne. ‘He appropriates +the complaint as if nobody else had ever had it. So they are +going to stay the night! Of all the cool proceedings I ever<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</span> +heard of that is about the coolest. And Aunt Rhoda is one of +those people who are never sleepy. She will sit us out, however +late we are. Never mind. The banquet will be all the +more classical and complete. Aunt Rhoda will be the skeleton.’</p> + +<p>Daphne contrived to be happy all day, in spite of Mrs. +Ferrers, who was particularly ungracious to her younger niece, +while she was lavish of compliments and pretty speeches to +the elder. The faithful slave Edgar was absent on duty—going +to church twice with his mother; dining with her; devoted to +her altogether, or as much as he could be with a heart that +longed to be elsewhere. But Daphne hardly missed him. +Gerald Goring was in high spirits, full of life and talk and fun, +as if he too had made up his mind that this great day in the +Christian calendar should be a day of rejoicing for him. They +all went to church together in the morning, and admired the +decorations, which owed all their artistic beauty to Madoline’s +taste, and were in a large measure the work of her own industrious +fingers. They joined reverently in the Liturgy, and +listened patiently to the Rector’s sermon, in which he aired a +few of those good old orthodox truisms which have been repeated +time out of mind by rural incumbents upon Christmas +mornings.</p> + +<p>After luncheon they all three went on a round of visits to +Madoline’s cottagers—those special, old-established families +to whose various needs, intellectual and corporeal, she had +ministered from her early girlhood, and who esteemed a Christmas +visit from Miss Lawford as the highest honour and privilege +of the year. It was pleasant to look in at the tidy little keeping-rooms, +where the dressers shone with a bright array of +crockery, and the hearths were so neatly swept, and the pots and +pans and brass candlesticks on the chimney-piece, and the little +black-framed scriptural pictures, were all decorated with sprigs +of ivy and holly. Pleasant the air of dinner and dessert which +pervaded every house. Daphne had a basket of toys for the +children; a basket which Gerald insisted upon carrying, looking +into it every now and then, and affecting an intense curiosity as +to the contents. The sky was dark, save for one low red streak +above the ragged edge of the wooded lane, when they went back +to afternoon tea: and what a comfortable change it was from +the wintry world outside to Madoline’s flowery morning-room, +heavy with the scent of hyacinths and Parma violets, and bright +with blazing logs! The low Japanese tea-table was drawn in +front of the fire, and the basket-chairs stood ready for the tea-drinkers.</p> + +<p>‘I was afraid Aunt Rhoda would be here to tea,’ said +Daphne, sinking into her favourite seat on the fender-stool, in +the shadow of the draped mantelpiece. ‘Is it not delicious +to have this firelight hour all to ourselves? I always feel that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</span> +just this time—this changeful light—stands apart from the rest +of our lives. Our thoughts and fancies are all different somehow. +They seem to take the rosy colour out of the fire; they +are dim and dreamy and full of change, like the shadows on the +wall. <em>We</em> are different. Just now I feel as if I had not a care.’</p> + +<p>‘And have you many cares at other times?’ asked Gerald +scoffingly.</p> + +<p>‘A few.’</p> + +<p>‘The fear that your ball-dress may not fit; or that some +clumsy fox-hunting partner may smash the ivory fan which +Lina gave you yesterday.’</p> + +<p>‘Man is born to trouble, as the sparks fly upward,’ answered +Daphne sententiously. ‘Do you think, because I live in a fine +house, and have food and raiment found for me, that I do not +know the meaning of care?’</p> + +<p>‘Well, I should fancy there is a long way between your comprehension +of the word and that of a Whitechapel seamstress: +a widow, with five small children to keep, and a lodging to pay, +upon the produce of her needle, with famine or the workhouse +staring her in the face.’</p> + +<p>‘It is the hour for telling ghost-stories,’ exclaimed Daphne, +kneeling at her sister’s side to receive her cup and saucer, and +trifling daintily with the miniature Queen Anne tongs as she +helped herself to sugar. ‘Lina, tell us the story of this house. +It ought to be haunted.’</p> + +<p>‘I am thankful to say I have never heard of any ghosts,’ +answered Madoline. ‘Every house that has been lived in fifty +years must have some sad memories; but our dead do not come +back to us, except in our dreams.’</p> + +<p>‘Mr. Goring, I insist upon a ghost-story,’ said Daphne. ‘On +this particular day—at this particular hour—in this delicious +half-light, a story of some kind must be told.’</p> + +<p>‘I delight in ghost-stories—good grim old German legends,’ +answered Gerald languidly, looking deliciously comfortable in +the depths of an immense armchair, so low that it needed the +dexterity of a gymnast to enable man or woman to get in or +out of it gracefully—a downy-cushioned nest when one was +there. ‘I adore phantoms, and fiends, and the whole shopful; +but I never could remember a story in my life.’</p> + +<p>‘You must tell one to-night,’ cried Daphne eagerly. ‘It need +not be ghostly. A nice murder would do—a grisly murder. My +blood begins to turn cold in advance.’</p> + +<p>‘I am sorry to disappoint you,’ said Gerald; ‘but although +I have made a careful study of all the interesting murders of +my age I could never distinctly remember details. I should +get hideously mixed if I tried to relate the circumstances of a +famous crime. I should confound Rush with Palmer, the Mannings +with the Greenacres; put the pistol into the hand that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</span> +used the knife; give the dagger to the man who pinned his +faith on the bowl. Not to be done, Daphne. I am no <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">raconteur</i>. +You or Lina had better amuse me. One of you can tell me a +story—something classical—John Gilpin, or the Old Woman +with her Pig.’</p> + +<p>‘John Gilpin! a horridly cheerful singsong ballad—and in +such a fantastic dreamy light as this! I wonder you have not +more sense of the fitness of things. Besides, it is your duty to +amuse us. A story of some kind we must have, mustn’t we, +Lina dearest?’</p> + +<p>‘It would be very pleasant in this half-light,’ answered Lina +softly, quite happy, sitting silently between those two whom she +loved so dearly, pleased especially at Daphne’s brightness and +good-humour, and apparently friendly feeling for Gerald.</p> + +<p>‘You hear,’ exclaimed Daphne. ‘Your liege lady commands +you.’</p> + +<p>‘A story,’ mused Gerald in his laziest tone, with his head +lying back on the cushions, and his eyes looking dreamily up at +the ceiling, where the lights and shadows came and went so +fantastically. ‘A story, ghostly or murderous, tragical, comical, +amorous, sentimental—well, suppose now I were to tell you a +classical story, as old as the hills, or as the laurel-bushes in your +garden, the story of your namesake Daphne.’</p> + +<p>‘Namesake!’ echoed the girl, with her golden head resting +against the arm of her sister’s chair, her eyes gravely contemplative +of the fire. ‘Had I ever a namesake? Could there be +another set of godfathers and godmothers in the world stupid +enough, or hard-hearted enough, to give an unconscious innocent +such a name as mine?’</p> + +<p>‘The namesake I am thinking of lived before the days of +godfathers and godmothers,’ answered Gerald, still looking up +at the ceiling, with a dreamy smile on his face; ‘she was the +daughter of a river-god and a naiad, a wild, free-born, untamable +creature, beautiful as a dream, variable as the winds that +rippled the stream from which her father took his name. +Wooers had sought her, but in vain. She loved the wood and +the chase, all free and sylvan delights—the unfettered life of a +virgin. She emulated the fame of Diana. She desired to live +and die apart from the rude race of men—a woodland goddess +among her maidens. Often her father said: “Daughter, thou +owest me a son.” Often her father said: “Child, thou owest +me grandchildren.” She, with blushing cheeks, hung on her +father’s neck, and repulsed the torch of Hymen, as if it were +a crime to love. “Let me, like Diana, live unwedded,” she +pleaded. “Grant me the same boon Jove gave his daughter.” +“Sweet one,” said the father, “thy duty forbids the destiny +thy soul desires. Love will find thee out.” The river-god +spoke words of fatal truth. Love sought Daphne, and he came<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</span> +in a godlike form. Phœbus Apollo was the lover. Phœbus, +the spirit of light, and music, and beauty. He saw her, and +all his soul was on fire with love. The dupe of his own oracles, +he hoped for victory. He saw Daphne’s hair floating carelessly +upon the wind; the eyes, like shining stars; the sweet +lips, which it was pain to see and not to kiss. But lighter +than the wind the cruel nymph fled from him. In vain he +called her, in vain he tried to stop her. “Stay, sweet one,” +he cried, “it is no enemy who pursues thee. So flies the +lamb the wolf, the hind the lion, the trembling dove from the +strong-winged eagle. But ’tis love bids me follow. Stay thy +steps, suspend thy flight, and I will slacken my pursuit. Foolish +one, thou knowest not whom thou fliest. No rude mountaineer, +or ungainly shepherd pursues thee, but a god before whose law +Delphos, Claros, and Tenedos obey; the son of high Jove himself; +the deity who reveals the past, the present, and the future; +who first wedded song to the stringed lyre. My arrows are +deadly, but a deadlier shaft has pierced my heart.” Thus and +much more he pleaded, yet Daphne still fled from him, heedless +of the briers that wounded her naked feet, the winds that lifted +her flowing hair. The breathless god could no longer find words +of entreaty. Maddened by love he followed in feverish haste; +he gained on her; his breath touched her floating tresses. The +inexorable nymph felt her strength failing; with outstretched +arms, with beseeching eyes, she appealed to the river: “Oh, +father, if thy waves have power to save me, come to my aid! +Oh, mother earth, open and fold me in thine arms, or by some +sudden change destroy the beauty that subjects me to outrage.” +Scarcely was the prayer spoken when a heavy torpor crept over +her limbs; the nymph’s lovely shoulders covered themselves +with a smooth bark; her hair changed to leaves; her arms to +branches; her feet, a moment before so agile, became rooted to +the ground. Yet Phœbus still loved. He felt beneath the bark +of the tree the heart beat of the nymph he adored; he covered +the senseless tree with his despairing kisses; and then, when he +knew that the nymph was lost to him for ever, he cried: “If +thou canst not be my wife, thou shalt be at least Apollo’s sacred +tree. Laurel, thou shalt for ever wreathe my hair, my lyre, my +quiver. Thou shalt crown Rome’s heroes; thy sacred branches +shall shelter and guard the palace of her Cæsars; and as the +god, thy lover, shines with the lustre of eternal youth, so, too, +shalt thou preserve thy beauty and freshness to the end of time.”’</p> + +<p>‘Poor Daphne,’ sighed Lina.</p> + +<p>‘Poor Apollo, I think,’ said Gerald; ‘he was the loser. What +do you think of my story, Mistress Daphne?’</p> + +<p>‘I rather like my namesake,’ answered Daphne deliberately. +‘She was thorough. When she pretended to mean a thing she +really did mean it. There is a virtue in sincerity.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</span></p> + +<p>‘And obstinacy is a vice,’ said Gerald. ‘I consider the river-god’s +daughter a pig-headed young person, whose natural coldness +of heart predisposed her to transformation into a vegetable. +Apollo made too much of her.’</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX.<br> +<span class="fs70">‘I DEME THAT HIRE HERTE WAS FUL OF WO.’</span></h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">All</span> the servants at South Hill were old servants. Sir Vernon +was a stern and an exacting master, but he only asked fair +change for his shilling. He did not expect to reap where he had +not sown, nor to gather where he had not strewed. His household +was carried on upon a large and liberal scale, and the servants +had privileges which they would hardly have enjoyed +elsewhere. Therefore, with the disinterested fidelity of their +profession, and of the human race generally, they stayed with +him, growing old and gray in his service.</p> + +<p>Among these faithful followers was one who made a stronger +point of her fidelity than any of the others, and affected a certain +superiority to all the rest. This was Mowser, Madoline’s +own maid, who had been maid to Lady Lawford until her death, +and who, on that melancholy event, had taken upon herself the +office of nurse to the orphan girl. That she was faithful to +Madoline, and strongly attached to Madoline, there could be no +doubt; but it was rather hard upon the outstanding balance of +humanity that she could consider herself privileged by reason of +this attachment to be as disagreeable as she pleased to everyone +else.</p> + +<p>In those early days of Madoline’s infancy Mowser had taken +possession of the nurseries as her own domain—belonging to her +by some sovereign right of custodianship, as entirely hers as if +they had been her freehold. Strong in her convictions on this +point, she had resented all intrusion from the outer world; she +had looked daggers at innocent visitors who were brought to +see the baby; she had carried on war to the knife—a war of +impertinences and uncivil looks—with Aunt Rhoda, firmly possessed +by the idea that an aunt was an outsider as compared with +a nurse.</p> + +<p>‘Didn’t I sit up night after night with her when she had the +scarlet-fever, and go without my sleep and rest for a fortnight?’ +said the faithful one, expatiating vindictively upon her wrongs, +in the conversational freedom of the servants’-hall. ‘Will any +of your fine ladies of fashion do that?’</p> + +<p>Mrs. Spicer was of opinion that some might, but not Miss +Rhoda Lawford. She was a great deal too fond of her own +comfort.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</span></p> + +<p>Mowser was not a woman of high culture. She had begun +the battle of life early, and was too old to have been subject +to the exactions of the School Board. She had been born and +bred in a Warwickshire village, and educated five-and-thirty +years ago at a Warwickshire dame school. Gerald told Daphne +that he had no doubt Mowser had every whit as much book-learning +as Shakespeare’s mother, Mary Arden. She was not +averse from the use of fine words, but pronounced them after +her own fancy. All unauthorised visitors to the nursery she +denounced as antelopes, meaning, it was supposed, not the graceful +animal of the stag species usually known by that name, but +the more obnoxious human individual commonly called an interloper. +Even Daphne, when she took the liberty to be born, and +was brought by her own particular nurse to Mowser’s nursery, +was looked upon as belonging in some wise to the antelope +family; while the strange nurse was, of course, a thoroughbred +specimen of that race. While Daphne was an infant, and the +second nurse remained, there were fearful wars and rumours of +wars in Mowser’s apartments, and exultantly did that injured +female lift up her voice when Daphne went to her first school—at +an age when few children of the landed gentry are sent to +school—and the unsanctified nurse departed. She came a Pariah, +and she went a Pariah—a creature under a ban.</p> + +<p>‘Now I can breathe free,’ exclaimed Mowser, after she had +ostentatiously opened the windows and aired the nurseries, as +in a Jewish household windows and doors are flung wide when +the spirit has departed. ‘I felt almost stuffocated while she was +here.’</p> + +<p>Sir Vernon, seeing very little of Mowser, and knowing that +she was a devoted nurse to his beloved elder daughter, had +troubled himself very little about such complaints of her ‘tempers’ +as from time to time reached his ears. He discouraged all +fault-finding in his sister upon principle. So long as everything +in the house, which concerned himself and his own comfort, went +on velvet, he was unaffected by the fact that the servants made +themselves disagreeable to other people. It was no matter to +him that Spicer had been abominably impertinent to Aunt +Rhoda in the morning, provided his dinner were well cooked in +the evening. Nor did Rhoda’s raven croakings about the profligate +wastefulness of his household distress him. He knew +what he was spending, and that his expenses were so nearly on a +level with his income that he always seemed poor: but though +he liked to growl and grumble after every inspection of his +banker’s book, he hated to be worried about pounds of butter, +and quarts of milk, and dozens of eggs, by his sister.</p> + +<p>‘If you pretend to keep my house, Rhoda, you must keep it +quietly, and not plague me about these disgusting details,’ he +said savagely; whereat Rhoda shrugged her elegant shoulders,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</span> +and protested that if her brother liked to be cheated it was of +course no business of hers to step in between him and the depredators.</p> + +<p>‘I don’t like to be cheated, but I like still less to be worried,’ +said Sir Vernon decisively; and Rhoda was wise enough to +carry on the struggle no longer.</p> + +<p>She had her own comfort and her own advantage to consider, +and she troubled her brother no further about domestic +difficulties: but she carried on her war with the enemy vigorously +notwithstanding—fiercest of all with Mowser, who looked +upon Miss Lawford as the very head and front of the antelope +tribe.</p> + +<p>Mowser was a servant of the old school. She prided herself +upon the manners and habits of a past generation. She wore +corkscrew ringlets, and a cap trimmed with real Buckinghamshire +lace—none of your Nottingham machine-made stuff for +Mowser. Her petticoats were short and scanty, and her side-laced +cashmere boots were a relic of the past. She wore an +ostentatious gold chain round her neck, and a portly silver watch +at her side. She was rarely seen without a black-silk apron, +which rustled exceedingly. She was of a bony figure, her face +sharp and angular, her eyes a cold hard-looking gray.</p> + +<p>When Madoline left the nursery Mowser resumed her original +function of lady’s-maid. She had no particular gifts for the +office. She had no taste for millinery; she had no skill in +hair-dressing. She had been chosen by Madoline’s mother—a +young lady of very simple habits—on account of her respectability +and local status. She was the daughter of Old Mrs. Somebody, +who had been thirty years a servant in the first Lady +Lawford’s family. The houses of the menial and the mistress +had been allied for a century or so; and for this reason, rather +than for any other, Jane Mowser had been considered eligible +for the office of maid.</p> + +<p>She was active and industrious, kept her mistress’s wardrobe +and her mistress’s dressing-room in exquisite order. She could +wash and mend laces to perfection. She could pack, and unpack, +and was a devoted attendant in illness. But here her powers +found their limit. The milliner and the dressmaker had to do +all the rest. Mowser had no more taste than any villager in her +native hamlet; no capacity for advising or assisting her mistress +in any of the details of the toilet. She looked upon all +modern fashions as iniquities which were perpetually inviting +from heaven a re-issue of that fiery rain which buried Sodom +and Gomorrah. To Mowser’s mind, jersey jackets and eel-skin +dresses, idiot fringes and Toby frills, were the fulfilment of the +prophet Isaiah’s prophecy. These were the ‘changeable suits of +apparel, the mantles, and the tires, and the crisping pins, the +mufflers, and round-tires like the moon;’ and all these things<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</span> +were the forecast of some awful doom. It might be earthquakes, +or floods, or a hideous concatenation of railway accidents, or the +exhaustion of our coal mines, or the total failure of butcher’s +meat by reason of the foot-and-mouth disease. Mowser did not +know what form the scourge would take; but she felt that retribution, +prompt and dire, must follow the reign of painted faces, +jersey bodies, and tight-fitting skirts. Young women could not +be allowed so to display their figures with impunity. Providence +had an eye on their sham complexions and borrowed locks.</p> + +<p>All picturesqueness of attire Mowser resented as a play-actress +style of dress, altogether degrading to a respectable +mind. She objected to Daphne’s neatly-fitting, tailor-made +gowns, her soft creamy muslins, relieved by dashes of vivid +colour, and thought they would end badly. Not so did young +ladies dress in Mowser’s youth. Small-patterned striped or +checked silks, with neat laced berthas fitting close to modestly-covered +shoulders, were then the mode. There was none of that +artistic coquetry which gives to every woman’s dress a distinctive +character, marking her out from the throng.</p> + +<p>Vainly did Mowser sigh for those vanished days, the simplicity, +the high thinking and plain living, of her girlhood. Here +was Mrs. Ferrers wasting the Rector’s substance upon gowns +which five-and-twenty years ago would have been considered +extravagant for a duchess; here was Daphne dressing herself +up—with Madoline’s approval—to look as much as possible like +a play-actress or an old picture.</p> + +<p>Mowser was no fonder of Daphne now than she had been in +the days when the unwelcome addition to the nursery was stigmatised +as an ‘antelope.’ There was still a good deal of the +antelope about Daphne, in Mowser’s opinion. ‘It would have +been better for all parties if Miss Daphne had stayed a year or +two longer at her finishing school,’ Mowser remarked sententiously +in the housekeeper’s room, where she was regarded, or at +any rate was known to regard herself, as an oracle. ‘First and +foremost, she hasn’t half finished her education.’</p> + +<p>‘Haven’t she, Mowser?’ asked Jinman, Sir Vernon’s own +man, with a malicious twinkle in his eye. ‘How did you find +out that? Have you been putting her through her paces?’</p> + +<p>‘No, Mr. Jinman; but I hope I know whether a young +lady’s education is finished, without the help of book-learning. +My mother was left a lone widow before I was three years old, +and I hadn’t the opportunities some people have had, and might +have made better use of. But I know what a young lady ought +to be, and what she oughtn’t to be; and I say Miss Daphne +leans most to the last. Why, her manners are not half formed. +She goes rushing about the house like a whirlwind; always in +high spirits, or in the dumps—no mejum.’</p> + +<p>‘She’s dev’lish pretty,’ said Jinman, who, on the strength of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</span> +having spent a good deal of time with his master at Limmer’s +Hotel, put on a metropolitan and somewhat rakish air.</p> + +<p>‘She’s not fit to hold a candle to my mistress,’ retorted +Mowser.</p> + +<p>‘Not such a reg’lar style of beauty, perhaps, but more taking, +more “chick,”’ said the valet.</p> + +<p>‘I don’t know what you mean by “chick.” She’s a born +flirt. Perhaps that’s what you mean. She’s her mother all +over, worse luck for her! the same ways, the same looks, the +same tones of voice. I wish she was out of the house. I never +feel safe or comfortable about her. She’s like a dagger hanging +over my head; and I don’t know when she may drop.’</p> + +<p>‘It’s a pity she refused young Turchill,’ said Jinman. ‘He’s +the right sort. But as he still hangs on, I suppose she means to +have him sooner or later.’</p> + +<p>‘No, she don’t. <em>That’s</em> not her meaning,’ answered Mowser +with significance.</p> + +<p>‘What does she mean, then?’</p> + +<p>‘I know what she means. I know her; much better than +her poor innocent sister does. Masks and artifexes ain’t no use +with me. I can read her. Mr. Turchill ain’t good enough for +her. She wants someone better than him. But she won’t succeed +in her mackinventions, while Mowser is by to file her—double-faced +as she is.’</p> + +<p>There was a subtlety about Mowser this evening which her +fellow-servants were hardly able to follow. They all liked +Daphne, for her pretty looks and bright girlish ways, yet, with +that love of slander and mystery which is common to humanity +in all circles, they rather inclined to hear Mowser hint darkly at +the girl’s unworthiness. They all preferred the slandered to the +slanderer; but they listened all the same.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>And now Christmas was over, and the night of the Hunt +Ball at Stratford was approaching. It was to be Daphne’s first +public appearance; first dance; first grown-up party of any +kind. She was to see the county people assembled in a multitude +for the first time in her life. A few of them she had seen +by instalments at South Hill—callers and diners. She had been +invited by these to various lawn parties: but her sister had refused +all invitations of this kind, wishing that the occasion of +Daphne’s <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">début</i> should be something more brilliant than a mere +garden party, a fool’s paradise of curates and young ladies.</p> + +<p>Daphne looked forward to the night with excitement, but +excitement of that fitful kind which was common to her—now on +the tiptoe of expectation, anon not caring a straw for the entertainment. +There had been the usual talk about gowns; and +Aunt Rhoda had insisted upon coming over to South Hill to give +her opinion.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</span></p> + +<p>‘White, of course, for the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">débutante</i>,’ said Madoline. ‘There +can be no question about that.’</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ferrers screwed up her lips in a severe manner, and +looked at Daphne with a coldly critical stare.</p> + +<p>‘White is so very trying,’ she said, as if Daphne’s were not +a beauty that could afford to be tried; ‘and then it has such a +bridal air. I daresay there will be half-a-dozen brides at the +ball. I know of two—Mrs. Toddlington, and Mrs. Frank +Lothrop.’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t think Daphne need fear comparison with either of +those,’ answered Madoline, looking fondly at her sister, who was +sitting on a cushion at her feet, turning over a book of fashion +plates. ‘Well, darling, do you see anything there you would like?’</p> + +<p>‘Nothing. Every one of the dresses is utterly hideous; +stiff, elaborate; fantastical, without being artistic; gaged and +puffed and pleated, and festooned and fringed and gimped. +Please dress me for the ball as you have always dressed me, out +of your own head, Lina, without any help from Miss Piper’s +fashion plates.’</p> + +<p>‘Shall I, dear? Would you really prefer that to choosing +something in the very last fashion?’</p> + +<p>‘Infinitely.’</p> + +<p>‘Then I’ll tell you what it shall be. I will dress you like a +portrait by Sir Joshua. The richest white satin that money can +buy, made as simply as Miss Piper can possibly be persuaded to +make it. A little thin lace, cloudlike, about your neck and arms, +and my small pearl necklace for your only ornament.’</p> + +<p>‘Madoline, do you think it is wise of you to let Daphne +appear in borrowed plumes?’ asked Mrs. Ferrers severely. ‘It +may be giving her wrong ideas.’</p> + +<p>‘They shall not be borrowed plumes. The necklace shall be +my New Year’s gift to you, Daphne, darling.’</p> + +<p>‘No, no, Lina. I am not going to despoil you of your +jewels. I have always thought it was dreadfully bad of the +Jewesses to swindle the Egyptians before they crossed the Red +Sea, even though they were told to do it.’</p> + +<p>‘Daphne!’ screamed Aunt Rhoda; ‘your profanity is something +too shocking.’</p> + +<p>‘My pet, I am not going to be contradicted,’ said Lina, not +remarking upon this reproof. ‘The little necklace is yours +henceforward. I have more jewellery than I can ever wear.’</p> + +<p>‘It was your mother’s, Madoline, and you ought to respect +it.’</p> + +<p>‘It was my mother’s nature to give, and not to hoard, Aunt +Rhoda. She would have been ashamed of a selfish daughter. +Will that do, Daphne? The white satin and old Mechlin lace, +and just one spray of stephanotis in your hair?’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</span></p> + +<p>‘Nothing could be prettier, Lina.’</p> + +<p>‘What are you going to wear yourself, Madoline?’ asked +Mrs. Ferrers with a dissatisfied air. ‘I suppose you are going to +indulge in a new gown.’</p> + +<p>‘I have hardly made up my mind to be so extravagant. +There is the gold-coloured satin I had for the dinner at Warwick +Castle.’</p> + +<p>‘Much too heavy for a ball. No, you must have something +new, Lina, if it be only to keep me in countenance. I had +quite made up my mind to wear that pearl-gray sicilienne which +you all so much admired; but the Rector insisted upon my getting +a new gown from Paris.’</p> + +<p>‘From Worth?’</p> + +<p>‘Can you suppose I could be so extravagant? No, Lina; +when I venture upon a French gown I get it from a little +woman on a third floor in the Rue Vivienne. She was Worth’s +right hand some years ago, and she has quite his style. I tell +her what colours I should like, and how much money I am prepared +to spend, and she does all the rest without giving me any +trouble.’</p> + +<p>It was decided that Madoline should have a new gown of +the palest salmon, or blush-rose colour; something which would +look well with a profusion of those exquisite tea-roses which +MacCloskie produced grudgingly in the winter-tide, burning as +much coal in the process as if he were steaming home from +China with the first of the tea-gatherings, and wanted to be +beforehand with the rest of the trade. Mrs. Ferrers made a +good many objections to Daphne’s white satin, and was convinced +it would be unbecoming to her; also that it would be wanting +in style; yet it would be conspicuous, if not positively <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">outré</i>. +But Lina had made up her mind, and was a person of considerable +decision on occasions. Whatever the colour or material +chosen, Aunt Rhoda would have objected to it, as she had not +been called upon to advise in the matter.</p> + +<p>‘Well, Lina, my dear, I must go home and give the Rector +his afternoon tea,’ she said, rising and putting on her fur-lined +mantle. ‘I might have spared myself the trouble of walking +over to discuss the ball dresses. You haven’t wanted my advice.’</p> + +<p>‘It was very sweet of you to come all the same, auntie,’ +said Lina, kissing her, ‘and we might have wanted you badly. +Besides, your advice is going to be taken. It is to please you +that I am going to have a new gown—which I really don’t +want.’</p> + +<p>‘Be sure Miss Piper makes your waist longer. The last was +too short. She is not a patch upon my little Frenchwoman. +But you are so bent upon employing the people about you.’</p> + +<p>‘I like to spend my money near home, auntie.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</span></p> + +<p>‘Even if you are rewarded by being made a guy. Well, at +your age, and with your advantages, you can afford to be careless. +I can’t.’</p> + +<p>New Year’s Day passed very quietly. There was much less +fuss about the new year at South Hill than there had been at +Madame Tolmache’s twelve months ago; where the young +ladies had prepared a stupendous surprise—of which she was +perfectly aware a month beforehand—for that lady, in the shape +of an embroidered sofa-cushion; and where the pupils presented +each other with boxes of sweetmeats, and gushed exceedingly, in +sentiments appropriate to the occasion.</p> + +<p>Except that Daphne found the pearl necklace in a little old-fashioned +red morocco case under her pillow when she awoke on +that first dawn of the year, the day might have been the same as +other days. She sat up in her little curtainless bed, with the +necklace in her hand, looking straight before her, into the +wintry landscape, into the new year.</p> + +<p>‘What is it going to be like for me? What is it going to +bring me?’ she asked herself, her eyes slowly filling with tears, +her face and attitude, even to the listless hand which loosely +held the string of pearls, expressive of a dejection that was akin +to despair. ‘What will this new-born year bring me? Not +happiness. No, that could not be—that can never be. I lost the +hope of that a year and a half ago—on one foolish, never-to-be-forgotten +summer day. If I had died before that day—if I had +taken the fever like those other girls, and had it badly, and +died of it, would it not have been a better fate than to be always +fluttering on the edge of happiness; wickedly, wildly happy +sometimes when I am with him—wretched when he is away; +guilty always—guilty to her, my best and my dearest; shameful +to myself; lost to honour; conscience-stricken, miserable?’</p> + +<p>Her tears fell thick and fast now, and for some moments she +wept passionately, greeting the new year with tears. Then, +growing calmer, she lifted the pearls to her lips, and kissed them +tenderly.</p> + +<p>‘It shall be a talisman,’ she said to herself. ‘White gift +from a white soul, pure and perfect as the giver. Yes, it shall +be a charm. I will sin no more. I will think of him no more +of whom to think is sin. I will shut him out of my heart. +My love, I will forget you! My love, who held my hand that +summer day, and read my fate there—an evil fate—yes, for is +it not evil to love you? my love, who stole my heart with sweet +low words and magical looks—looks and words that meant +nothing to you, but all the world—more than the world—to me. +Oh, I must find some way of forgetting you. I must teach myself +to be proud. It is so mean, so degrading, to go on loving +where I have never been loved. If he knew it, how he would +despise me! I would die rather than he should know!’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</span></p> + +<p>Hard to face a new-born year in such a temper as this, with +a heart heavily burdened by a fatal secret; all the world, to +outward seeming, smiles and sunshine. For what care could +such a girl as Daphne have, a girl who had no more need for +the serious consideration of life than the lilies have? All +without sunshine and turtle-doves; all within, darkness and +scorpions.</p> + +<p>When she was dressed, save for the putting on of her warm +winter gown, Daphne clasped the necklace round her throat. +The pearls were not whiter or more perfectly shaped than the +neck they clasped.</p> + +<p>‘I must wear my talisman always,’ she thought, as she +fastened the snap. ‘Let me be like the prince in the fairy tale, +whose ring used to remind him by a sharp little stab when he +was drifting into sin.’</p> + +<p>She went downstairs in a somewhat more cheerful mood +than that of her first awaking. There was comfort in the +pearls. She kissed her sister lovingly, kneeling by her side as +she thanked her for the New Year’s gift. There was an open +jewel-case on the breakfast-table, and beside it a basket of +summer flowers—a basket that had come straight from the +sunny south, from the winterless flower-gardens on the shores +of the Mediterranean.</p> + +<p>Daphne looked at the jewels first—a low thing in human +nature, but inevitable. The case contained a sapphire cross, +the stones large and lustrous, perfect in their deep azure, and set +in the lightest, most delicate mounting—a cross which a princess +might hold choicest amongst all her jewels. The flowers were +roses, camellias, violets, and a curious thorny-stemmed orange-blossom.</p> + +<p>‘Oh, Lina,’ cried Daphne; ‘orange-blossom with thorns! +Isn’t that an evil omen?’</p> + +<p>‘I hope not, dear, but I like the other kind best. This is +almost too spiky to put in a flower-glass. But wasn’t it good of +Gerald to get these flowers sent over from Nice for a New +Year’s greeting?’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, it was he who sent them?’</p> + +<p>‘Who else? There was a little note at the bottom of the +basket; and see, this lovely camellia bud is labelled “For +Daphne.”’</p> + +<p>‘“There’s rue for you,”’ quoted Daphne, with her half bitter +smile. ‘Yes, it was very polite of him to remember my +existence.’</p> + +<p>‘There is something else for you, darling—a locket, which +Gerald asks me to give you from him. He hopes you will wear +it at your first ball.’</p> + +<p>She opened a small blue velvet case, and Daphne beheld +an oval locket of dead dull gold with a diagonal band of sapphires.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</span> +It had a kind of moonlight effect which was very fascinating.</p> + +<p>‘No,’ said Daphne gently, but with unmistakable resolve; +‘I will accept jewels from no one but you. You can afford to +give me all I shall ever want, and it is a pleasure to you to +give—I know that, dearest—and to me to receive. I cannot +accept Mr. Goring’s gift, although I appreciate his kindness in +offering it.’</p> + +<p>‘Daphne! He will be dreadfully wounded.’</p> + +<p>‘No, he won’t. He will understand that I have a touch of +pride. From my sister all the benefits in the world; but from +him nothing—except this cold white bud!’</p> + +<p>She put it to her lips involuntarily, unconsciously; but the +contact of the flower he had touched thrilled her with mysterious +passion—as if it were his very soul that touched her soul. She +shivered and turned pale.</p> + +<p>‘My pet, you are looking so ill this morning, so cold and +wretched,’ said Madoline, looking up from fond contemplation +of her lover’s gifts just in time to see that white wan look of +Daphne’s.</p> + +<p>‘I am well enough, but it is a cold wretched morning,’ +answered Daphne, as she bent over the fire, spreading out her +dimpled hands before the blaze. ‘Don’t you think New Year’s +Day is a horrid anniversary?—beginning everything over again +from a fresh starting-point; tempting one to think about the +future; obliging one to look back at the past and be sorry for +having wasted another year. You will go to church, I suppose, +and take your dose of remorse in an orthodox form!’</p> + +<p>‘Won’t you come with me, Daphne? Everyone ought to go +to church on New Year’s Day, even if it were not a sacred +anniversary.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, I’ll come, if you like. I may as well be there as anywhere +else.’</p> + +<p>‘My darling, is that the way to speak or to think about +it?’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t know. I’m afraid I am desperately irreligious. If +I had ever found religion do me any good I might be more +seriously-minded, perhaps. But when I pray, my prayers seem +to come back to me unheard. I am always asking for bread, +and getting a stone.’</p> + +<p>‘Dearest, there can be but one reason for that. You do not +pray rightly. Constant, fervent prayer never failed yet to bring +a blessing: perhaps not the very blessing we have asked for, but +something purer, higher—the peace of God which passeth all +understanding. That for the most part is God’s answer to +faithful prayer.’</p> + +<p>‘Perhaps that is it. I pray in a half-hearted way. “My +words fly up, my thoughts remain below.” I am anchored too<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</span> +heavily to this wicked world. I stretch out my hands to heaven, +but not my heart: that is of the earth earthy.’</p> + +<p>‘Come to church, dear, and this solemn day will bring serious +thoughts.’</p> + +<p>‘I would go if it were only for the sake of going a little way +towards heaven with you. Yes, Lina dearest, I will go and +kneel by your side, and pray to become more like you.’</p> + +<p>‘A poor example,’ answered Madoline, smiling.</p> + +<p>And now Sir Vernon entered, pale and drawn after his late +illness, but erect and dignified. There were no family prayers +at South Hill, and there never had been since the first Lady +Lawford’s death. Sir Vernon went to church on Sunday morning, +when he considered himself well enough, but all other +religious offices he performed in the seclusion of his own rooms. +There was therefore no morning muster for prayers, and the +servants at South Hill were free to choose their own road to +heaven.</p> + +<p>Madoline rose to greet her father with loving New Year +wishes. Daphne kept her kneeling attitude by the fire, with +her face turned towards the blaze, feeling that good wishes from +her would be a superfluity.</p> + +<p>‘My years must always be happy while I have you, dearest,’ +said Sir Vernon, kissing his elder daughter; and then, with +some touch of gentlemanly feeling, bethinking himself of the +child he did not love, he laid his hand lightly on Daphne’s +golden head.</p> + +<p>‘Good morning, Daphne. A happy New Year to you!’ he +said gently.</p> + +<p>She silently turned from the fire, took her father’s hand, and +raised it to her lips. It was the first time she had ever done +such a thing: a little gush of spontaneous feeling, and the +father’s heart was touched—touched, albeit, like all Daphne’s +graces, this little bit of girlish graciousness recalled her mother’s +fatal charms.</p> + +<p>‘“Bless me, even me also, O my father!”’ she exclaimed, +recalling one of the most pathetic passages of Holy Writ.</p> + +<p>‘God bless and prosper you, my dear.’</p> + +<p>‘Thank you, papa. That is a good beginning for the year,’ +said Daphne, stifling a sob. ‘I don’t think I shall feel like Esau +any more.’</p> + +<p>‘My dearest, what comparisons you make,’ cried Madoline. +‘In what have you ever been like Esau? Have I ever cheated +you?’</p> + +<p>‘Not willingly, darling,’ answered Daphne, nestling close +beside Madoline as she began to pour out Sir Vernon’s tea. +‘You are my benefactress, my guardian angel. Is it your fault +if I belong by nature and pedigree to the tribe of Ishmael?’</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX.<br> +<span class="fs70">‘AL SODENLY SHE SWAPT ADOWN TO GROUND.’</span></h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> second week of January was half over, and it was the +night of the Hunt Ball. What girl of eighteen, were her breast +ever so gnawed by secret cark and care, could refrain from +giving way to some excitement upon the occasion of her first +dance, and that a dance which was to be danced by all Warwickshire’s +beauty and chivalry—a dance as distinguished, from a +local standpoint, as that famous assembly in Belgium’s capital, +which was scared by the thunder of distant guns, the prelude of +instant war?</p> + +<p>Daphne gave herself up wholly to the delight of the hour. +She had been unusually cheerful and equable in her temper +since New Year’s Day. That parental blessing, freely and +ungrudgingly given, seemed to have sweetened her whole nature. +She went to church with Madoline, and prayed with all her +heart and soul, and listened without impatience to a string of +seasonable platitudes, culled from the elder divines, and pronounced +in a humdrum style of elocution by the Reverend +Marmaduke Ferrers. She had been altogether blameless in her +bearing and her conduct in this new-fledged year: so much so +that Mrs. Ferrers had deigned to concede, with chilly patronage, +that Daphne was beginning to become a reasonable being.</p> + +<p>She had been fighting her inward battle honestly and bravely. +She had avoided as much as possible that society which was so +poisonously sweet to her. She had been less exacting to her +devoted slave, Edgar. She had given more time to improving +studies. She had taken up Mendelssohn’s Lieder, and practised +them industriously, breathing, ah! too much soul into the +pathetic passages, dwelling too fondly on the deep ground-swell +of melody, which carries a passionate heart along on its fierce +tide, and, in its fervid feeling and exaltation of spirit, is akin to +the actual triumph of a happy love.</p> + +<p>Unconscious of the danger, and resolutely bent on curing +herself of a futile foolish attachment, she yet fed her passion +with the fatal food of poetry and music, finding in every heroine +she most admired, from Juliet to Enid, a love as inevitably +doomed to misery as her own. But all the while she was +earnest in her desire to forget.</p> + +<p>‘If my namesake, in the pride of her purity, could fly from +a god who adored her, surely it cannot be hard for me to harden +my heart against a man who does not care a straw for me,’ she +told herself scornfully.</p> + +<p>The day of the Hunt Ball brought pleasure enough to thrust +aside every other thought. Miss Piper had done as well as if +she had been born and bred in Paris. Daphne’s white satin<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</span> +gown fitted the slim and supple figure to perfection. It was not +the ivory tint of late years, but that exquisite pearly white, with +a blackish tint in the shadows, which one sees in old pictures. +Daphne, with her wavy hair coiled at the back of her beautifully-shaped +head, and with just one spray of stephanotis nestling in +the coils, looked like a Juliet painted by Sir Joshua. It was +Juliet’s dress, as Juliet used to be dressed by actresses of an age +less given to the research of correctness and elaboration in costume. +The single string of pearls on the pearly neck, the bodice +modestly draping the lovely shoulders, the round white arms +peeping from elbow-sleeves of satin and lace, the long loose +gloves, the slender feet in white satin sandalled shoes, meant for +dancing—not in those impossible high-heeled instruments of +torture which Parisian bootmakers have inflicted on weak woman—all +had something of an old-fashioned air; but it was a very +lovely old fashion, and Madoline was delighted with the result.</p> + +<p>‘Rather <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">outré</i>, don’t you think?’ said Mrs. Ferrers, sourly +contemplative of Daphne’s fresh young beauty, which made her +own complexion look so much yellower than usual, when she +happened to glance across the girl’s shoulder at her own face in +the big cheval glass. ‘A little too suggestive of Kate Greenaway’s +Baby Books.’</p> + +<p>She was trying to settle herself in her panoply of state, a +gorgeous arrangement in ruby velvet and cream-coloured satin, +which the little Frenchwoman in the Rue Vivienne had only +sent off in time to reach Mrs. Ferrers two hours ago, after +keeping her in an agony of mind for the last three days. It +was a very splendid gown, so slashed, and draped, and festooned, +that it was a mystery how it could ever be put together. The +velvet cuirass was laced up the back with thick gold cord, and +fitted like a strait-waistcoat; and the ruby scarf was fringed with +heavy bullion, which drooped above a stormy sea of cream-coloured +satin, that went billowing and surging round the lady’s +legs till it met a long narrow streak of ruby velvet lined with +satin, which meandered for about twelve feet along the floor. +That Mrs. Ferrers must be a nuisance to herself and everybody +else in such a dress no one in their senses could doubt; but then +on the other hand the gown was undoubtedly in the latest fashion, +and was one which must evoke a pang of envy in every female +breast.</p> + +<p>‘I don’t wonder you look disdainfully at my short petticoats, +Aunt Rhoda,’ said Daphne, smiling at the effect of her sandalled +ankles as she pirouetted before the looking-glass; ‘but I think, +when it comes to dancing, I shall be better off than you with your +velvet train.’</p> + +<p>‘I am not likely to dance much,’ answered Mrs. Ferrers, with +dignity. ‘Indeed, as a clergyman’s wife, I don’t know that I +shall dance at all.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</span></p> + +<p>‘Then you will have to sit with your train coiled round your +feet to prevent people walking on it, and that will be worse,’ retorted +Daphne.</p> + +<p>It was a clear cold night, with a brilliant moon—a glorious +night for a country drive—frosty, but not severe enough to make +the roads slippery; besides, Boiler and Crock were the kind of +horses that nobody hesitates to have roughed on occasion.</p> + +<p>Sir Vernon had decided on escorting his daughters to the +ball. It was a sacrifice of his own ease and comfort, but he felt +that the occasion required it.</p> + +<p>‘I shall stay an hour,’ he said, ‘and then Rodgers can drive +me home, and go back to fetch you later. It won’t hurt the +horses going over the ground a second time.’</p> + +<p>‘Dear father,’ said Madoline, ‘it is so good of you to go +with us.’</p> + +<p>And now, after a reviving cup of tea, and careful wrapping +in fur-lined cloaks and Shetland shawls, the three ladies and Sir +Vernon conveyed themselves into the roomy landau, and were +soon bowling along the smooth high-road towards Stratford. +What a transformed and glorified place the little town seemed +to-night—all lights, and people, and loud and authoritative constabulary! +such an array of fiery-eyed carriages, three abreast +in the wide street in front of The Red Horse! such a block in +the narrower regions about the Town Hall! so much confusion, +despite of such loud endeavours to maintain order!</p> + +<p>It seemed to Daphne as if they were going to sit in the carriage +all night, with the humbler townsfolk peering in at them from +the pavement, and making critical remarks to each other in +painfully distinct voices.</p> + +<p>‘Ain’t the fair one pretty?’ ‘The dark one’s the handsomest.’ +‘My eye! look at the old lady’s diamonds.’ ‘That’s +Lord Willerby.’ ‘No, it ain’t, stoopid.’ ‘I see the coronet on +the kerridge.’ ‘My, what lovely hair she’s got!’ ‘White satin, +ain’t it?’ and so on, while cornets and violins sounded in the +distance with distracting melody.</p> + +<p>‘It’ll be dreadful if we have to sit in the street quite all the +evening,’ said Daphne, listening hopelessly to the voice of authority, +with its perpetual ‘Move on, coachman.’</p> + +<p>They waited about twenty minutes, and then slowly drove up +to the doorway, where the eager faces of the crowd made a hedge +on each side. Difficult to believe that this entrance hall, luminous +with lamps and bright flowers, was the same which gave +admittance to such prosaic beings as town-clerks and vestrymen, +justices of the peace and policemen. Edgar and Gerald were +both hovering near the doorway, waiting for the South Hill +party: Edgar, at the risk of being accused of deserting his +mother, whom he had established in a comfortable corner of the +ball-room, and then incontinently left to her own reflections, or<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</span> +to such conversation as she might be able to find among sundry +other dowagers arrived at the same wall-flower stage of existence.</p> + +<p>‘I thought you were never coming,’ said Edgar, offering +Daphne his arm, and in a manner appropriating her.</p> + +<p>‘I thought we were going to spend the evening in the street,’ +answered Daphne.</p> + +<p>Gerald gave his arm to Madoline; Sir Vernon followed with +his sister, whose high-heeled Louis Quinze shoes matched her +gown to perfection, but were not adapted for locomotion. Happily +she was a light and active figure, and managed to trip up +the broad oak stairs somehow; though she felt as if her feet had +been replaced by the primitive style of wooden leg, the mere +dot-and-go-one drumstick, with which the Chelsea pensioner +used to be accommodated before the days of elaborate mechanical +arrangements in cork and metal.</p> + +<p>The ball-room was already crowded, the South Hill party +having arrived late, by special desire of Aunt Rhoda, who strongly +objected to be among those early comers who roam about empty +halls dejectedly, taking the chill off the atmosphere for the late +arrivals. Dancing was in full swing, and the assembly in the big +ball-room made a blaze of colour against the delicate French-gray +walls; the pink of the fox-hunters, and the uniforms of +the officers from Warwick and Coventry, showing vividly amongst +the pale and airy drapery of their partners. There were more +than two hundred in the room already, Edgar told Daphne, as +he pointed out the more striking features of the scene.</p> + +<p>‘I daresay there’ll be nearer three hundred before midnight,’ +he said. ‘It’s going to be a grand affair. Only once in two +years, you see: people save themselves up for it. A lot of +fellows in pink, aren’t they?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes. Why didn’t you wear a scarlet coat? It’s much prettier +than black.’</p> + +<p>‘Do you really think so? If I’d known—’ faltered Edgar. +‘But I felt sure you would have laughed at me if I’d sported +the swallow-tail I wear at hunt dinners sometimes.’</p> + +<p>‘I daresay I should,’ Daphne answered coolly; ‘but you’d +have looked ever so much nicer all the same.’</p> + +<p>Edgar felt regretful. He had debated with himself that +question of pink or no pink; and the thought of Daphne’s possible +ridicule had turned the scale in favour of sober black; and +now she told him he would have looked better in the more +distinctive garb. And there were fellows who could hardly +jump a drain-pipe showing off in their Poole or Smallpage coats, +and giving themselves Nimrod airs which imposed upon the +sweet simplicity of their partners.</p> + +<p>The room was a noble room, long and lofty, divided from a +spacious antechamber by a wide square doorway, supported by<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</span> +classic pillars. Over this doorway was the open gallery for the +band. The ball-room was lighted by a large central chandelier, +and two sun-burners in the ceiling; while from lyre-shaped +medallions on the walls projected modern gas brackets in imitation +of old-fashioned girandoles of the wax-candle period.</p> + +<p>There were four full length portraits on the walls: the Duke +of Dorset, by Romney; a portrait of Queen Anne, as uninteresting +as that harmless lady was in the flesh. The remaining two +pictures had to do with the local divinity. One was Gainsborough’s +portrait of Garrick, leaning against the bust of Shakespeare; +the other was the poet seated, in his habit as he lived, +by Wilson.</p> + +<p>‘You see,’ said Gerald, close behind Daphne, ‘there is the +Warwickshire idol. One can’t get away from him. Why can +these bucolics worship nothing but the intellectual emanation of +their soil? Why not a little homage to muscular Christianity, in +the person of Guy, Earl of Warwick, a paladin of the first water, +a man who rescued damsels, and fought with giants and dun +cows, and was strong and brave, and faithful, pious, self-sacrificing, +devoted in every act of his life? There is a hero worthy +of worship. Yet you all ignore him, and bow down before this +golden calf of a dramatist, who sued his friend for a twopenny +loan, and left the wife of his bosom a second-best bedstead—a +paltry fellow beside Guy, the hero-hermit, living on bread and +water, and only revealing himself at his death to the wife he +adored.’</p> + +<p>‘Guy was a very nice person, if one could quite believe in +the giant and the dun cow,’ said Daphne.</p> + +<p>‘I believe implicitly in Colbrand the giant,’ answered Gerald, +‘but I own I have never been able to swallow the monster cow; +and I am all the more inclined to repudiate her because her +bones were on view at Warwick in Shakespeare’s time.’</p> + +<p>‘And it was very sweet of him to end his days so quietly in +the hermit’s cave at Guy’s Cliff,’ pursued Daphne, who was well +versed in all Warwickshire lore, chiefly by oral instruction from +Edgar, ‘and to take alms from his own wife every morning, as +one of the thirteen beggars she was in the habit of relieving; +though I have never quite understood why he did it. But in +spite of all these grand acts of Guy’s we know nothing of the +man himself, while Shakespeare is like one’s brother. He has +sounded the deep of every mind, and has given us the treasures +of his own.’</p> + +<p>‘I suspect he would rather have given anything than his +money,’ retorted Gerald.</p> + +<p>They had penetrated to Mrs. Turchill’s corner by this time. +That matron was looking the picture of disconsolate solitude—the +dowager with whom she had been talking about her servants +and her tradespeople having left her to look after a brace of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</span> +somewhat go-ahead daughters, who in pale blue silk jerseys, and +tight cream-coloured cashmere skirts, looked very much as if +they were attired for some acrobatic performance.</p> + +<p>‘I am so glad you have come,’ exclaimed poor Mrs. Turchill, +brightening at the sight of Madoline. ‘The room is dreadfully +crowded, and there are so many strangers.’ This was said resentfully, +no stranger having any more right to be present, from +Mrs. Turchill’s point of view, than Pentheus at his mother’s +party. ‘I feel as if I hardly knew a creature here.’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, mother, when there are the Hilldrops, and the Westerns, +and the Hilliers, and the Perkinses,’ remonstrated Edgar, running +over a string of names.</p> + +<p>‘All I can say is that if there are any of my friends in the +room no one has taken the trouble to bring them to me,’ retorted +Mrs. Turchill. ‘And for any enjoyment I have had from the +society of my friends I might as well be at that horrid Academy +conversazione for which you took so much trouble to get tickets +the year before last, and where I was jammed into a corner of +the sculpture room half the evening, with rude young women +sitting upon me.’</p> + +<p>Here Sir Vernon and Mrs. Ferrers approached, and Mrs. +Turchill resumed her company smile in honour of people of such +importance. Aunt Rhoda had been exchanging greetings with +the cream of the county people during her leisurely progress +through the rooms, and felt that her gown was a success, and +that the little woman in the Rue Vivienne was worthy of her +hire. Everybody was looking at Daphne. Her youth and freshness, +her vivid smiles and natural girlish animation, as she conversed +now with Edgar, and anon with Gerald, fascinated +everyone; it was a manner entirely without reserve, yet with +no taint of forwardness or coquetry—the manner of a happy +child, whose sum of life was bounded by the delight of the +moment, rather than of a woman conscious of her loveliness, +and knowing herself admired.</p> + +<p>‘Who is that pretty girl in the white satin frock—the girl +like an old picture?’ people were asking, somewhat to the annoyance +of older stagers in the beauty-trade, who felt that here +was a new business opened, which threatened competition, stock-in-trade +of the best quality, and perfectly fresh.</p> + +<p>One young lady, whose charms had suffered the wear and +tear of seven seasons, contemplated Daphne languidly through +her eye-glass, and summed her up with scornful brevity as ‘the +little Gainsborough girl!’</p> + +<p>‘Quite too lovely, for the next six months,’ said another, +‘but her beauty depends entirely on her complexion. A year +hence she will have lost all that brightness, and will be a very +wishy-washy little person.’</p> + +<p>‘And then I suppose she’ll paint, as the others do, don’t you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</span> +know,’ drawled her partner; ‘carmine her lips, and all that sort +of thing.’</p> + +<p>The lady looked at him suspiciously out of the corner of a +carefully darkened eyelid.</p> + +<p>‘Let us hope she won’t sink quite so low as that,’ she said +with dignity.</p> + +<p>There was no doubt as to Daphne’s triumph. Before she +had been an hour in the room, she was the acknowledged belle +of the ball. People went out of their way to look at her. She +walked once round the rooms on her father’s arm, and in that +slow and languid progress held, as it were, her first court. It +was her first public appearance; her father’s friends clustered +round him, eager to be presented to the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">débutante</i>. Stately +dowagers begged that she might be made known to them. All +the best people in the room knew Sir Vernon, and all professed +a friendly desire to know his younger daughter. Her card was +full before she knew what she was doing.</p> + +<p>‘Our little Daphne is a success!’ said Gerald to his betrothed, +as they glided round the room in a languorous troistemps. +‘All the Apollos are running after her.’</p> + +<p>‘I am so glad. Dear child! It is such a pleasure to see her +happy,’ answered Madoline softly.</p> + +<p>‘I hope her head won’t be turned by all this adulation. It +is such a poor little puff-ball of a head. I sometimes fancy she +has thistledown inside it instead of brains.’</p> + +<p>‘Indeed, dear, she has plenty of sense and serious feeling,’ +remonstrated Madoline, wounded by this allegation. ‘But she +is painfully sensitive. She needs very tender treatment.’</p> + +<p>‘Poor butterfly!’</p> + +<p>‘Do you like her dress?’</p> + +<p>‘It is simply perfect. Your taste, of course.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes; she let me have my own way in the matter.’</p> + +<p>‘And as a reward she is looking her loveliest. It is not the +calm beauty of a princess, like my Lina’s; but for a spoiled-child +kind of prettiness, capricious, mutinous, variable, there +could be nothing better.’</p> + +<p>Later he was at Daphne’s side, as she sat in a corner by her +aunt, with half-a-dozen young men hovering near, Edgar nearest +of all, holding her fan.</p> + +<p>‘I suppose you have saved at least one dance for me, +Empress,’ he said, taking her programme from her hand.</p> + +<p>‘I don’t know. All sorts of people have been writing down +their names.’</p> + +<p>‘All sorts of people,’ echoed Gerald, examining the card. +‘You will be a little more respectful about your partners in +your seventh or eighth season. Why, here, under various +hieroglyphics, are the very topmost strawberries in the social +basket—masters of fox-hounds, eldest sons of every degree,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</span> +majors and colonels—and not one little waltz left for me! I +claim you for the first extra.’</p> + +<p>‘I—I’m rather afraid I’m engaged for the extras.’</p> + +<p>‘No matter. You were solemnly engaged to me for one +particular waltz when first this ball was spoken of at South Hill. +You don’t remember, perhaps; but I do. I claim my bond. I +will be a very Shylock in the exaction of my due.’</p> + +<p>‘If you were a better Shakespearian it would occur to you +that Shylock got nothing,’ retorted Daphne, smiling up at him.</p> + +<p>‘He was an old idiot. Remember, the first extra valse. +We shall meet at Philippi.’</p> + +<p>He was off to claim Lina for the Lancers. It was the last +dance before supper. Sir Vernon had disappeared ever so long +ago. Mrs. Ferrers was standing up with a major of dragoons, +in all the splendour of his uniform, and felt that she and her +partner made an imposing picture. Edgar and Daphne were +sitting out this square dance on the stairs, the girl somewhat +exhausted by much waltzing, the man exalted to the seventh +heaven of bliss at being permitted to bear her company.</p> + +<p>‘May I take you down to supper?’ he asked.</p> + +<p>‘Thanks; no. My last partner—the man in the red +coat——’</p> + +<p>‘Clinton Chetwynd, master of the Harrowby Harriers?’ +interjected Edgar.</p> + +<p>‘Told me that the best dancing will be when two-thirds of +the people are gormandising downstairs. You can get me an +ice, if you like.’</p> + +<p>Edgar obeyed; but when he came back with the ice Daphne +had vanished from the landing, and he got himself entangled in +a block of people struggling down to supper.</p> + +<p>The rooms below—those solemn halls in which on ordinary +occasions the local offender stood at the bar of justice to answer +for his misdeeds—were now a scene of glitter and gaiety; +flower-wreathed épergnes, barley-sugar pagodas, and all the +tinselly splendour of a ball-supper. Bar, and bench, and magisterial +chairs had vanished as if by magic. The magistrate’s +private apartment and the justice hall had been thrown into one +spacious banqueting-chamber, where even the proverbial greediness +of the best society—the people who tread upon each other’s +toes and rush for the grapes and peaches at Buckingham Palace—might +be satisfied without undue scrambling. But though +there would have been room for him at the banquet, and +although there were any number of eligible young ladies waiting +to be taken down, Edgar scorned the idea of a supper which +Daphne did not care for. To have sat by her, squeezed into +some impossible corner of a rout-seat, to have fought for lobster-salad +for her, and guarded her frock from the ravages of awkward +people, and pulled cracker bon-bons with her, would have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</span> +been bliss; but the festal board without her would be every +whit as funereal a banquet as the famous sable feast at which +that cheerful practical joker Domitian entertained his courtiers.</p> + +<p>Mr. Turchill found a good-natured fox-hunter to take his +mother down, and having seen that lady’s silver-gray satin—newly +done up with violet velvet by Miss Piper for the occasion—making +its deliberate way down the broad staircase, on the +sportsman’s sturdy scarlet arm, Edgar went back to the almost +empty ball-room, where about fifteen or twenty couples were +revolving to the last sugary-sweet German waltz, ‘<i lang="de" xml:lang="de">Glaubst du +nicht</i>?’</p> + +<p>Daphne and Gerald were amongst these; Madoline was sitting +with some girl-friends in the entrance of one of the windows, +and to this point Edgar made his way.</p> + +<p>‘You’ve not been down to supper,’ he remarked, by way of +saying something original.</p> + +<p>‘Do you know, I don’t much care about going down. If +Gerald particularly wishes it I shall go after this dance; but I +think I should enjoy a sandwich and a cup of tea when I get +home better than the scramble downstairs.’</p> + +<p>The waltzers were dropping off by degrees; but Gerald and +Daphne still went on revolving with gliding languid steps to the +dreamy melody. They moved in exquisite harmony, although +this was the first time they had ever waltzed together. Never +in the twilight dances at South Hill had Mr. Goring asked +Daphne to be his partner. He had been content to stand outside +in the porch, smoking his cigarette, and looking on, while +she and Edgar waltzed, or to take a few lazy turns afterwards +with Madoline to Daphne’s music. To-night for the first time +his arm encircled her; her sunlit head rested against his +shoulder. It seemed to him that his hand had never clasped +hers since that summer day at Fontainebleau, just a year and a +half ago; when they had stood by the golden water, with the +hungry-eyed carp watching them, and a sky of molten gold +above their heads. They had been far apart since that day; +dissevered by an impalpable abyss; and now for the moment +they were one, united by that love-sick melody, their pulses +stirred by the same current. Was it strange that in such a +moment Gerald Goring forgot all the world except this perfect +flower of youth and girlhood which he held in his arms—forgot +his betrothed wife, and all her grace and beauty; lived for the +moment, and in the moment only, as butterflies live—with a +past not worth remembering, and annihilation for their only +future? As the dancers dropped off the band played slower and +slower, meaning to expire in a <em>rallentando</em>, and those two +waltzers gliding round drifted unawares into the outer and +smaller room, where there was no one.</p> + +<p>‘<i lang="de" xml:lang="de">Glaubst du nicht</i>?’ sighed the band, ‘<i lang="de" xml:lang="de">Glaubst du nicht</i>?<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</span> +<i lang="de" xml:lang="de">Ach Liebchen, glaubst du nicht</i>?’ and with the last sigh of the +melody, Gerald bent his lips over Daphne’s golden hair and +breathed a word into her ear—only one word, wrung from him +in despite of himself. But that one word so breathed from +such lips was all the history of a passionate love which had +been fought against in vain. The last sigh of the music faded +as the word was spoken, and Daphne was standing by her +partner’s side white as ashes.</p> + +<p>‘Take me back to my sister, please.’</p> + +<p>He gave her his arm without a word, and they walked +slowly across to the group by the window; but before Madoline +could make room for Daphne to sit by her side the girl +tottered, and would have fallen, if Edgar had not caught her +in his arms.</p> + +<p>‘She is fainting!’ he cried, alarmed. ‘Some water—brandy—something!’ +He wrenched open the window, still holding +Daphne on his left arm. The frosty night-air blew in upon +them, keen and cold. Daphne’s white lips trembled, and the +dark gray eyes opened and looked round with a bewildered +expression, as she sank slowly into the seat beside Madoline, +whose arms were supporting and embracing her.</p> + +<p>‘My darling, you have danced too much. You have overexcited +yourself,’ said Lina tenderly; while three or four smelling-bottles +came to the rescue.</p> + +<p>‘Yes; that last dance was too much,’ faltered Daphne, +cold and trembling in her sister’s arms. ‘But I’m quite well +now, Lina. It was nothing. The heat of the room.’</p> + +<p>‘And you are tired. We’ll go home directly we can find +Aunt Rhoda.’</p> + +<p>‘I’ll go and hunt for her,’ said Gerald, who had been standing +vacantly looking on, his brain on fire, his heart beating +tumultuously, the vulture conscience gnawing his vitals already.</p> + +<p>He had been thinking of Rousseau’s Julie, and that first +kiss given in the bosquet—the fatal first kiss—the beginning +of all evil.</p> + +<p>‘My sweeter Julie—so much more lovely—so much more +innocent,’ he thought, as he went slowly downstairs in quest +of the ruby velvet arrangement which contained Mrs. Ferrers. +‘God give me grace to respect your purity!’</p> + +<p>The winter wind rushed into the heated ball-room with a +sharp chill breath that was suggestive of another and a colder +world, like the deadly air from a vault, and soon steadied +Daphne’s reeling brain.</p> + +<p>‘You see I am not such a good waltzer as I thought I was,’ +she said, looking up at Edgar with a sickly smile. ‘I did not +think anything could make me giddy.’</p> + +<p>‘You would rather go home now, would you not, dear?’ +asked Madoline. ‘You have had enough of the ball.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</span></p> + +<p>‘More than enough.’</p> + +<p>‘Let me fetch your wraps from the cloak-room,’ said Edgar. +‘It will save you a good deal of trouble.’</p> + +<p>‘If you would be so very kind.’</p> + +<p>‘Delighted. Give me your ticket. Seventy-nine. All +under one number, I suppose.’</p> + +<p>He ran off, and this time had to stem the tide setting in +towards the ball-room; the young men and maidens who had +eaten their supper and were eager for more dancing. Coming +back with a pile of cloaks and shawls on his arm, he joined +Gerald and Mrs. Ferrers, her red-coated major still in attendance.</p> + +<p>‘What can Daphne mean by making a spectacle of herself +at her first ball?’ asked Aunt Rhoda, not a little aggrieved at +being ruthlessly dragged away from a knot of the very best +people, a little group of privileged ones, which included a countess +and two baronets’ wives. ‘But it is just like her.’</p> + +<p>‘There was no affectation in the matter, I can assure you,’ +said Edgar indignantly; ‘she looked as white as death.’</p> + +<p>‘Then she should have danced less. I detest any exhibition +of that kind. I am very glad my brother was not here to +see it.’</p> + +<p>‘I think Sir Vernon has had so much reason to be proud of +his daughter this evening that he would readily have forgiven +her iniquity in fainting,’ retorted Edgar, his blood at boiling-point +from honest indignation.</p> + +<p>Daphne, wrapped in a long white cashmere cloak lined with +white fur, looked very pale and ghostlike as she went slowly +through the rooms on Edgar’s arm, attacked on her way by the +reproaches of the partners with whom she was breaking faith by +this untimely departure.</p> + +<p>‘I’m awfully sorry,’ she said, with a faint touch of her +natural gaiety, ‘but I’ll pay my debts this time two years. The +engagements can stand over.’</p> + +<p>When the bi-annual Hunt Ball comes round at Stratford-on-Avon +there are some, perhaps, who will remember her promise, +and the pale, pathetic face, and white-robed figure.</p> + +<p>Five minutes later the three ladies were seated in their +carriage, Mrs. Ferrers still grumbling, while Edgar lingered at +the door adjusting Daphne’s wraps.</p> + +<p>Just as he was going to shut the door, having no excuse for +further delay, Daphne took his hand and clasped it with friendly +warmth.</p> + +<p>‘How good you are!’ she said softly, looking up at him +with eyes that to his mind seemed lovelier than all the lights of +the firmament, infinitely glorious on this frosty night in the +steel-blue sky. ‘How good you are! how staunch and true!’</p> + +<p>It was only well-merited praise, but it moved him so deeply<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</span> +that he had no power to answer, even by the smallest word. +He could only grasp the slender little hand fervently in his +own, and then shut the carriage-door with a bang, as if to +drown the tumult of his own heart.</p> + +<p>‘Home, coachman,’ he called, in a choking voice; an entirely +superfluous mandate, neither coachman, nor footman, nor horses, +having the least idea of going anywhere else.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI.<br> +<span class="fs70">‘FOR WELE OR WO, FOR CAROLE, OR FOR DAUNCE.’</span></h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Edgar</span> went back to the ball-room with his heart so penetrated +with bliss, that the whole scene had an unreal look to +him in its brightness and gaiety, as if in the next instant +dancers, and lights, and music, and familiar faces might vanish +altogether, and leave him suspended in empty space, alone with +his own deep delight. He was as near Berkeley’s idea of the +universe as a man so solid and substantial in his habits could be. +Thought and feeling to-night made up his world; all the rest +might be nothing but a spectral emanation from his own brain. +He lived, he thought, he felt; and his heart and brain were filled +with one idea, and that was Daphne. The ball-room without +Daphne, albeit the Caledonians were just being danced with +considerable spirit, was all falsehood and hollowness. He saw +the spurious complexions, the scanty draperies, all the artificial +graces and meretricious charms, as he had not seen them while +she was there. That little leaven had leavened the whole lump. +His eye, gladdened by her presence, had seen all things fair. +But although he was inclined to look contemptuously upon the +crowd in which she was not, the gladness of his heart made him +good-naturedly disposed to all creation. He would have liked +to leave that gay and festive scene immediately; but finding his +mother enjoying herself very much in a snug corner with three +other matrons, all in after-supper spirits, he consented to wait +till Mrs. Turchill had seen one or two more dances.</p> + +<p>‘I like to watch them, Edgar,’ she said, ‘though I feel very +thankful to Providence that we didn’t dance in the same style, +or wear such tight dresses, in my time. I remember reading +that they wore scanty skirts and hardly any bodices in the +period of the French Revolution, and that some of their fashionable +women even went so far as to appear with bare feet, which +is almost too revolting to mention. All I can say is, that I hope +the dresses I see to-night are not the signs of an approaching +revolution in England; but I should hardly be surprised if they +were. Do go and get a nice partner and let me see you waltz,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</span> +Edgar. You’ve improved wonderfully since the Infirmary Ball +last year.’</p> + +<p>‘I’m glad you think so, mother, but I shan’t dance any more +to-night. I made no engagements for after supper, except with +Daphne, and she has gone home.’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, the South Hill people have gone, have they? Well, if +you’re not going to dance any more perhaps we may as well be +going too,’ said Mrs. Turchill, perceiving that a good many of +the county people were slipping quietly away, and not wishing +to be left with the masses.</p> + +<p>So Edgar, very glad to escape, gave his mother his arm and +assisted her to the cloak-room, where she completely extinguished +herself in a valuable though somewhat old-fashioned set of +sables, which covered her from head to foot, and made her look +like a walking haystack.</p> + +<p>How full of happy fancies the young man’s mind was as +they drove through the lanes and cross-country roads to Hawksyard +under that brilliant sky, so peopled with worlds of light—‘gods, +or the abodes of gods;’ he cared to-night no more than +Sardanapalus what those stars might be—with now a view of +distant hills, far away towards the famous Wrekin, a cloudlike +spot in the extreme distance, and now vivid gleams of the nearer +river, glittering under those glittering stars.</p> + +<p>‘Isn’t it a delicious night, mother?’ he cried, and only a +gentle snore—a snore expressive of the blissfulness of repose +after exertion—breathed from the matronly mass of furred +cloak and hood.</p> + +<p>He was quite alone—glad to be alone—alone with his new +sense of happiness, and the starry night, and the image of his +dear love.</p> + +<p>She had spoken him fair; she meant to make him happier +than man ever was upon earth, since the earth could have +produced but one Daphne. She must have meant something +by those delicious words, that sweet spontaneous praise. Unsolicited +she had taken his hand and pressed it with affectionate +warmth—she who had been so cold to him—she who had never +evinced one touch of tender feeling before; only a frank, sisterly +kindness, which was more galling than cruelty. And to-night +she had lifted up her eyes and looked at him—eyes so mournfully +sweet, so exquisitely beautiful.</p> + +<p>‘My angel, that marble heart is melted at last,’ he said to +himself. ‘Who would not be constant, for such a reward?’</p> + +<p>He had only been in love with Daphne a little over six +months, yet it seemed to him now that in that half year lay the +drama of his life. All that went before had been only prologue. +True that he had fancied himself in love with Madoline—the +lovely and gracious lady of his youthful dreams—but this was +but the false light that comes before the dawn. He felt some<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</span> +touch of shame at having been so deceived as to his own feelings. +He remembered that afternoon in the meadows between South +Hill and Arden Rectory, when he had poured his woes into +Daphne’s sympathising ears; when she, his idol of to-night, his +idol for evermore, had seemed to him only a pretty school-girl +in a muslin frock. Was she the same Daphne? Was he the +same Edgar? She who now was a goddess in his sight. He who +wondered that he could ever have cared for any other woman. +The disciple of Condillac, when he sits himself down seriously +to think out the question whether the rose which he touches and +smells is really an independent existence, or only exists in relation +to his own senses, was never in a more bewildered condition +than honest Edgar Turchill when he remembered how devotedly, +despairingly, undyingly, he had once loved—or fancied that he +loved—Madoline.</p> + +<p>‘Romeo was the same,’ he told himself sheepishly, having +taken to reading Shakespeare of late, to curry favour with that +fervid little Shakespearian, Daphne; ‘madly in love with Rosaline +at noon—over head and ears in love with Juliet before +midnight. And critics say that Shakespeare knew the human +heart.’</p> + +<p>Sleep that night was impossible for the master of Hawksyard. +Happily there was but a brief remnant of the night left in which +he need lie tossing on his sleepless couch, staring at the brown +oak panels, where the reflection of the night-lamp glimmered +like a dim starbeam in a turbid pool. Cold wintry dawn came +creeping over the hills, and at the first streak of daylight he was +up and in his icy bath, and then on with his riding-clothes and +away to the stable, where only one sleepy underling was moving +slowly about with a lantern, calling drowsily to the horses to +stand up and come out of a warm stable, in order to be tied to a +wall and have pails of water thrown at them in a cold yard.</p> + +<p>To saddle Black Pearl with his own hands was but five +minutes’ work, and in less than five more he was clattering under +the archway and off to the nearest bit of open country, to take it +out of the mare, who had not done any work for a week, and +was in a humour to take a good deal out of her rider. Edgar +this morning felt as if he could conquer the wildest horse that +ever was foaled—nay, the Prince of Darkness himself, had he +been called upon to wrestle with him under an equine guise.</p> + +<p>A hard gallop over a broad expanse of flat common, where +the winter rime lay silver-white above the russet sward, quieted +horse and rider; and, after a long round by lane and wood, +Edgar rode quietly back to Hawksyard between ten and eleven, +just in time to find his mother seated at breakfast, and wondering +at her own dissipation.</p> + +<p>After this unusually late breakfast Mr. Turchill went to look +at his horses—a regular thing on a non-hunting morning. ‘I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</span> +took it out of the mare,’ he said, as Black Pearl stood reeking in +her box, waiting to cool down before she was groomed.</p> + +<p>‘Indeed you have, sir,’ answered his head man—a faithful +creature, but not ceremonious with a master he adored. ‘You +don’t mean hunting her to-morrow, I suppose?’</p> + +<p>‘Well, yes, I did, if the weather allows. Don’t you think +she’ll be fit?’</p> + +<p>‘I think you’ve pretty well whacked her out for the next +week to come. She won’t touch her corn.’</p> + +<p>‘Poor old woman!’ said Edgar, going into the box and fondling +the beautiful black head. ‘Did we go too fast, my girl? +It was as much your fault as mine, my beauty. I think we were +both bewitched; but I must take the nonsense out of you somehow, +before you carry a lady.’</p> + +<p>‘You didn’t think of putting a lady on that mare, did you, +sir?’ asked the groom.</p> + +<p>‘Yes, I do. I think she’d carry a lady beautifully.’</p> + +<p>‘So she would, sir; but she wouldn’t carry the same lady +twice. There’d be very little left of the lady when she’d done.’</p> + +<p>‘Think so, Jarvey? Then we must find something better +for the lady—something as safe as a house, and as handsome as—as +paint,’ concluded Edgar, whose mind was not richly stocked +with poetical similes. ‘If you hear of anything very perfect in +the market you can let me know.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, sir.’</p> + +<p>It seemed early in the day to think of buying a horse for a +wife who was yet to be won; but, encouraged by those few +words of Daphne’s, Edgar saw all the future in so rosy a light +that, this morning, freshened and exhilarated by his long ride, +he felt as secure of happiness as if the wedding-bells were ringing +their gay joy-peal over the flat green fields and winding +waters. He was longing to see Daphne again, to win from her +some confirmation of his hope; and now as he moved about the +poultry-yard and gardens he was counting the minutes which +must pass before he could with decency present himself at South +Hill.</p> + +<p>It would not do for him to go there before luncheon. Everybody +would be tired. Afternoon tea-time would perhaps be the +more agreeable hour. It was a period of the day in which +women always seemed to him more friendly and amiable than at +any other time—content to lay aside the most enthralling book, +or the newest passion in fancy-work, and to abandon themselves +graciously to the milder pleasures of society.</p> + +<p>The afternoon was so fine that he went on foot to pay his +visit, glad to get rid of the time between luncheon and five +o’clock in a leisurely six-mile walk. It was a delicious walk by +meadow, and copse, and river-side, and although Edgar knew +every inch of the way, he loved nature in all her moods so well<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</span> +that the varying beauties of a frosty winter afternoon were as +welcome to his eye and spirit as the lush loveliness of midsummer; +and he was thinking of Daphne all the way, picturing her +smile of greeting, feeling the thrilling touch of her hand, warm +in his own.</p> + +<p>Madoline, or Sir Vernon, would ask him to dinner, no doubt; +and then, some time during the evening, he would be able to +get Daphne all to himself in the conservatory, on the stairs, in +the corridor. His heart and mind were so full of purpose that +he felt what he had to say could be said briefly. He would +ask her if she had not repented her cruelty that night in the +walnut walk; if she had not found out that true love, even from +a somewhat inferior kind of person, was worth having—a jewel +not to be flung under the feet of swine. And then, and then, +she would lift up those sweet eyes to his face—as she had done +last night—and he would clasp her unreproved in his arms, and +know himself supremely blest. Life could hold no more delight. +Death might come that moment and find him content to die.</p> + +<p>It was dusk when he came to South Hill, a frosty twilight, +with a crimson glow of sunset low down in the gray sky, and +happy robins chirruping in the plantations, where the purple +rhododendrons flowered so luxuriantly in spring-time, and where +scarlet berries of holly and mountain ash enlivened the dull dark +greenery of winter. The house on the hill, with its many windows, +some shining with firelight from within, others reflecting +the ruddier light in the sky, made a pleasant picture after a six-mile +tramp through a somewhat lonely landscape. It looked a +hospitable house, a house full of happy people, a house where a +man might find a temporary haven from the cares of life. To +Edgar’s eyes the firelight shining from within was like a welcome.</p> + +<p>‘Miss Lawford at home?’ he inquired.</p> + +<p>‘Not at home,’ answered the footman with a decisive air.</p> + +<p>Now there is something much more crushing in the manner +of a footman when he tells you that his people are out than in +that of the homelier parlour-maid who gives the same information. +The girl would fain reconcile you to the blow; she sympathises +with you in your disappointment. Perhaps she offers +you the somewhat futile consolation implied in the fact that her +mistress has only just stepped out, or comforts you with the distant +hope that your friend will be home to dinner. She would +be glad if she could to lessen your regret. But the well-trained +man-servant looks at you with the blank and stony gaze of a +blind destiny. His voice is doom. ‘Not at home,’ he says +curtly; and if, perchance, there be any expression in his face, it +will be a veiled scorn, as who should say, ‘Not at home—to +you.’</p> + +<p>But Edgar was in a mood not to be daunted by the most icy<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</span> +of menials—a Warwickshire bumpkin two years ago, but steeped +to the lips in the languid insolence of May Fair to-day.</p> + +<p>‘Is Miss Daphne Lawford at home?’ he asked.</p> + +<p>The footman believed, with supreme indifference, as if the +presence or absence of a younger daughter who was not an +heiress were a question he could hardly stoop to contemplate, that +Miss Daphne Lawford might possibly be found upon the premises; +and he further condescended to impart the information +that Miss Lawford had driven to the Abbey with Mrs. Ferrers +and Mr. Goring to see the improvements.</p> + +<p>‘I’ll go and find her for myself,’ said Edgar, too eager to wait +for forms and ceremonies; ‘I daresay she is in the morning-room.’</p> + +<p>He passed the servant, and went straight to the pretty room +where he had been so much at home for the last ten years. +There were no lamps or candles; Daphne was sitting alone in +the firelight, in one of those low roomy chairs which modern +upholsterers delight in—sitting alone, with neither book nor +work, and Fluff, the Maltese terrier, curled up in her lap.</p> + +<p>Her eyelids were lowered, and Edgar approached her softly, +thinking she was asleep; but at the sound of his footfall she +looked up, gently, gravely, without any surprise at his coming.</p> + +<p>‘I hope that you are better—quite well, in fact; that you +have entirely recovered from your fatigue last night,’ he began +tenderly.</p> + +<p>‘I am quite well,’ she answered almost angrily, and blushing +crimson with vexation. ‘Pray don’t make a fuss about it. +Waltzing so long made me giddy. That was all.’</p> + +<p>Her snappish tone was a cruel change after her sweetness +last night. Edgar’s heart sank very low at this unexpected +rebuff.</p> + +<p>‘You are all alone,’ he said feebly.</p> + +<p>‘Unless you count Fluff and the squirrel, yes. But they are +very good company,’ answered Daphne, brightening a little, and +smiling at him with that provoking kindness, that easy friendliness, +which always chilled his soul.</p> + +<p>It was so hopelessly unlike the feeling he wished to awaken.</p> + +<p>‘Madoline drove to the Abbey with Aunt Rhoda and Mr. +Goring directly after luncheon. The new hot-houses are finished, +I believe, at last. I have been horribly lazy. I only came down +an hour ago.’</p> + +<p>‘I am glad you were able to sleep,’ said Edgar. ‘It was more +than I could do.’</p> + +<p>‘I suppose nobody ever does sleep much after a ball,’ answered +Daphne. ‘The music goes on repeating itself over and +over again in one’s brain, and one goes spinning round in a perpetual +imaginary waltz. I was thinking all last night of Don +Ramiro and Donna Clara.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</span></p> + +<p>‘Friends of yours?’ inquired Edgar.</p> + +<p>Daphne’s eyes sparkled at the question, but she did not +laugh. She only looked at him with a compassionate smile.</p> + +<p>‘You have never read Heine?’</p> + +<p>‘Never. Is it interesting?’</p> + +<p>‘Heinrich Heine? He was a German poet, don’t you know. +As great a poet, almost, as Byron.’</p> + +<p>‘Unhappily I don’t read German.’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, but some of his poetry has been translated. The translations +are not much like the original, but still they are something.’</p> + +<p>‘And who is Don— Ra——what’s-his-name?’ inquired Edgar, +still very much in the dark.</p> + +<p>‘The hero of a ballad—an awful, ghastly, ghostly ballad, ever +so much ghastlier than Alonzo the Brave and the Fair Imogene, +and the worms they crept in, and the worms they crept out, don’t +you know. He is dead, and she has jilted him, and married somebody +else; and he has promised her on the eve of her wedding +that he will come to the wedding feast: and he comes and waltzes +with her, and she doesn’t know that he is dead, and she reproaches +him for wearing a black cloak at her bridal, and she asks him why +his cheeks are snow-white and his hands ice-cold, and they go on +whirling round all the time, the trumpets blowing and the drums +beating, and to all she says he gives the same answer:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Said I not that I would come?”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="no-indent">That awful ballad was in my mind all night, and when I did at +last fall asleep, I dreamt I was at the ball again, and instead of +Stratford Town Hall we were in an old Gothic palace at Toledo +and—and—the person I was dancing with was Don Ramiro. +His white dead face looked down at me, and all the people +vanished, and we were dancing alone in the dark cold hall.’</p> + +<p>She shuddered at the recollection of her dream, clasping her +hands before her face, as if to shut out some hideous sight.</p> + +<p>‘You ought not to read such poetry,’ said Edgar, deeply concerned. +‘How can people let you have such books?’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, there is no harm in the book. You know I adore poetry. +Directly I was able to write a German exercise, I got hold of +Heine, and began to spell out his verses. They are so sweet, so +mournful, so full of a patient despair.’</p> + +<p>‘You have too much imagination,’ said Edgar. ‘You ought +to read sober solid prose.’</p> + +<p>‘“Blair’s Lectures,” “Sturm’s Reflections,” “Locke on the +Understanding,”’ retorted Daphne, laughing. ‘No; I like books +that take me out of myself and into another world.’</p> + +<p>‘But if they only take you into charnel-houses, among ghosts +and dead people, I don’t see the advantage of that.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</span></p> + +<p>‘Don’t you? There are times when anything is better than +one’s own thoughts.’</p> + +<p>‘Why should you shrink from thought?’ asked Edgar tenderly. +‘You can have nothing painful to remember or think about; +unless,’ he added, seeing an opening, ‘you feel remorseful for +having been so cruel to me.’</p> + +<p>He had drawn his chair close to hers in the firelight—the +ruddy, comfortable light which folded them round like a rosy +cloud. She sat far back in her downy nest, almost buried in its +soft depths, her eyes gazing dreamily at the fire, her sunny hair +glittering in the fitful light. If she had been looking him full +in the face, in broad day, Edgar Turchill could hardly have been +so bold.</p> + +<p>‘I did feel very sorry, last night, when you were so good to +me,’ she said slowly.</p> + +<p>‘Good to you! Why, I did nothing!’</p> + +<p>‘You are so loyal and good. I saw it all last night, as if your +heart had suddenly been spread open before me like a book. I +think I read you plainly last night for the first time. You are +faithful and true; a gentleman to the core of your heart. All +men ought to be like that: but they are not.’</p> + +<p>‘You can have had very little experience of their shortcomings,’ +said Edgar, his heart glowing at her praise. And then, +emboldened, and yet full of fear, he hastened to take advantage +of her humour. ‘If you can trust me; if you think me in the +slightest measure worthy of these sweet words, which might be +a much better man’s crown of bliss, why will you not make me +completely happy? I love you so truly, so dearly, that, if to +have an honest man for your slave can help to make your life +pleasant, you had better take me. I know that I am not worthy +of you, that you are as high above me in intellect, and grace, +and beauty, as the stars are in their mystery and splendour; +but a more brilliant man might not be quite so ready to mould +himself according to your will, to sink his own identity in yours, +to be your very slave, in fact; to have no purpose except to +obey you.’</p> + +<p>‘Don’t!’ cried Daphne. ‘If you were my husband, I should +like you to make me obey. I am not such a fool as to want a +slave.’</p> + +<p>‘Let me be your husband; we can settle afterwards who +shall obey,’ pleaded Edgar, leaning with folded arms upon the +broad elbow of her chair, trying to get as near her as her +entrenched position would allow.</p> + +<p>‘I like you very much. After Madoline there is no one I +like better,’ faltered Daphne; ‘but I am not the least little +bit in love with you. I suppose it is wrong to be so candid; +but I want you to know the truth.’</p> + +<p>‘If you like me well enough to marry me, I am content.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</span></p> + +<p>‘Really and truly? Content to accept liking instead of love; +confidence and frank straightforward friendship instead of sentiment +or romance?’</p> + +<p>‘I do not care a straw for romance. And to be liked and +trusted——well, that is something. So long as there is no one +else you have ever liked better——’</p> + +<p>The face turned towards the fire quivered with the passing +of a strong emotion, but Edgar could only see the thick ripple a +of golden hair making a wavy line above the delicate ear, and +the perfect outline of the throat, rising out of its soft lace ruffle +like the stem of a lily from among its leaves.</p> + +<p>‘Who else is there for me to like?’ she asked with a faint +laugh.</p> + +<p>‘Then, dearest, I would rather have your liking than any +other woman’s love: and it shall go hard with me if liking do +not grow to love before our lives are ended,’ said Edgar, clasping +the hand that lay inert upon Fluff’s silky back.</p> + +<p>The Maltese resented the liberty by an ineffectual snap.</p> + +<p>‘Please, don’t—don’t think it quite settled yet,’ cried Daphne, +scared by this hand-clasp, which seemed like taking possession +of her. ‘You must give me time to breathe—time to think. I +want to be worthy of you, if I can—if—if—I am ever to be your +wife. I want to be loyal—and honest—as you are.’</p> + +<p>‘Only say that you will be my wife. I can trust you with +the rest of my fate.’</p> + +<p>‘Give me a few days—a few hours, at least—to consider.’</p> + +<p>‘But why not to-day? Let it be to-day,’ he pleaded passionately.</p> + +<p>‘You must give me a little while,’ answered Daphne, smiling +faintly at his impatience, which seemed to her something childish, +she not being touched by the same passion, or inspired by +the same hope, being, as it were, outside the circle of his +thoughts. ‘If—if—you are very anxious to be answered—let +it be to-day.’</p> + +<p>‘Bless you, darling!’</p> + +<p>‘But don’t be grateful in advance. The answer may be No.’</p> + +<p>‘It must not. You would not break my heart a second +time.’</p> + +<p>‘Ah, then you contrived to mend it after the first breakage,’ +retorted Daphne, laughing with something of her old mirth. +‘Madoline broke it first, and you patched it together and made +quite a good job of it, and then offered it to me. Well, if you +really wish it, you shall have your answer to-night. I must +speak to Lina first.’</p> + +<p>‘I know she will be on my side.’</p> + +<p>‘Tremendously. You will dine here, of course. And I suppose +you will go away at about eleven o’clock. You know the +window of my room?’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</span></p> + +<p>‘Know it!’ cried Edgar, who had lingered to gaze at that +particular casement under every condition of sky and temperature. +‘Know it? Did Romeo know Juliet’s balcony?’</p> + +<p>‘Well, then, at ten minutes past eleven look up at my +window. If the answer be No, the shutters will be shut, and all +dark; if the answer be Yes, the lamp shall be in the window.’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, blessed light. I know the lamp will be there.’</p> + +<p>‘And now no more of this nonsense,’ said Daphne imperatively. +‘I am going to give you some tea.’</p> + +<p>‘Put a dose of poison in it, and finish me off straight, if the +lamp is not going to shine in your window.’</p> + +<p>‘Absurd man! Do you suppose I know any more than you +what the answer is to be? We are the sport of Fate.’</p> + +<p>The door was opened gently, as if it had been the entrance +to a sick man’s chamber, and the well-drilled footman brought +in a little folding table, and then a tea-tray, an intensely new-fashioned +old-fashioned oval oaken tray, with a silver railing, +and oriental cups and saucers <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">à la Belinda</i>—everything strictly +of the hoop-and-patch period. These frivolities of tray and tea-things +were one of Mr. Goring’s latest gifts to his mistress.</p> + +<p>Not another tender word would Daphne allow from her +lover. She talked of the people at the ball, asked for details +about everybody—the girl in the pink frock; the matron with +hardly any frock at all; the hunting men and squires of high +degree. She kept Edgar so fully employed answering her questions +that he had no time to edge in an amorous speech, though +his whole being was breathing love.</p> + +<p>Madoline and Gerald Goring came in and found them <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tête-à-tête</i> +by the fire. They had made a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">détour</i> on their way home, +and had deposited Mrs. Ferrers at the Rectory. It was the first +time Gerald had seen Daphne since the ball.</p> + +<p>‘Better?’ he inquired, with a friendly nod.</p> + +<p>‘Quite well, thanks. I have not been ill,’ she answered +curtly.</p> + +<p>Mr. Goring seated himself in a shadowy corner, remote from +the little group by the tea-table.</p> + +<p>‘Shall I ring for more tea, or have you had some at the +Abbey?’ asked Daphne, with a businesslike air.</p> + +<p>‘We had tea in Lady Geraldine’s room,’ answered Madoline. +‘I wish you had been with us, Daphne. It is such a lovely +room in the firelight. The houses are all finished, and Cormack +has filled three of them already. Such lovely flowers! I can’t +imagine where he has found them.’</p> + +<p>‘Easy to do that kind of thing when one has a floating +balance of fifty thousand or so at one’s bankers,’ answered Edgar +cheerily. ‘My wife will have to put up with a few old orange-trees +that have been at Hawksyard for a century.’</p> + +<p>The tone in which he uttered those two words ‘my wife,’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</span> +startled Gerald out of his reverie. There was a world of suppressed +delight and triumph in the utterance.</p> + +<p>‘He has been asking her to marry him, and she has relented, +and accepted him,’ he thought, hardly knowing whether to be +glad or angry.</p> + +<p>Was it not ever so much better that she should reward this +faithful fellow’s devotion, and marry, and be happy in the +beaten track of life? He had told himself once that she was +a creature just a little too bright and lovely for treading beaten +tracks, a girl who ought to be the heroine of some romantic history. +Yet, are these heroines of romance the happiest among +women? Was the young woman who was sewn up in a sack +and drowned in the Bosphorus happy, though her fate inspired +one of the finest poems that ever was written? Was Sappho +particularly blest, or Hero, Heloise, or Juliet? Their fame was +the fruit of exceptional disaster, and not of exceptional joy. +The Greek was wise who said that the happiest she is the woman +who has no history.</p> + +<p>Sir Vernon Lawford came in while they were all talking of +hot-houses, and asked for a cup of tea, an unusual condescension +on his part, and which fluttered Daphne a little as she rang +the bell for a fresh teapot.</p> + +<p>‘Don’t trouble yourself, my dear. Give me anything you +have there,’ he said, more kindly than he was wont to speak. +‘So you were too tired to show at luncheon. Your aunt says +you danced too much.’</p> + +<p>‘It was her first ball,’ pleaded Madoline.</p> + +<p>‘Yes; the first, but not likely to be the last. She is launched +now, and will have plenty of invitations. A foolish friend of +mine told me that Daphne was the belle of the ball.’</p> + +<p>‘She was,’ said Edgar sturdily. ‘I saw two old women +standing on a rout-seat to look at her.’</p> + +<p>‘Is that conclusive?’ asked Sir Vernon good-humouredly, +and with a shrewd glance from Edgar to his fair-haired daughter.</p> + +<p>‘I think people must have been demented if they wasted +a look upon me while Lina was in the room,’ said Daphne.</p> + +<p>‘Oh, but every one knows Lina,’ answered her father, +pleased at this homage to his beloved elder daughter. ‘You +are a novelty.’</p> + +<p>He was proud of her success, in spite of himself; proud +that she should have burst upon his Warwickshire friends like +a revelation of hitherto unknown beauty—unknown, at least, +since his second wife, in all the witchery of her charms, had +turned the heads of the county twenty years ago. That beauty +had been a fatal dower—fatal to her, fatal to him—and he had +often told himself that Daphne’s prettiness was a perilous thing; +to be looked at with the eye of fear and suspicion rather than<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</span> +that of love. And yet he was pleased at her triumph, and +inclined to be kinder to her on account thereof.</p> + +<p>They seemed a happy family-party at dinner that day. +Madoline was full of delight in the improvement of her future +home—full of gratitude to her betrothed for the largeness with +which he had anticipated her wishes. Edgar was in high spirits; +Daphne all gaiety; Sir Vernon unusually open in speech and +manner. If Gerald was more silent than the others, nobody +noticed his reserve. He had been quiet all day, and when +Madoline had questioned him as to the cause, had owned to not +being particularly well.</p> + +<p>Later in the evening they all adjourned to the billiard-room, +with the exception of Daphne, who pleaded a headache, and bade +every one good-night; but about an hour afterwards, upon the +stroke of eleven, Madoline, who had just gone up to her room, +was startled by a knock at her door, and then by the apparition +of Daphne in her long white dressing-gown.</p> + +<p>‘My pet, I thought you went to bed an hour ago.’</p> + +<p>‘No, dear. I had a headache, but I was not sleepy.’</p> + +<p>‘My poor darling; you are so pale and heavy-eyed. Come +to the fire.’</p> + +<p>Madoline wanted to instal her in one of the cosy armchairs +by the hearth, but Daphne slipped to her favourite seat on the +fleecy white rug at her sister’s feet.</p> + +<p>‘No, dear; like this,’ she said, looking up at Madoline with +tearful eyes; ‘at your feet—always at your feet; so much lower +than you in all things—so little worthy of your love.’</p> + +<p>‘Daphne, it offends me to hear you talk like that. You are +all that is sweet and dear. You and I are equal in all things, +except fortune: and it shall not be my fault if we are not made +equal in that.’</p> + +<p>‘Fortune!’ echoed Daphne drearily. ‘Oh, if you but knew +how little I value that. It is your goodness I revere—your +purity, your—’</p> + +<p>She burst into tears, and sobbed passionately, with her face +hidden on her sister’s knee.</p> + +<p>‘Daphne, what has happened—what has grieved you so? +Tell me, darling; trust me.’</p> + +<p>‘It is nothing; mere foolishness of mine.’</p> + +<p>‘You have something to tell me, I know.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes,’ answered Daphne, drying her tears hastily and looking +up with a grave set face. ‘I have come to ask your advice. I +mean to abide by your decision, whichever way it may fall. +Edgar wants me to marry him, and I have promised him an +answer to-night. Shall it be “Yes” or “No?”’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, of course, my pet, if you love him.’</p> + +<p>‘But I don’t; not the least atom. I have told him so in the +very plainest straightest words I could find. But he still wishes<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</span> +me to be Mrs. Turchill; and he seems to think that when I have +been married to him twenty years or so I shall get really attached +to him—as Mrs. John Anderson, my Jo, did, don’t you know? +She may have cared very little for Mr. Anderson at the outset.’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, Daphne,’ sighed Madoline, with a distressed look, ‘this +is very puzzling. I don’t know what to say. I like Edgar so +much—I value him so highly—and I should dearly like you to +marry him.’</p> + +<p>‘You would!’ cried Daphne decisively. ‘Then that settles +it. I shall marry him.’</p> + +<p>‘But you don’t care for him.’</p> + +<p>‘I care for you. I would do anything in this world—yes,’ +with sudden energy, ‘the most difficult thing, were it at the cost +of my life—to make you happy. Would it make you happy for +me to marry Edgar?’</p> + +<p>‘I believe it would.’</p> + +<p>‘Then I’ll do it. Hark! there’s the outer door shutting,’ +cried Daphne, as the hall-door closed with a hollow reverberation. +‘Edgar will be under my window in a minute or two. +I’ll run and give him my answer.’</p> + +<p>‘What do you mean?’</p> + +<p>‘A lamp in my window is to signify Yes.’</p> + +<p>‘Go and put the lamp there, darling. May it be a star for +you both, shining upon the beginning of a bright happy life!’</p> + +<p>A few minutes later Edgar, standing in the shrubbery walk, +with his eyes fixed on Daphne’s casement, the owner of them +unconscious of winter’s cold, saw the bright spot of light stream +out upon the darkness, and knew that he was to be blest. He +went home like a man in a happy dream, scarce knowing by +what paths he went; and it is a mercy he did not walk into +the Avon and incontinently drown himself.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII.<br> +<span class="fs70">‘FOR I WOL GLADLY YELDEN HIRE MY PLACE.’</span></h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Edgar Turchill</span> rode over to South Hill directly after +breakfast next morning. It was a hunting-day, and the meet +was at a favourite spot; but he had business to do which could +brook no delay, and even the delight of skimming across the +Vale of the Red Horse, on a hunter well able to carry him, must +give way to the more vital matter which called him to the house +on the hill. So soon as Sir Vernon Lawford might be fairly +supposed to be accessible to a visitor, Mr. Turchill presented +himself, and asked for an interview.</p> + +<p>He was ushered straight to Sir Vernon’s study, that sacred, +and in a manner official chamber, which he had ever held in awe;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</span> +a room in which the driest possible books, in the richest possible +bindings, repelled the inquiring mind of an ordinary student, +who, looking for Waverley, found himself confronted with Blackstone, +or exploring for Byron, found himself face to face with +Coke or Chitty.</p> + +<p>Here, Sir Vernon, seated reposefully in his great red morocco +armchair, listened courteously to Edgar’s relation of his love, +and his hope that, subject to parental approval, his constancy +might speedily be rewarded. ‘I have heard something of this +before,’ said Sir Vernon. ‘My sister told me you had proposed +to Daphne, and had been rejected. I was sorry the child had +not better taste; for I like you very much, Turchill, as I believe +you know.’</p> + +<p>‘You have been very good to me,’ answered Edgar, reddening +with the honest warmth of his feelings. ‘South Hill has +been my second home. The happiest hours of my life have +been spent here. Yes, Sir Vernon, Daphne certainly did refuse +me in the summer; but I felt that it was my own fault. I spoke +too soon. I ought to have bided my time. And last night, after +the ball, I spoke again, and—’</p> + +<p>‘With a happier result,’ said Sir Vernon. ‘But Daphne is +little more than a child—no wiser than a child in her whims +and fancies. I should not like a straightforward fellow like +you to suffer from a school-girl’s frivolity. Do you think she +knows her own mind now any better than she did in the summer, +when she gave you quite a different answer? Are you +sure that she is in earnest—that she is as fond of you as you are +of her?’</p> + +<p>‘I have no hope of that,’ answered Edgar, a little despondently. +‘I have been loving her ever since she came home, and +my love has grown stronger with every day of my life. If she +likes me well enough to marry me, I am content.’</p> + +<p>Sir Vernon remained silent for some moments, gravely contemplating +the fire, as if he were reading somebody’s history in +it, and that a gloomy one.</p> + +<p>‘I am fond enough of you to be sorry you should marry on +such conditions,’ he answered, after a longish pause. ‘My +younger daughter is a very pretty girl—people persecuted me +with compliments about her the other night—and, I suppose, a +very fascinating girl; but if she does not honestly and sincerely +return your love, I say, Do not marry her. Pluck her out of +your heart, Edgar, as you would a poisonous weed. Be sure, if +you don’t, the poison will rankle there by-and-by, and develop +its venom at the time you are least prepared for it.’</p> + +<p>Edgar, secure in his assurance of future happiness—for what +man, having won Daphne, could fail to be happy?—smiled at +the unwonted energy of Sir Vernon’s address.</p> + +<p>‘My dear sir, you take this matter too seriously,’ he replied.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</span> +‘I have no fear of the issue. Daphne’s heart is free, and it will +be very hard if I cannot make myself owner of it, loving her +as I do, and having her promise to marry me. I only want to +be assured of your approval.’</p> + +<p>‘That you have with all heartiness, my dear boy. But I +should like to be sure that Daphne is worthy of you.’</p> + +<p>‘Worthy of me!’ echoed Edgar, with a tender smile; ‘I +wish to Heaven I were worthy of her.’</p> + +<p>‘She is very young,’ said Sir Vernon thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>‘Nineteen on her next birthday.’</p> + +<p>‘But that birthday is nearly a year off. I hope you will not +be in a hurry to be married.’</p> + +<p>‘I shall defer that to your judgment; though I think, as I +can never feel warmly interested in Hawksyard till I have a +wife there, the sooner we are married, so far as my happiness is +concerned, the better.’</p> + +<p>‘Of course. You young men have always some all-sufficient +reason for being over the border with the lady. How will your +mother relish the change?’</p> + +<p>Poor Edgar winced at the question, feeling very sure that +Mrs. Turchill would take the event as her death-blow.</p> + +<p>‘My mother is perfectly independent,’ he faltered. ‘She has +her jointure.’</p> + +<p>‘Has she not Hawksyard for her life?’</p> + +<p>‘No; the estate was strictly entailed. I am sole master +there.’</p> + +<p>‘I am glad of that,’ said Sir Vernon. ‘It is an interesting +old place.’</p> + +<p>‘Daphne likes it,’ murmured Edgar fatuously.</p> + +<p>‘I suppose you know that I can give my younger daughter +no fortune?’</p> + +<p>‘If you could give her a million, it would not make me one +whit better pleased at winning her.’</p> + +<p>‘I believe you, Edgar,’ answered Sir Vernon. ‘When a +man of your mould is in love, filthy lucre has very little weight +with him. There will be a residue, I have no doubt, when I +am gone—a few thousands; but the bulk of my property was +settled when I married Lina’s mother. I suppose you know +that Lina is very pleased at the idea of having you for a brother-in-law?’</p> + +<p>‘I know nothing, except that Daphne has consented to be +my wife.’</p> + +<p>‘Lina announced the fact to me this morning at breakfast. +Daphne was not down—a headache—a little natural shyness, I +daresay. Lina is very glad—very much your friend.’</p> + +<p>‘She has always been that,’ faltered Edgar, looking back +with half-incredulous wonder to the time when a word from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</span> +Lina had been enough to stir the pulses of his heart, when the +mention of her name was music.</p> + +<p>‘I think I cannot do better for you than leave your happiness +in Lina’s care,’ said Sir Vernon. ‘Daphne will not be +married first, of course.’</p> + +<p>‘Might they not be married on the same day?’ suggested +Edgar. ‘Lina is to be married directly she comes of age, is she +not?’</p> + +<p>‘That has been proposed,’ said Sir Vernon reluctantly, ‘but +I am in no hurry to lose my daughter, and I don’t think Lina +is eager to leave me. In my precarious state of health it will be +hard for me to bear the pain of parting.’</p> + +<p>‘But, my dear Sir Vernon, she will be so near you—quite +close at hand,’ remonstrated Edgar, inwardly revolting against +this selfishness, which would delay his own happiness as well as +Goring’s.</p> + +<p>‘Don’t talk about it, Turchill,’ exclaimed Sir Vernon testily. +‘You don’t understand—you can’t enter into my feelings. My +daughter is all the world to me now. What will she be when +she is a wife, a mother, with a hundred different interests and +anxieties plucking at her heart-strings? Why, I daresay a +teething-baby would be more to her than her father, if I were +on my death-bed.’</p> + +<p>‘Indeed, Sir Vernon, you wrong her.’</p> + +<p>‘I daresay I do. But I am devoured with jealousy when I +think of her belonging to anyone else. It is the penalty she +pays for having been perfect as a daughter. Our virtues, as +well as our vices, are often scourges for our own backs. However, +when the time comes I must bear the blow with a smiling +countenance, that she may never know how hard I am hit. +Only you can imagine I don’t want to hasten the evil hour. +And now, as I think we understand each other, you may be off +to pleasanter society than mine.’</p> + +<p>Edgar instantly availed himself of this permission, and hastened +to the morning-room, where Madoline was seated at her +work-table, while Daphne twisted herself round and round on +the music-stool, now talking to her sister, now playing a few +bars of one of Schumann’s ‘<em>Kinderstücken</em>,’ anon picking out a +popular melody she had heard the faithful Bink whistle as he +weeded his flower-beds.</p> + +<p>She started a little at Edgar’s entrance, and ‘blushed celestial +red, love’s proper hue,’ much to the delight of her lover, who +hung out a rosy flag on his own side, and looked as shy as any +school-girl.</p> + +<p>He shook hands with Madoline, and then went straight to +the piano, and tried by a tender pressure of Daphne’s hand to +express something of the rapture that was flooding his soul.</p> + +<p>‘I have seen your father, dearest,’ he said in her ear, as she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</span> +went on lightly playing little bits of Schumann. ‘He thoroughly +approves—he is glad.’</p> + +<p>‘Then I am glad if he is glad, and you are glad, and Madoline +is glad,’ answered Daphne, with a smile in which there was +a subtle mockery that escaped Edgar’s perception. ‘What can +I do better than please everybody?’</p> + +<p>‘You have made me the happiest man in creation.’</p> + +<p>‘Does not every young man say that when he is engaged?’ +asked Daphne laughingly. ‘I believe it is a formula. And +when he has been married a year the happiest man in creation +takes to quarrelling with his wife. However, I hope we may +not quarrel. I will try to be as good to you as you have been +to me; and that is saying a good deal.’</p> + +<p>They lingered by the piano, Edgar pouring forth vague +expressions of his delight, his gratitude, his intoxication of bliss. +Daphne playing a little, and listening a little, with her eyes +always on the keys, offering her lover only the lashes, dark +brown with sparks of gold upon their tips, for his contemplation. +But such lashes, and such eyelids, and such a lovely droop of +the small classic head, were enough to satisfy a lover’s eye for +longer than Edgar was required to look at them.</p> + +<p>By-and-by, when he had exhausted a lover’s capacity for +talking nonsense, he made a sudden dash at the practical.</p> + +<p>‘I want you to come and see my mother, Daphne.’</p> + +<p>‘Have you told her?’</p> + +<p>‘No, not yet. There has been no opportunity, you know.’</p> + +<p>This was hardly true, since, seated opposite Mrs. Turchill +at the breakfast-table that morning, Edgar had vainly endeavoured +to frame the sentence which should announce his bliss, +and had found an awkwardness in the revelation which required +to be surmounted at more leisure.</p> + +<p>‘I am going to tell her directly I go home. It was better +to see Sir Vernon first, don’t you know. And I want you and +Madoline to come over to tea this afternoon. You could drive +over to Hawksyard with Daphne after luncheon, couldn’t you, +Madoline?’ he asked, going over to the work-table. ‘It would +be so good of you, and would please my mother so very much.’</p> + +<p>‘Would it?’ asked Lina, smiling up at him. ‘Then it shall +be done.’</p> + +<p>The young man lingered as long as he could, consistently +with his performance of that duty which he felt must not be +deferred beyond luncheon time. It was hardly a good time to +choose for the revelation, for Mrs. Turchill was apt to be somewhat +disturbed in her temper at the mid-day meal; her patience +having been exercised by sundry defalcations discovered in her +morning round of the house. It might be that new milk had +been given away to unauthorised recipients, or to pensioners +who were only entitled to receive skimmed milk; it might be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</span> +an unexplainable evanishment of home-brewed beer: or that +the principal oak staircase was not so slippery as it ought to be; +or that the famous pewter dinner-service was tarnished; or a +favourite fender displayed spots of rust; but there was generally +something, some feather-weight of domestic care which disturbed +the even balance of Mrs. Turchill’s mind at this hour. +Like those modern scales which can be turned by an infinitesimal +portion of a human hair, so the fine balance of Mrs. +Turchill’s temper required but very little to alter it.</p> + +<p>Edgar rode home to Hawksyard in the clear bright winter +noontide, feeling as much like a convicted criminal as a young +man of pure mind and clear conscience well could feel. He +went bustling into the dining-room, rubbing his hands, and +making a great pretence of cheeriness. His mother was standing +on the hearth-rug knitting a useful brown winter sock—for +him, he knew. Those active knitting-needles of hers were +always at work for him. He felt himself an ingrate, as he +thought of her labour.</p> + +<p>‘Well, mother; lovely weather, isn’t it, so wintry and seasonable? +I hope you have had a pleasant morning.’</p> + +<p>‘About as pleasant as I can have in a nest of vipers,’ answered +Mrs. Turchill, frowning at her work, and intent upon +turning a heel.</p> + +<p>‘What’s up now?’ asked Edgar, nothing startled by the +vigour of her speech.</p> + +<p>‘The beer consumed at Christmas—I won’t say drunk, for +gallons of it must have been given away—is something too +dreadful to contemplate,’ replied Mrs. Turchill.</p> + +<p>‘Never mind the beer, mother,’ answered Edgar, still rubbing +his hands before the fire, and shifting from one foot to +another in a manner that indicated a certain perturbation of +spirit; ‘Christmas comes only once a year, you know, and the +servants ought to enjoy themselves.’</p> + +<p>‘That’s all very well, Edgar, within proper limits; but +when I see them stepping over the boundary line——’</p> + +<p>‘You feel that it’s time to put on the drag,’ interjected +Edgar. ‘Of course; very right and proper. Whatever should +I do without such a dear prudent mother to look after things?’</p> + +<p>And then, suddenly remembering that the most eager desire +of his heart at this very moment was to substitute a foolish +young wife for this wise and experienced housekeeper, Edgar +Turchill became suddenly as vermilion as the most vivid cock’s-comb +in his mother’s poultry-yard. He felt that the revelation +he had to make must be blurted out somehow. There was no +use in prancing before the fire, making such a serious business +of warming his hands.</p> + +<p>‘I’ve been over to South Hill this morning, mother,’ he said +at last, rather jerkily.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</span></p> + +<p>‘Have you?’ said Mrs. Turchill curtly. ‘It seems to me +you never go anywhere else.’</p> + +<p>‘Well, I’m afraid that’s a true bill,’ he answered, laughing +with affected heartiness, very much as the timorous traveller +whistles in a lonely wood. ‘I love the place, and the people +who live in it. South Hill has been my second home ever since +I was a little bit of a chap at Rugby. But this morning I have +been there on very particular business. I have been having a +serious talk with Sir Vernon. I wonder if you could guess the +subject of our conversation, mother, and spare my blushes in +telling it?’</p> + +<p>It was Mrs. Turchill’s turn to assume the cock’s-comb’s +flaming hue.</p> + +<p>‘If you have done anything to blush for, Edgar, I am sorry +for you,’ she observed sternly. ‘Your father was one of the +most respectable men in Warwickshire, and the most looked up +to, or my father would not have allowed me to marry him.’</p> + +<p>‘You are taking me a trifle too literally, mother,’ answered +Edgar, laughing uneasily. ‘I hope there is nothing disreputable +in a man of my age falling in love and wanting to be married. +That’s the only crime I have to confess this morning. Yesterday +afternoon I asked Daphne to be my wife, and she consented; +and this morning I settled it all with Sir Vernon. We are to +be married on the same day as Goring and Madoline—at least, +Sir Vernon said something to that effect.’</p> + +<p>‘Indeed!’ exclaimed Mrs. Turchill freezingly. ‘Indeed! +And now Miss Daphne has consented and Sir Vernon has consented, +and the very wedding-day is fixed, you do me the honour +to inform me. I thank you from my heart, Edgar, for the +respect and affection, the consideration and regard, you have +shown for me in this matter. I am not likely to forget your +conduct.’</p> + +<p>‘Dearest mother,’ gasped Edgar affrightedly, for the icy indignation +of his parent’s speech and manner went beyond the +worst he had feared, ‘surely you are not offended—surely——’</p> + +<p>‘But it is only what I might reasonably have expected,’ pursued +Mrs. Turchill, ignoring the interruption. ‘It is only what +I ought to have looked for. When a mother devotes herself +day and night to her son; when she studies his welfare and his +comfort in everything; when she sits up with him night after +night with the measles—quite unnecessarily, as the doctor said +at the time—and reduces herself to a shadow when he has the +scarlatina; when she worries herself about him every time he +gets damp feet, and endures agony every hour of the day while +he is out shooting; this is pretty sore to be the result. He is +caught by the first pretty face he sees, and his mother becomes +a cipher in his estimation.’</p> + +<p>‘Believe me that is not my case, dear mother,’ protested<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</span> +Edgar, putting his arm round the matron’s waist, which she +made as inflexible as she possibly could for the occasion, and +trying to kiss her, which she would not allow. ‘You will never +cease to be valued and dear. Do you suppose there is no room +in my heart for you and Daphne? I know she is a mere child, +a positive baby, to place at the head of a house which you have +managed so cleverly all these years; but everything in this life +must have a beginning, don’t you know, and I rely upon you +for teaching Daphne how to manage her house.’</p> + +<p>‘That kind of thing cannot be taught, Edgar,’ answered his +mother severely. ‘It must be the gradual growth of years in +an adaptable mind. I don’t believe Daphne Lawford will ever +be a housekeeper. It is not in her. You might as well expect +a butterfly to sit upon its eggs with the patience of a farm-yard +hen. However,’ sighed Mrs. Turchill, ‘you have chosen for +yourself.’</p> + +<p>‘Did you suppose I should let anyone else choose for me in +such a matter, mother?’</p> + +<p>‘I am sorry for my lovely stock of house-linen. The tea-cloths +will get used in the stable; and the kitchen-cloths will be +made away with by wholesale.’</p> + +<p>‘Never mind a few tea-cloths, mother.’</p> + +<p>‘But it is not a few, it is a great many. I daresay that out +of the twelve dozen that are now in the linen-closet you won’t +have two dozen sound ones a twelvemonth after your marriage.’</p> + +<p>‘I think I should survive even that loss, mother, if you were +happy,’ answered Edgar lightly.</p> + +<p>‘How could I possibly be happy knowing the waste and +destruction of things that I have taken so much trouble to get +together? I’m sure I feel positively ill at the idea of the best +glass and china under the authority of a girl of eighteen; your +great grandmother’s Crown Derby dessert-set, which I have +often been told is priceless.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, mother, by people who don’t want to buy it. If you +wanted to sell it, you would hear a very different story. However, +I don’t see any reason why Daphne should not be able to +take care of the dessert-plates——’</p> + +<p>‘I have always kept chamois-leather over each plate,’ interrupted +Mrs. Turchill, with a pensive shake of her head. +‘Will she take as much trouble?’</p> + +<p>‘Or why there should be waste and destruction anywhere. +Daphne will not be the first young wife who ever had to take +care of a house, and I know by the way she learnt to row how +easy it is to teach her anything.’</p> + +<p>‘Easy to teach her to row, or to ride, or to play lawn-tennis, +or to do anything frivolous and useless, I have no doubt,’ retorted +his mother; ‘but I don’t believe it is in her to learn +careful ways, and the management of servants. I only hope<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</span> +the waste and destruction will stop at the house-linen. I only +hope she won’t bring ruin upon you; but when I think how +many a young man of good means has been utterly ruined by +an extravagant wife——’</p> + +<p>‘Upon my word, mother,’ protested Edgar, with a dash of +resentment, feeling that this was too much, ‘you are making a +perfect raven of yourself, instead of being cheery and pleasant, +as I expected you to be. I’m sorry I have not been able to +choose a wife more to your liking as a daughter-in-law; but +marriage is one of the few circumstances of life in which selfishness +is a duty, and a man must please himself at any hazard of +displeasing other people. I don’t believe there’s a man who +was at the Hunt Ball the other night who won’t envy me my +good luck.’</p> + +<p>‘Very likely; since men are influenced by mere outside +prettiness,’ said Mrs. Turchill. ‘Though even there Daphne is +by no means faultless. Her nose is too short.’</p> + +<p>‘Now, mother, you have been so good to me all my life that +it would be a very unnatural thing if you were to begin to be +unkind all at once, and in a crisis of my life in which I most +need your love,’ pleaded Edgar with genuine feeling.</p> + +<p>He put his arm round his mother’s waist, which, this time, +was less inflexible than before. He turned the matron’s face +towards his, and, lo! her eyes were full of tears.</p> + +<p>‘It would be very strange, indeed, if I could deny you anything,’ +she said, strangling a sob. ‘There never was a child so +much indulged as you were. If you had cried for the moon, it +would have quite worried me that I wasn’t able to get it for +you.’</p> + +<p>‘And you would have given me a stable-lantern instead,’ +answered Edgar, smiling. ‘Yes, best of mothers, you have +always been indulgent, and you are going to be indulgent now, +and you will take Daphne to your heart of hearts, and be as +fond of her as if she were that baby-girl you lost, grown up to +womanhood.’</p> + +<p>‘Don’t, Edgar, don’t!’ cried Mrs. Turchill, fairly overcome. +‘Her bassinet is in the little oak room. I was looking at it +yesterday. I have never got over that loss.’</p> + +<p>‘You will think she has come back to you some day, when +you have a little granddaughter,’ said Edgar tenderly.</p> + +<p>His mother, once reduced to the pathetic mood, was perfectly +tractable. Edgar petted and soothed her; protested +somewhat recklessly that the chief desire of Daphne’s life was +to gain her affection; announced the intended afternoon visit; +and obtained his mother’s promise of a gracious reception.</p> + +<p>When Miss Lawford and her sister arrived at about half-past +four the drawing-room wore a hospitable aspect; a huge +log burning in the Elizabethan fire-place; flowers of a homely<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</span> +kind—chrysanthemums and Christmas roses, crocuses and snow-drops—about +the rooms; and an old-fashioned silver tea-tray +on an old-fashioned sofa-table, nothing of Adam or Chippendale +or Queen Anne about it, but a good old ponderous piece of +rosewood furniture, almost as heavy as a house.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Turchill received her guests with gracious smiles and +with a heartiness that took Daphne by surprise. She had made +up her mind that she was going to be snubbed, and a dash of +timidity gave a new grace to her beauty. She was very grave, +and seemed, to Mrs. Turchill’s scrutinising eye, to be fully +awakened to the responsibilities of her position. Could she but +remain in this better frame of mind she might fairly be trusted +with the Derby dessert-service and the piled-up treasures of +the linen-closet.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Turchill made Daphne sit on the sofa by her side while +she poured out the tea, and was positively affectionate in her +manner.</p> + +<p>‘You will be making tea in this pot before long,’ she said, +with a loving glance at the fluted teapot. ‘It is not a good +pourer. You’ll have to learn the knack of holding it exactly in +the right position.’</p> + +<p>‘I hope you are not sorry,’ faltered Daphne in a very low +voice, meaning about the event generally, not with any special +reference to the teapot.</p> + +<p>‘Well, my dear, I am too truthful a woman to deny that it +was a blow,’ returned Mrs. Turchill candidly. Edgar had kept +out of the way when the sisters arrived, wishing his mother to +have Daphne all to herself for a little while. ‘I suppose that +kind of thing must always be a blow to a mother. “My son’s +my son till he gets him a wife,” you know.’</p> + +<p>‘I hope Edgar will never be any less your son than he is at +this moment,’ said Daphne. ‘I should not like him so well as +I do if thought his regard for me could make him one shade +less devoted to you.’</p> + +<p>‘Well, my dear, time will show,’ replied Mrs. Turchill doubtfully. +‘As a rule young wives are very selfish; they expect to +monopolise their husbands’ affection. All I hope is that you +love Edgar as he deserves to be loved. There never was a +worthier young man, and no girl could hope for a better husband +than he will make.’</p> + +<p>To this exhortation Daphne replied nothing. She sat with +downcast eyes, stirring her tea; and Mrs. Turchill, taking this +silence for maidenly reserve, transferred her attentions to +Madoline.</p> + +<p>‘I am so sorry Mr. Goring did not drive over with you,’ she +said. ‘I quite expected him.’</p> + +<p>‘You are very kind,’ answered Lina. ‘He has gone to London. +I had a telegram from Euston Station an hour ago.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</span> +Gerald has some business to settle with his London lawyers, and +is likely to be away for some days.’</p> + +<p>‘I’m afraid you must find South Hill very dull in his +absence,’ suggested Mrs. Turchill politely.</p> + +<p>‘I miss him very much; but I don’t think I am very dull. +My father occupies a good deal of my time; and then there is +Daphne, who has generally plenty to say for herself.’</p> + +<p>‘Meaning that I am an insatiable chatterer,’ said Daphne, +laughing. ‘I’m afraid it was Dibb—I mean Martha, an old +schoolfellow of mine—who got me into the habit of talking so +much.’</p> + +<p>‘Was she a great talker?’</p> + +<p>‘Quite the contrary. She rarely opened her mouth except +to put something into it, so I acquired the pernicious habit of +talking for two.’</p> + +<p>Edgar now came in, and seeing Daphne and his mother +seated side by side upon the sofa, felt himself exalted to the +seventh heaven of tranquil joy. This and this only was needed +to fill his cup of bliss: that his mother should be content, that +life should flow on smoothly in the old grooves.</p> + +<p>‘Well, Daphne, how do you like the look of Hawksyard in +the winter?’</p> + +<p>‘I think it is quite the nicest old place in the world. I +haven’t seen much of the world; but I can’t imagine a more +interesting old house.’</p> + +<p>‘You will like it better and better as you become acquainted +with it,’ said Mrs. Turchill. ‘It is one of the most convenient +houses I ever saw, and I have seen a good many in my time. +My husband’s mother was a capital housekeeper, and she did +not rest till she had made the domestic arrangements as near +perfection as was possible in her time. I have tried to follow +in her footsteps.’</p> + +<p>‘And to make perfection still more perfect,’ said Edgar.</p> + +<p>‘There are modern inventions and improvements, Edgar, +which your grandmother knew nothing about. Not that I hold +with them all. If you are not tied for time,’ added Mrs. Turchill, +addressing herself to the two young ladies, ‘I should very +much like to show Daphne the domestic offices. It would give +her an idea of what she will have to deal with by-and-by.’</p> + +<p>Daphne, who knew about as much as a butterfly knows of +the management of a house, smiled faintly but said nothing. +She had come to Hawksyard determined to make herself pleasing +to Mrs. Turchill, if it were possible, for Edgar’s sake.</p> + +<p>‘I ventured to tell them to take out the horses,’ said Edgar, +‘knowing that you don’t dine till eight.’</p> + +<p>‘I shall be pleased to stay as long as Mrs. Turchill likes,’ +answered Madoline; whereupon the matron, acknowledging this +speech with a gracious bend, rose from her sofa, took her key-basket<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</span> +from the table, and led the way to the corridor in which +opened those china and linen stores which were the supreme +delight of her soul.</p> + +<p>Swelling with pride and the consciousness of duty done, she +displayed and descanted on her treasures and the convenient +arrangement thereof; the old diamond-cut glass; the Bow, the +Staffordshire, the Swansea, the Derby cups and saucers, and +plates and dishes—crockery bought in the common way of life, +and now of inestimable value. She showed her goodly piles of +linen and damask, which a Flemish housewife might have envied. +She led her guests to the dairy, which in its smaller and +humbler way was as neat and dainty and ornamental as Her +Majesty’s dairy at Frogmore. She talked learnedly of butter-making, +cream-cheeses, and the disposal of skim milk. Daphne +wondered to find how large a science was this domestic management +of which she knew absolutely nothing.</p> + +<p>‘A house of this kind requires a great deal of care and a +great deal of thought,’ said Mrs. Turchill with a solemn air. +‘Old servants are a great comfort, but they have their drawbacks, +and require to be kept in check. With a young, inexperienced +mistress I’m afraid they will be tempted to take many +liberties.’</p> + +<p>Mrs. Turchill concluded her speech with a gentle sigh, and +a regretful glance at Daphne—not an unfriendly look, by any +means; but it expressed her foreboding of future ruin for the +house of Hawksyard.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII.<br> +<span class="fs70">‘AND COME AGEN, BE IT BY DAY OR NIGHT.’</span></h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> next three days passed somewhat slowly at South Hill. +Unselfish as Madoline was, even her delight in Daphne’s engagement +could not altogether compensate for Gerald’s absence. +Life without him hung heavily. She missed him at all those +accustomed hours which they had spent together. In the bright +noontide, when he rode over fresh and full of vivacity after a +late breakfast; in the afternoon dusk, when they had been +wont to waste time so pleasantly beside the low wood fire; in +the evening; always. He had been away for three days, and +she had received only one shabby little letter—just a few feeble +sentences explaining that he had been obliged to run up to +London at an hour’s notice to see his lawyers upon some dry-as-dust +business relating to his Stock Exchange investments. He +hoped to settle it all speedily, and come back to Warwickshire. +The letter gave her very little comfort.</p> + +<p>‘I am afraid he is being worried,’ she said to Daphne, after<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</span> +she had read this brief communication two or three times over. +‘It is not like one of his letters.’</p> + +<p>The week after the ball began with one of those dull Sundays +which come down upon country life like an atmosphere of +gloom, and seem to blot out all the pleasantness of creation. A +drizzling Scotch-misty Sabbath, painfully suggestive of Glasgow +and the Free Kirk. Madoline and Daphne walked to church, +waterproofed to the eyes, and assisted sadly at a damp service; +the whole congregation smelling of macintoshes; the drip drip +from umbrellas on the encaustic pavement audible in the pauses +of the Liturgy. It was a rule at South Hill that horses and +coachmen should rest on the seventh day, save under direst pressure. +Neither of the sisters objected to a wet walk. Edgar +met them at church, having tramped over through mud and +rain, much to the disgust of his mother, who deemed that +to be absent from one’s parish church on a Sunday morning +was a social misdemeanour not to be atoned for by the most +fervent worship in a strange tabernacle. He joined Lina and +her sister in the porch, and walked home with them by moist +fields and a swollen Avon, whose fringe of willows never looked +more funereal than on this dull wintry noontide, when the scant +bare shoots stood straight up against a sky of level gray.</p> + +<p>‘Any news from Goring?’ asked Edgar, by way of making +himself agreeable.</p> + +<p>‘Not since I saw you last. I fancy he must be very busy. +He is usually such a good correspondent.’</p> + +<p>‘Busy!’ cried Edgar, laughing heartily at the idea. ‘What +can he have to be busy about?—unless it’s the fit of a new suit +of clothes, or some original idea in shooting-boots which he +wants carried out, or the choice of a new horse; but, for that +matter, I believe he doesn’t seriously care what he rides. Busy, +indeed! He can’t know what work means. His bread was +buttered for him on both sides, before he was born.’</p> + +<p>‘Isn’t that rather a juvenile notion of yours, Edgar?’ asked +Madoline. ‘I believe the richest people are often the busiest. +Property has its duties as well as its rights.’</p> + +<p>‘No doubt. But a rich man can always take the rights for +his own share, and pay somebody else to perform the duties,’ +answered Edgar shrewdly. ‘And I should think Goring was +about the last man to let his property be a source of care to him.’</p> + +<p>‘In this instance I am afraid he is being worried about it,’ +said Lina decisively; and with a look which seemed to say, +‘nobody has any right to have an opinion about my lover.’</p> + +<p>The day was a long one, even with the assistance of Edgar +in the task of getting through it. Daphne, considerably sobered +by her engagement, behaved irreproachably all the afternoon +and evening; but she stifled a good many yawns, until the effort +made her eyes water.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</span></p> + +<p>Her father had been unusually kind to her since the announcement +of her betrothal. All his anxieties about her—and +it had been the habit of his mind to regard her as a source of +trouble and difficulty, or even of future woe—were now set at +rest. Married in the early bloom of her girlhood to such a man +as Edgar, all her life to come would be so fenced round and protected, +so sheltered and guarded by love and honour, that perversity +itself could scarce go astray.</p> + +<p>‘Daphne’s mother was spoiled before I married her,’ he told +himself, remembering the misery of his second marriage. ‘If I +had won her before her heart was corrupted our lives might have +been different.’</p> + +<p>It seemed to him, looking at the matter soberly, that there +could be no better alliance for his younger daughter than this +with Edgar Turchill. He had seen them together continually, +in a companionship which seemed full of pleasure for both: +boating together, at lawn-tennis, at billiards, sympathising, as it +appeared to him from his superficial point of view, in every +thought and feeling. It never occurred to him that this was a +mere surface sympathy, and that the hidden deeps of Daphne’s +mind and soul were far beyond the plummet-line of Edgar’s +sympathy or comprehension. Sir Vernon had made up his mind +that his younger daughter was a frivolous butterfly-being, who +needed only frivolous pleasures and girlish amusements to make +her happy.</p> + +<p>Everybody, or almost everybody, approved of Daphne’s engagement. +It was pleasant to the girl to live for a little while +in an atmosphere of praise. Even Aunt Rhoda, upon whose +being Daphne had exercised the kind of influence which some +people feel when there is a cat in the room, even Aunt Rhoda +professed herself delighted. She came over between the showers +and the church services upon this particular Sunday, on purpose +to tell Daphne how very heartily she approved of her conduct.</p> + +<p>‘You have acted wisely for once in your life,’ she said sententiously; +‘I hope it is the beginning of many wise acts. I +suppose you will be married at the same time as Lina. The +double wedding will have a very brilliant effect, and will save +your father ever so much trouble and expense.’</p> + +<p>‘Oh no; I should not like that,’ cried Daphne hurriedly.</p> + +<p>‘You wouldn’t like a double wedding!’ ejaculated Mrs. +Ferrers indignantly. ‘Why, what a vain, arrogant little person +you must be. I suppose you fancy your own importance would +be lessened if you were married at the same time as your elder +sister?’</p> + +<p>‘No, no, Aunt; indeed, it is not that. I am quite content +to seem of no account beside Lina. I love her far too dearly to +envy her superiority. But—if—when—I am married I should +like it to be very quietly—no people looking on—no fuss—no<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</span> +fine gowns. When my father and Edgar have made up their +minds that the proper time has come, I should like just to walk +into my uncle’s church early some morning, with papa and Lina, +and for Edgar to meet us there, just as quietly as if we were +poor people, and for no one to be told anything about it.’</p> + +<p>‘What a romantic schoolgirlish notion!’ said Mrs. Ferrers +contemptuously. ‘Such a marriage would be a discredit to +your family; and I should think it most unlikely my brother +would ever give his consent to such a hole-and-corner way of +doing things.’</p> + +<p>The one person at South Hill who absolutely refused to smile +upon Daphne’s engagement was Madoline’s faithful Mowser. +That devoted female received the announcement with shrugs +and ominous shakings of a head which carried itself as if it were +the living temple of wisdom, and in a manner incomplete without +that helmet of Minerva which obviously of right belonged +to it.</p> + +<p>‘You don’t seem as pleased as the rest of us at the notion of +this second marriage,’ said good-tempered Mrs. Spicer, housekeeper +and cook, to whom ‘the family’ was the central point of +the universe; sun, moon, and stars, earth and ocean, and the +residue of mankind, being merely so much furniture created to +make ‘the family’ comfortable.</p> + +<p>‘I hear and see and say nothing,’ answered Mowser, as oracular +in most of her utterances as Friar Bacon’s brazen head. +‘Time will show.’</p> + +<p>‘Well, all I can say is,’ said Jinman, ‘that our Miss Daphne +is an uncommon pretty girl, and deserves a good husband. She +has just that spice of devilry in her which I like in a woman. +Your even-tempered girls are too insipid for my taste.’</p> + +<p>‘I suppose you would have admired the spice of devilry in +Miss Daphne’s mar,’ retorted Mowser venomously, ‘which made +her run away from her husband.’</p> + +<p>‘No, Mrs. Mowser; I draw the line at that. A man may +want to get rid of his wife, but he don’t like her to take the +initial’—Mr. Jinman meant initiative—‘and bolt. A spice of +devilry is all very well, but one doesn’t want the entire animal. +I like a shake of the grater in my negus, but I don’t desire the +whole nutmeg. But I do think that it’s a low-minded thing to +cast up Miss Daphne’s mar whenever the young lady’s talked +about. Every tub must stand on its own bottom.’</p> + +<p>‘Well, Mr. Jinman,’ said Mowser, ‘all I hope is, that Miss +Daphne will carry through her engagement now she’s made it. +She’s welcome to her own sweetheart, as far as I am concerned, +so long as she doesn’t hanker after other people’s.’</p> + +<p>The phrase sounded vague, and neither Mr. Jinman, nor +Mrs. Spicer, nor the coachman (who had dropped in to tea and +toast and a poached egg or two in the housekeeper’s room) had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</span> +any clear idea of what Mowser meant, except that it was something +ill-natured. On that point there was no room to doubt.</p> + +<p>Another week wore on, the second after the ball, and +Gerald Goring had not yet returned. He wrote every other +day, telling Madoline all he had been doing; the picture-galleries +and theatres he had visited, the clubs at which he had +dined; yet in all these letters of his, affectionate as they were, +there was a tone which sustained in Lina’s mind the idea that +her lover was in some way troubled or worried. The few words +which gave rise to this impression were slight enough; she +hardly knew how or why the notion had entered her mind, but +it was there, and remained there, and it increased her anxiety +for his return to an almost painful degree. While she was +expecting him daily and hourly, a much longer letter arrived, +which on the first reading almost broke her heart:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear One</span>,—I write in tremendous excitement and +flurry of mind to tell you something which I fear may displease +you; yet at the very beginning I will disarm your wrath by +saying that if you put a veto upon this intention of mine it shall +be instantly abandoned. Subject to this, dear love, I am going, +in hot haste, to Canada. Don’t be startled, Lina. It is no +more nowadays than going to Scotland. Men I know go across +for the salmon-fishing every autumn, and are absent so short a +time that their friends hardly miss them from the beaten tracks +at home.</p> + +<p>‘And now I will tell you what has put this Canadian idea +into my head. I have for some time been feeling a little below +par—mopish, lymphatic, disinclined for exertion of any kind. +My holiday in the Orkneys was a <em>dolce far niente</em> business, +which did me no real good. I went the other day to a famous +doctor in Cavendish Square, a man who puts our prime ministers +on their legs when they are inclined to drop, like tired cab +horses, under the burden of the public weal. He ausculted me +carefully, found me sound in wind and limb, but nerves and +muscles alike in need of bracing. “You want change of scene +and occupation,” he said, “and a climate that will make you +exert yourself. Go to Vienna and skate.” I daresay this would +have been good advice for a man who had never seen Vienna; +but as I know that brilliant capital by heart, with all its virtues, +and a few of its vices, I rejected it. “Please yourself,” said my +physician, pocketing his fee; “but I recommend complete +change, and the hardest climate you can bear.” I do not feel +sure that I intended to take his advice, or should have thought +any more about it; but I happened to meet Lord Loftus Berwick, +the Duke of Bamborough’s youngest son, and an old Eton +chum of mine, in the smoking-room at the Reform that very +evening, and he told me he was just off to Canada, dilated<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</span> +enthusiastically upon the delights of that wintry region, and the +various sports congenial to the month of February. He goes +<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">viâ</i> New York, Delaware and Hudson Railway to Montreal, +thence to Quebec, and from Quebec by the Intercolonial Railway +to Rimouski, where he is to charter a small schooner and +cross the St. Lawrence to the mouth of the Natashquan River, +which river belongs to two particular friends of his, both distinguished +comedians, and men of unbounded popularity on +each side of the Atlantic. Here Loftus proposes to hunt +cariboo, moose, elk, and I don’t know what else. But before he +puts on his snow-shoes, loads his sledges, and harnesses his dogs +for those happy hunting-grounds, he is going to revel in the +more civilised and sophisticated pleasures of a Canadian winter, +curling-clubs, sleigh-rides around the mountain at Montreal, +tobogganing at the Falls of Montmorenci, near Quebec, and so +on. Just the thing for me, thought I—a hard climate, only +about eight days’ voyage—if my dearest did not object to my +being away from my natural place at her feet for five or six +weeks. At my hinting a wish to accompany him Loftus became +still more enthusiastic, and was eager to have the whole thing +settled that moment. And now, love, it is for you to decide. +I think the run would do me good; but perish the thought of +benefit to me if it must be bought at the price of pain to you. +Loftus is going in the Cunard, which leaves Liverpool the day +after to-morrow. Telegraph your wishes, and be assured beforehand +of obedience from your devoted slave,</p> + +<p class="right"> +‘<span class="smcap">Gerald Goring</span>.’<br> +</p> +</div> + +<p>Madoline’s first thoughts were of the pain of being parted +from her lover, whose presence had for so long been the sunshine +of her days, and so much a part of her life, that she +seemed scarcely to live while he was away from her. Existence +was reduced to a mere mechanical moving about, and doing +duties which had lost all their savour. But these first thoughts, +being selfish, were swiftly succeeded in a mind so entirely unselfish +by other considerations. If it were for Gerald’s good +that he should go to the other end of the world, that they +should be parted for much longer than the five or six weeks of +which he spoke so lightly, it would not have been in Madoline’s +nature to desire him to forego even a possible advantage. She +had fancied sometimes of late that he was occasionally dull and +low-spirited; and now this letter explained all. He was out of +health. He had been leading too quiet and womanish a life, no +doubt, in his willingness to spend his days in her society. He +had foregone all those hardy exercises and field sports which +are so necessary to a man who has no serious work in life. +Madoline’s telegram ran thus:</p> + +<p>‘Go by all means, if you think the change will do you good.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</span> +I tremble at the idea of your crossing the sea at this time of the +year. Let me see you before you go. If you cannot come here, +I will ask my aunt to go to London with me that I may at +least bid you good-bye.’</p> + +<p>The answer came as quickly as electricity could bring it, and +although laconic, was satisfactory: ‘I will be with you about +five o’clock this afternoon.’</p> + +<p>‘Dear fellow, how little he thinks of the trouble of travelling +so many miles to please me,’ thought Madoline; and the +idea of her lover’s affection sustained her against the pain of +parting.</p> + +<p>‘Next year I shall have the right to go wherever he goes,’ +she told herself.</p> + +<p>Daphne heard of the Canadian expedition, but said so little +about it that Lina wondered at her coolness.</p> + +<p>‘I thought you would have been more surprised,’ she said.</p> + +<p>‘Did you? Why, there is really nothing startling or uncommon +in the idea,’ answered Daphne smilingly. ‘This rushing +about the world for sport seems the most fashionable thing +among young men with plenty of money. The Society Journals +are always telling us how Lord This or Sir John That has +gone to the Rockies to shoot wild sheep, or to the North Pole +for bears, or to Hungary or Wallachia, or the Balkan range. +The beaten tracks count for nothing nowadays.’</p> + +<p>When the afternoon came, Lina was alone to receive her +lover. Daphne had been seized with a dutiful impulse towards +her aunt, and had gone to drink tea at the Rectory, with Edgar +in attendance upon her.</p> + +<p>‘Won’t you defer your duty-visit till to-morrow, and wish +Gerald good-bye?’ asked Lina, when Daphne proposed the +expedition.</p> + +<p>‘No, dear; you can do that for me. This is an occasion on +which you ought to have him all to yourself. You will have so +much to say to each other.’</p> + +<p>‘If it were mother, she would occupy all the time in begging +him to wear flannels, put cork soles in all his boots, and avoid +damp beds,’ said Edgar laughing. ‘Now, Daphne, put on your +hat as quick as you can. It’s a lovely afternoon for a walk +across the fields. If this frost continues we shall have skating +presently.’</p> + +<p>The daylight faded slowly; a bright frosty day, a clear and +rosy sunset. Lina sat by the pretty hearth in her morning-room, +and exactly as the clock struck five the footman brought +in her dainty little tea-tray, set out the table before the fire, and +lighted three or four wax-candles in the old Sèvres candelabra +on the mantelpiece. Here she and her lover would be secure +from the interruption of callers, which they could not be if in +the drawing-room.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</span></p> + +<p>Five minutes after the hour there came the sound of wheels +upon the gravel drive, a loud ring at the bell, and in the next +instant the door of the morning-room was opened, and Gerald +came in, looking bulkier than usual in his furred travelling +coat.</p> + +<p>‘Dear Gerald, this is so good of you!’ said Madoline, rising +to welcome him.</p> + +<p>‘Dearest!’ he took both her hands, and stood looking at her +in the firelight, with a countenance full of tenderness—a mournful +tenderness—as if he were saddened by the thought of parting. +‘You are not angry with me for leaving you for a few +weeks?’</p> + +<p>‘Angry, when you are told the change is necessary for your +health! How could you think me so selfish? Let me look at +you. Yes; you are looking ill—pale and wan. Gerald, you have +been ill, seriously ill, perhaps, since you left here, and you would +not tell me for fear of alarming me. I am sure that it is so. +Your letters were so hurried, so different from——’</p> + +<p>‘My dear girl, you are mistaken. I told you the exact truth +about myself when I owned to feeling mopish and depressed. I +have had no actual illness; but I feel that a run across the +Atlantic will revive and invigorate me.’</p> + +<p>‘And it is quite right of you to go, if the voyage is not dangerous +in this weather.’</p> + +<p>‘Dear love, it is no more dangerous than calling a hansom to +take one down Regent Street. The hansom may come to grief +somehow, or there may be a gale between Liverpool and New +York; but there is hardly any safer way a man can dispose of +his life than to trust himself to a Cunard steamer.’</p> + +<p>‘And do you think you will enjoy yourself in Canada?’</p> + +<p>‘As much as I can enjoy myself anywhere, away from you. +According to my friend Loftus, a Canadian winter is the acme +of bliss; and if the winter should break up early, we may contrive +to get a little run into the Hudson’s Bay country, and a +glimpse of the Rockies before we come home.’</p> + +<p>‘That sounds as if you meant to stay rather a long time,’ +said Lina, with a touch of anxiety.</p> + +<p>‘Indeed, no, dear. At latest I shall be with you before April +is half over. Think what is to happen early in May.’</p> + +<p>‘My coming of age. It seems so absurd to come of age at +twenty-five, when one is almost an old woman.’</p> + +<p>‘An old woman verily. A girl as fresh in youthful purity as +if her cheek still wore the baby-bloom of seventeen summers! +But have you forgotten something else that is to happen next +May, Lina—our wedding?’</p> + +<p>‘There has been nothing fixed about that,’ faltered Madoline +‘except, perhaps, that it is to be this year. My father has not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</span> +said a word as to the actual time, and I know that he wants to +keep me as long as he can.’</p> + +<p>‘And I think you know that I want to have you at the +Abbey as soon as I can. I am getting to loathe that big house, +for lack of your presence to transform it into a home. We +must be married in May, dearest. Remember we have only +been waiting for you to come of age, and for all dry-as-dust +questions of property to be settled. If we had been Darby the +gardener and Joan the dairymaid, we should have been married +four years ago, shouldn’t we, Lina?’</p> + +<p>‘I suppose so,’ she answered, blushing, and taking refuge in +the occupation of pouring out the tea, adjusting the egg-shell +cups and saucers, the slender little rat-tailed spoons, all the +dainty affectations and quaintnesses of high-art tea-drinking, +‘Darby and Joan are always so imprudent.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, but they are often happy. They marry foolishly, and +perhaps starve a little after marriage; but they wed while the +first bloom is on their love. Come, Lina, say that we shall be +married early in May.’</p> + +<p>‘I can promise nothing without my father’s consent. My +aunt was suggesting that Daphne and I should be married on +the same day.’</p> + +<p>‘Did she?’ asked Gerald, his head bent, his hands engaged +with his cup and saucer. ‘Two victims led to the altar: Iphigenia +and Polyxena, and no likelihood of a hind being substituted +for either young lady. Don’t you think there is a dash of +vulgarity in a double wedding: a desire to make the very most +of the event, to intensify the parade: two sets of bridesmaids, +two displays of presents, two honeymoon departures: all the +tawdriness and show and artificiality of a modern wedding exaggerated +by duplication?’</p> + +<p>‘I think that is rather Daphne’s idea. She begs that she +and Edgar may be married very quietly, without fuss of any +kind.’</p> + +<p>‘I had no idea that Daphne was capable of such wisdom. I +thought she would have asked for four-and-twenty bridesmaids,’ +said Gerald with a cynical laugh.</p> + +<p>‘She is much more sensible than you have ever given her +credit for being,’ answered Madoline, a little offended at his +tone. ‘She has behaved sweetly since her engagement.’</p> + +<p>‘And—you—think—she—is—happy?’</p> + +<p>How slowly he said this, stirring his tea all the while, as if +the words were spoken mechanically, his thoughts being wide-away +from them.</p> + +<p>‘Do you suppose I should be satisfied if I were not sure, in +my own mind, of her happiness? How can she fail to be happy? +She is engaged to a thoroughly good man, who adores her; and +if—if she is not quite as deep in love with him as he is with her,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</span> +there is no doubt that her affection for him will increase and +strengthen every day.’</p> + +<p>‘Naturally. He will flatter and fool her till—were it only +from sheer vanity—she will ultimately find him necessary to her +existence. I knew he had only to persevere in order to win her. +I told him so last summer.’</p> + +<p>‘And Edgar is grateful to you for encouraging him when he +was inclined to despair. He told me so yesterday. But do not +let us talk of Daphne all the time. I want you to tell me about +yourself. How good it was of you to come down to say good-bye!’</p> + +<p>‘Could I do less, dearest? Good-byes are always painful, +even when the parting is to be of the briefest, as in this case: +but from the moment I knew you wished to see me it was my +duty to come.’</p> + +<p>‘Can you stay here to-night?’</p> + +<p>‘I can stay exactly ten minutes, and no more. I have to +catch the half-past six express.’</p> + +<p>‘You are not going to the Abbey?’</p> + +<p>‘No. I have written to my steward, and I am such a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">roi +fainéant</i> at the best of times that my coming or going makes +very little difference. I leave the new hot-houses under your +care and governance, subject to MacCloskie, who governs you. +All their contents are to be for the separate use and maintenance +of your rooms while I am away.’</p> + +<p>‘I shall be smothered with flowers.’</p> + +<p>‘May there be never a thorn among them! And now, love, +adieu. This time to-morrow I shall be steaming out of the +Mersey. I have to see that Dickson has not come to grief in +the preparation of my outfit. A man wants a world of strange +things for Canada, according to the outfitters. My own love, +good-bye!’</p> + +<p>‘Good-bye, Gerald dearest, best, good-bye. Every wind that +blows will make me miserable while you are on the sea. You’ll +let me know directly you arrive, won’t you? You’ll put me out +of my misery as soon as you can?’</p> + +<p>‘I’ll cable the hour I land.’</p> + +<p>‘That will be so good of you,’ she said, going with him to the +door.</p> + +<p>How calm and clear the frosty evening looked! how vivid +the steely stars up yonder above the feathery tree-tops! how +peaceful and happy all the world!</p> + +<p>‘God bless you, dear one!’ said each to each, as they kissed +their parting kiss—both hearts so heavy; but one so pure and +free from guile; the other so weighed down by secret cares that +could not be told.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV.<br> +<span class="fs70">‘AY FLETH THE TIME, IT WOL NO MAN ABIDE.’</span></h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Nearly</span> six months had gone since that wintry parting, when +the lovers clasped hands and blessed each other under the sign +of Aries; and now it was midsummer, and all the fields were +green, and the limes were breaking into blossom, and the hawthorn-flower +was dead, and the last of the blue-bells had faded, +and all the white orchard-blooms, the tender loveliness of spring, +belonged to the past; for the beauty of earth and nature is a +thing of perpetual change, so closely allied with death that in +every rapture there is the beginning of a regret.</p> + +<p>Gerald Goring had returned, not quite so soon as he had +promised beside the winter hearth, but in time to offer birthday +greetings to Lina, and to assist in those legal preparations and +argumentations which preceded the marriage settlement; in this +case a formidable document, involving large interests, and full +of consideration for children and grandchildren yet unborn; +for daughters dying unmarried, or requiring to be dowered for +marriage; for sons who might have to make marriage settlements +of their own. There was to be a complete family history, +put hypothetically, in Miss Lawford’s marriage settlement.</p> + +<p>Vainly had Lina tried to dower her sister with half, or at +least some portion of her own wealth. Daphne obstinately +refused to accept any such boon; and Edgar as obstinately +sustained her in her determination.</p> + +<p>‘I won’t accept a penny,’ said she.</p> + +<p>‘I don’t want a halfpenny with her,’ said he; a refusal +which Mrs. Turchill considered supreme folly on the part of +son and daughter-in-law; for what improvements might have +been made at Hawksyard with a few spare thousands, whereas +her son’s income, though ample for all the needs and comforts +of this life, left no margin for building.</p> + +<p>‘Why should not Daphne have a range of hot-houses like +those Mr. Goring has built for her sister?’ argued Mrs. Turchill. +‘Or why should not you rebuild the stables, which are dreadfully +old-fashioned?’</p> + +<p>‘I would not change the dear old fashion for worlds, +mother, now that I have made every sanitary improvement,’ +answered Edgar; ‘least of all would I improve Hawksyard into +a modern house with Goring’s money.’</p> + +<p>‘But it is not Mr. Goring’s money that is offered; it is Miss +Lawford’s.’</p> + +<p>‘That is the same thing. The loss would be his. Don’t +talk any more about it, mother; Daphne and I have made +up our minds.’</p> + +<p>This was decisive; for Mrs. Turchill knew that Daphne’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</span> +word was Edgar’s law. She was reconciled to the idea of the +marriage, but in her confidences with Deborah, she could not +help talking of her son’s attachment as an infatuation.</p> + +<p>Gerald had come back considerably improved in health and +spirits by his Canadian and Hudson’s Bay adventures. He had +crossed the Turtle Mountain, and the arid plains beyond, and +from the crest of one of the Sweet Grass Hills had seen the +rugged and snowy outline of the Rockies, standing out in full +relief against the western sky-line. He had shot a bear or two, +and had some experience of wolves. He had eaten pemmican, +and ridden a woolly horse; he had slept at a Hudson’s Bay +station, and had passed a night or two, half-frozen and wholly +awake, under canvas. Variety and adventure had done him good +physically and mentally; and he told himself that of that fever +which had tormented him when he left England—a fever of +foolish longings and fond regrets, idle thoughts of things that +might have been—he was cured wholly. Yet who shall say +whether time might not show some resemblance between this +cure and that of a dangerous lunatic, who is discharged from +Bedlam a sane man, and who cuts his mother’s head off with a +carving-knife a fortnight after his release?</p> + +<p>The double wedding was to take place in October. Nothing +could induce Sir Vernon to consent to an earlier date.</p> + +<p>‘I shall lose my darling soon enough,’ he said, ignoring +Daphne in his calculations of loss. ‘Let me keep her till the +end of the summer. Let us spend this one summer together. +Who knows that it may not be my last?’</p> + +<p>Any wish expressed by her father would have governed +Madoline’s conduct, and this wish, expressed so stringently, +could not be disregarded. Sir Vernon was frequently ailing, in +a languid half-hearted way, which looked like hypochondriasis, +but might be actual disease, and a part of that organic evil +which was never clearly described. His doctor recommended +an entire change of scene—Switzerland, the Engadine, if he +could make up his mind to travel so far, and to be satisfied with +the simpler diet and accommodation of that skyey world. There +was a good deal of discussion, and it was ultimately settled +that Sir Vernon and his daughters should start for Switzerland +at the end of June, and move quietly about there, studying +the invalid’s pleasure in all things. Sir Vernon set his face +against the Engadine, preferring the more civilised shores of +Lake Leman, which he knew by heart.</p> + +<p>Daphne had never been beyond Fontainebleau, and was enraptured +at the idea of seeing snow-clad mountains and strange +people. Gerald and Edgar were to be of the party, and they +were only to return to England in time for the double wedding. +The sisters were to be married on the same day, after all. +That had been settled for them arbitrarily by family and friends,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</span> +despite Daphne’s objection; and Warwickshire people were +already beginning to speculate upon the details of the ceremony, +and to wonder what dean or bishop would be privileged +to tie the knot, assisted by the Rev. Marmaduke Ferrers.</p> + +<p>Daphne’s conduct since her engagement had been unobjectionable. +Nobody could deny her sweetness, or could fail to +approve the sobriety which had come over her manners and +conversation. Her hot fits and cold fits, her high spirits and low +spirits, were all over. She was uniformly amiable and uniformly +grave—not taking rapturous pleasure in anything, but seemingly +contented with her lot in life, devoted in her affection to her +sister, unvaryingly kind to her lover. Edgar was never tired of +thanking heaven for the blessedness of his lot. He had remitted +his tenants five-and-twenty per cent. of their March rents; not +that there was any special need for such indulgence, but because +he longed to be generous to somebody, and to disseminate his +overflowing joy.</p> + +<p>‘I shall do the same for you next October, in honour of my +marriage,’ he said in his speech at the audit dinner; ‘and after +that I shall want all the money you can pay me, as a family +man.’</p> + +<p>Madoline, utterly happy in her lover’s society, after that +interval of severance which had seemed so long and dreary, cared +very little where their lives were to be spent, so long as they +were to be together. Yet the idea of revisiting Lake Leman—which +she had seen and loved seven years ago in a quiet pilgrimage +with her father—with Gerald for her attendant and +companion, had a certain fascination.</p> + +<p>‘It is rather like anticipating our honeymoon, is it not, +dear?’ he asked laughingly. ‘But when the honeymoon comes +we shall find some new world to explore.’</p> + +<p>‘Would you like to take me to the Red River?’</p> + +<p>‘I think that would be a shade too rough, even for your +endurance. The Italian lakes, and a winter in Rome, would +suit us better. It is all very well for a man to travel in a district +where he has to cover his face with a muffler, and head the +driving snow, till he is nearly suffocated with his frozen breath, +and has to get himself thawed carefully at the first camp-fire; +but that kind of experience lasts a long time, and it is pleasing +to fall back upon the old habit of luxurious travelling, and to +ride in a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">coupé</i> through Mont Cenis or St. Gotthard, and to +arrive at one’s destination without any large risk of being swallowed +whole in a swamp, or burned alive in a prairie fire.’</p> + +<p>‘I shall delight in seeing Rome with you,’ Madoline answered +gently.</p> + +<p>‘I thought you would like it. I really know my Rome. It +is a subject I have studied thoroughly, and I shall love playing +cicerone for you.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</span></p> + +<p>It was midsummer, a perfect midsummer evening, the placid +sky still faintly tinted with rose and amethyst yonder where the +sun had just gone down behind the undulating line of willows. +The little town of Stratford lay in its valley, folded in a purple +cloud, only the slender church spire rising clear and sharp against +that tranquil evening sky. Daphne had stolen away from Madoline +and Gerald, who were sitting on the terrace, while Edgar, +chained to his post in the dining-room by a lengthy monologue +upon certain political difficulties, with which Sir Vernon was +pleased to favour him, vainly longed for liberty to rejoin his +idol. She had put on her hat, and had set out upon a lonely +pilgrimage to Stratford. They were all to leave South Hill +early to-morrow, and it was Daphne’s fancy to bid good-bye +to the church which sheltered those ashes it were the worst of +sacrilege to disturb.</p> + +<p>It was an idle fancy, no doubt, engendered of a mind prone +to idle thoughts; but Daphne, having no urgent occupation for +her time this evening, fancied she had a right to indulge it.</p> + +<p>‘I am going for a little walk,’ she had told Edgar, as she left +the dining-room; ‘don’t fidget yourself about me.’</p> + +<p>From which moment poor Edgar had been in agonies of restlessness, +turning an ear deafer than any adder’s to Sir Vernon’s +disquisition upon the critical state of the country, and the utter +incapacity of the men in office to deal with such a crisis, and +inwardly chafing against every extension of the subject which +prolonged the seemingly endless discourse.</p> + +<p>‘A little walk!’ and why, and where, and with whom? Vainly +did Edgar’s strained gaze explore the distant landscape. From +his position at the dinner-table, he could see a fine range of +country ten or fifteen miles away; but never a glimpse of terrace +or garden by which Daphne must go. And it was the rule of +his life to show Sir Vernon the extremity of respect, an almost +old-fashioned and Grandisonian reverence. Therefore to cut +short that prosy discourse was impossible.</p> + +<p>The blessed moment of release came at last. Sir Vernon +finished his claret with a sigh, and left nation and ministry to +their fate. Edgar hurried to the terrace. Gerald and Madoline +were sipping their coffee at a little rustic bamboo table, the +Maltese Fluff lying luxuriously in his mistress’s silken lap.</p> + +<p>‘Have you any idea where Daphne has gone?’ Edgar asked +despairingly.</p> + +<p>‘No, indeed. I saw her stroll down towards the river. +Perhaps she has gone to see her aunt.’</p> + +<p>‘Thanks, yes, I daresay,’ replied Edgar, speeding off towards +the Rectory without waiting to consider whether the clue were +worth following.</p> + +<p>While Mr. Turchill was hastening across the fields at a racing +pace, Daphne was seated in her boat, quietly drifting towards<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</span> +Stratford, along a dreamy twilit river, where every willow had a +ghostly look in the evening dimness.</p> + +<p>She was full of grave thoughts on this her last night in +Warwickshire. It was more than a year—a year and a quarter—since +she had come home for good, as the phrase goes, and a +year and a quarter makes a large section of a young life. The +years are so long in early youth, when the heart and mind live +so fast, and every day is a history: so strangely different from +the monotonous years of middle age, which glide past unawares, +like the level flats seen from a canal-boat, each meadow so like +the last that the voyager is unconscious of progress, till he feels +the salt breath of Death’s ocean creeping across the low marshes +of declining life, and knows that his journey is nearly done.</p> + +<p>To Daphne that year at South Hill had been a lifetime. +How ardently she had felt and thought and suffered within the +time; what resolutions made and broken; what fevers of dangerous +delight, and dull intervals of remorse; what wild wicked +hopes; what black despair! Looking back at the time that was +gone and dead, she was inclined to exaggerate its joys, to gloss +over its pain.</p> + +<p>‘At the worst I have been happy with him,’ she said, remembering +how much of that vanished time had been spent in Gerald +Goring’s society, ‘though he is nothing to me, and never can be +anything to me but a man to be shunned; yet we have been +happy together, and that is something.’</p> + +<p>She remembered some lines of Dryden’s which Gerald had +quoted in her presence:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">‘To-morrow do thy worst, for I have lived to-day.</div> + <div class="verse indent1">Be fair, or foul, or rain, or shine,</div> + <div class="verse indent1">The joys I have possessed, in spite of Fate, are mine.’</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>She had lived her day. There had been moments in the past; +moments that had stirred the deeps of her soul with a power as +mysterious as the sweep of the angelic wing on Bethesda’s pool; +moments when she had fancied herself beloved by him, whom +to love was treason. These stood out upon the page of memory +in fiery characters, and in their supernal light all the rest of the +record seemed dull and dark. There had been hours of unquestioning +bliss when she had in no wise reasoned upon her happiness, +when she had not asked herself whether she was loved or +scorned, but had been happy as the summer insects are among +the flowers, vivified by the sunshine, asking nothing but to live +and enjoy that glorious warmth and brightness. So at times she +had abandoned herself to the delight of his society, whom she +had loved from the hour of their first meeting, giving all her +heart and mind to him at once, as utterly as Juliet gave hers to +Romeo.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</span></p> + +<p>She had lived her day. The long vista of to-morrow and +to-morrow opened before her joyless gaze, and she could look +down the tranquil path it was her fate to tread, a wife beloved +and honoured, a sister fondly loved, a daughter reconciled with +her father, mistress of a fine old house, full of quaint and pleasant +associations, established for life in the heart of rural scenes +which her soul loved. Surely it was not a destiny to be contemplated +with such profound sadness as shadowed her face to-night, +while she leant listlessly on her oars and drifted down the full +dark river.</p> + +<p>All was very quiet below the bridge when she landed at the +boat-builder’s yard, and left her craft in charge of that amphibious +and more than half-intoxicated hanger-on who is generally +to be found waiting on fortune at every landing-stage. The walk +to the church was dark and shadowy; lights twinkling in the +low cottage windows; glimpses of home-life dimly seen through +open doors. Daphne walked quickly to the avenue of limes, +that green odorous aisle that leads to the porch. There had been +evening service, and the lights were still burning here and there, +and the heavy old door stood ajar. Daphne pushed it gently +open, and crept into the church, past the stately monuments of +mediæval Cloptons, whose marble effigies reposed in solemn +pomp upon sculptured tombs, rich in armorial emblazonment. +In the faint light and mysterious shadow the stony figures looked +like real sleepers, waiting for the last dread summons. Daphne +stole past them with noiseless footfall, and crept along the aisle +to the lovely old chancel, where, just within the altar-rails, +William Shakespeare takes his last earthly rest. The sexton +came out of the vestry to see whose footfall it was that fell so +lightly on that everlasting flint. Daphne was standing by the +altar-rail in a reverie, looking up at the calm sculptured face, so +serene in its contentment with a life which, in the vast range +and dominion of a mind that was in itself a kingdom, had held +all things worth having. These are the full and rounded lives, +complete and perfect in themselves, the calm and placid lives of +contemplative men, for whom the gates of the spiritual universe +stand ever open, who are in no wise dependent upon the joys, +and gains, and triumphs of this work-a-day world.</p> + +<p>‘Were you always happy, my calm-faced Shakespeare?’ +wondered Daphne. ‘Could you have sounded all the deeps of +sorrow without having yourself suffered? I think not. Yet +there seems hardly any room in your life for great sorrow, except +perhaps in the loss of that child who died young. Was +Ann Hathaway your only love, I wonder—you who wrote so +sweetly of sorrowful hopeless love—or was there another, another +whom we know as Juliet, and Imogen, and Cordelia: +another from whom you always lived far apart, yet whom you +always loved?’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</span></p> + +<p>‘I beg your pardon, miss,’ said the sexton; ‘I’m going to lock +up the church.’</p> + +<p>‘Let me stay a few minutes longer,’ pleaded Daphne, taking +out her purse. ‘I am going away from England to-morrow, and +I have come to say good-bye to the dear old church.’</p> + +<p>‘Are you going to be away long, miss?’</p> + +<p>‘Nearly three months.’</p> + +<p>‘That’s a very short time,’ said the old man, pocketing +Daphne’s half-crown. ‘I thought perhaps you were going away +for many years—going to settle somewhere across the sea. It +hardly seems like saying good-bye to the church if you are to be +back among us this side Michaelmas.’</p> + +<p>‘No,’ said Daphne dreamily, looking along the shadowy nave, +where broken rays of moonlight from the painted windows shone +upon the dark oak benches like dropped jewels. ‘It is not long; +but one never knows. To-night I feel as if it were going to be +for ever. I am so fond of this old church.’</p> + +<p>‘No wonder, miss. It’s a beautiful church. You should +hear the Americans admire it. I suppose they’ve nothing half +as good in their country.’</p> + +<p>The moon was up when Daphne left the church, and walked +round by head-stones and memorial-crosses to the shaded path +beside the river, where here and there a seat on the low wall +invited the weary to repose in the cool shade of ancient elms. +The broad full river looked calm and bright under the moonlit +sky; the murmur of the weir sounded like a lullaby.</p> + +<p>Daphne walked slowly to the end of the path, and stood for +a long time looking down at the river. She felt curiously loth +to leave the spot. Yet it was time she were on her homeward +way. They would miss her, perhaps, and be perplexed, and +even anxious about her. But in the next moment she dismissed +the idea of any such anxiety on her behalf.</p> + +<p>‘Lina will not think about me while Mr. Goring is with her; +and my father is not likely to trouble himself. There is only +poor Edgar, and he will guess which way I have come, and +follow me if he takes it into his head to be uneasy.’</p> + +<p>Reassured by this idea, Daphne resolved to gratify her fancy +for farewells to the uttermost, and to say good-bye to the house +where the poet was born. Stratford streets were very empty +and quiet at this period of the summer evening, and she met +only a few people between the churchyard and the sacred dwelling. +To a stranger, entrance into the sanctuary at such an hour +would have been out of the question; but Daphne was on +friendly terms with the lady custodians of the temple, and +knew she could coax them to unlock the door for her pleasure. +Never lamp or candle was admitted within the precincts, but +on such a night as this there would be no need for artificial +light; and Daphne only wanted to creep into the quaint old<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</span> +rooms, to look round her quietly for a minute or two, and feel +the spirit of the place breathing poetry into her soul.</p> + +<p>‘I have such a strange fancy that I may never see these +things again,’ she said to herself as she stood in the moonlit +garden, where only such flowers grew as were known in Shakespeare’s +time.</p> + +<p>The two ladies lived in a snug little house with a strictly +Elizabethan front, and casement windows that looked into the +poet’s garden. All that taste, and research, and an ardent love +could do had been done to make Shakespeare’s house and its +surroundings exactly what they were when Shakespeare lived. +The wise men of Stratford had brought their offerings, in the +shape of old pictures, and manuscripts, and relics of all kinds; +the rooms had been restored to their original form and semblance; +and pilgrims from afar had no longer need to blush +for the nation which owned such a poet and held his memorials +so lightly. A very different state of things from the vulgar +neglect which obtained when Washington Irving visited Stratford.</p> + +<p>The maiden warders of the house were a little surprised at +so late a visit, but received Daphne kindly all the same, and +were disposed to be indulgent to girlish enthusiasm in so worthy +a cause. It was against the rules to open the house at so late +an hour; but as no light was needed, Daphne should be allowed +just to creep in, and bid good-bye to the hearth beside which +Shakespeare had played at his mother’s knees.</p> + +<p>‘One would think you were going away for a long while, +Miss Lawford,’ said one of the ladies, smiling at Daphne’s eager +face.</p> + +<p>It was exactly what the sexton had said, and Daphne made +the same answer as she had given him.</p> + +<p>‘One never knows,’ she said.</p> + +<p>‘Ah, but we know. You are coming home to be married in +the autumn. We have heard all about it. Stratford Bells will +ring a merry peal on that day, I should think; though I suppose +the wedding will be at Arden Church. I am so glad you +are going to settle in the neighbourhood, like your sister. What +a grand place Goring Abbey is, to be sure! My sister and I +drove over in a fly last summer to look at it. We went all over +the house and grounds. It is a beautiful place. Yet I don’t +know but that I like Mr. Turchill’s old manor-house best.’</p> + +<p>‘So do I,’ answered Daphne absently.</p> + +<p>‘Of course you do!’ cried the other sister, laughing. ‘That’s +only natural.’</p> + +<p>They all three went across the garden in the moonlight, and +the elder sister unlocked the house-door.</p> + +<p>‘Would you like go in alone?’ she asked. ‘You are not +afraid of ghosts?’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</span></p> + +<p>‘Of Shakespeare’s ghost? No, I should dearly love to see +him. I would fall on my knees and worship the beautiful +spirit.’</p> + +<p>‘Go in, then. We’ll wait in the garden.’</p> + +<p>Daphne went softly into the empty house. It was more +ghostly than the church—more uncanny in its emptiness. She +felt as if the disembodied souls of the dead were verily around +and about her. That empty hearth, on which the moonbeams +shone so coldly; those dusky walls; a vacant chair or two; a +gleam of coloured light from an old scrap of stained glass. +How cold it all felt in its dismal loneliness. She tried to conjure +up a vision of the poet’s home three hundred years ago—in +its old-world simplicity, its homely comfort and repose; a +world before steam-engines, gas, and electricity; a world in +which printing and gunpowder were almost new. To think of +it was like going back to the childhood of this earth.</p> + +<p>Daphne left the outer door ajar, and crept softly through +the rooms, half expectant of ghostly company. What tricks +moonbeam and shadow played upon the walls, upon the solid +old timber crossbeams, where in the unregenerate days, a quarter +of a century ago, pilgrims used to pencil their miserable +names upon the wood or whitewash, childishly fancying they +were securing to themselves a kind of immortality. Daphne +stood by the window with her heart beating feverishly, and her +ear strained to catch the footfall of the sisters in the garden, +and thus to be sure of human company. She looked along the +empty street, moonlighted, peaceful; even the tavern over the +way a place of seeming tranquillity, notable only by its glimmering +window and red curtain. The silence and shadowiness of +the house were beginning to frighten her in spite of her better +reason, when a step came behind her—a firm light tread which +her ear and heart knew too well. It seemed almost as if her +heart stopped beating at the sound of that footfall. She stood +like a thing of marble, scarce breathing. The step had crossed +the threshold of the outer room, and was drawing nearer, when +an eager voice outside broke the spell:</p> + +<p>‘Is she there? Have you found her?’</p> + +<p>It was Edgar’s voice at the outer door.</p> + +<p>‘Yes. Where else should she be?’ answered Gerald Goring.</p> + +<p>‘Well, my lady, I hope you are satisfied with the nice little +dance you have led us,’ he said to Daphne as coolly as if he had +been talking to a refractory child.</p> + +<p>‘You need not have troubled yourself about me,’ she answered +curtly. ‘I told Lina I was coming for a walk. How did +Edgar know I was here?’</p> + +<p>‘Edgar knew nothing,’ answered Gerald, with a light laugh +that was something too scornful for perfect friendship. ‘Edgar +would as soon have looked for you at Guy’s Cliff or Warwick<span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</span> +Castle, or in the moon. I knew you were nothing if not Shakespearian; +and when I heard you had taken your boat I guessed +you had gone to worship at your favourite shrine. We heard of +you at the church, and hunted for you among the trees and +tombs.’</p> + +<p>‘And then we went back to the landing-stage, where you +always stop, don’t you know, when you go as far as Stratford, +and finding you had not come back for your boat, I was almost +in despair. But Gerald suggested Shakespeare’s birthplace, and +here we are.’</p> + +<p>It was Gerald, then, who had found her; it was Gerald +whose quick sympathy, prompt to divine her thoughts, had told +him where she would be. Her future husband, the man to +whom she was bound, had guessed nothing, had no faculty for +understanding her fancies, whims, and follies. How wide apart +must she and he remain all their lives, though nominally one!</p> + +<p>They all three went quietly back to the garden, where the +sisters were waiting, amused at Daphne’s folly, and thinking it +quite the most charming thing in girlhood; for to these vestals +Shakespeare was a religion.</p> + +<p>‘I am really very sorry to have caused you so much trouble,’ +said Daphne, apologising in a general way; ‘but I had no idea +my absence would give anyone concern. Perhaps I have been +longer than I intended to be.’</p> + +<p>‘It struck ten a quarter of an hour ago,’ said Edgar.</p> + +<p>‘That’s really dreadful; I had no idea it was so late.’</p> + +<p>Daphne bade the sisters good-bye, apologising humbly for +her nocturnal visit. They went to the garden-gate with her, +and stood there watching the light slim figure till it vanished +in the moonlight, full of interest in her prettiness and her +fancies.</p> + +<p>‘Is it not a sweet face?’ asked one.</p> + +<p>‘And was it not a sweet idea to come and bid good-bye to +this house before she went abroad?’ said the other.</p> + +<p>Daphne and her companions walked down to the landing-stage, +talking very little by the way. Edgar and his betrothed +side by side, Gerald walking apart with a cigar.</p> + +<p>Daphne wanted to row, but Edgar insisted on establishing +her in the stern, wrapped in a shawl which he found in the boat. +He took the sculls, and Gerald reclined in the bows, smoking +and looking up at the night sky.</p> + +<p>It was a lovely night, all the landscape sublimated by that +glory of moonbeam and shadow into something better and more +beautiful than its daylight simplicity; every little creek and +curve of the river a glimpse of fairyland; all things so radiantly +and mysteriously lovely that Daphne almost hoped to see the +river-god and his attendant nymphs disporting themselves in +some reedy shallow.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</span></p> + +<p>‘On such a night as this one would expect to see the old +Greek gods come back to earth. I can’t help feeling sorry sometimes, +like Alfred de Musset, that they are all dead and gone,’ +she said, looking with dreamy eyes down the moonlit tide across +which the shadows of the willows fell so darkly.</p> + +<p>‘I think, considering the general tenor of their conduct, +every proper-minded young lady ought to feel very glad we +have got rid of them,’ said Gerald, throwing away the end of +his cigar, which fizzed and sparkled and made a little red spot +in the moonlit water, a light that was of the earth earthy amidst +all that heavenly radiance. ‘How would you like to be run +away with by a wicked old man disguised as a bull; or to have +the earth open as you were gathering daffodils, and a still +wickeder old gentleman leap out of his chariot to carry you off +to Tartarus?’</p> + +<p>‘How dare you call Zeus old?’ cried Daphne indignantly. +‘The gods were for ever young.’</p> + +<p>‘Well, he was a family man at any rate, and ought to have +known better than to go masquerading about the plains and +valleys when he ought to have been sitting in state on Olympus,’ +answered Gerald. ‘Now such a river on such a night as this +puts me in mind of old German legends rather than of Greek +gods and goddesses. I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if Miss +Daphne Lawford were suddenly to develop into an Undine, and +take a header into the river, cleaving the silvery tide, and going +down to depths beyond any earthly fathom-line, leaving Turchill +and me aghast in the boat.’</p> + +<p>‘I have often envied Undine,’ answered Daphne; ‘I love +the river so dearly that years ago I used really to fancy that +there must be a bright world underneath it, where there are +gnomes and fairies, and where one might be happy for ever. +Even now, though I have left off believing in fairies, I cannot +help thinking that there is profound peace at the bottom of this +quiet river.’</p> + +<p>‘If you were to go down experimentally in a diving-bell, I’m +afraid you’d find only profound mud,’ said Gerald, with his +cynical laugh.</p> + +<p>Since his return from Canada he had treated Daphne much +in the old fashion—as if she were a child upon whose foolishness +his wisdom looked down from an ineffable height. There was +nothing in manner, word, or look to show that he remembered +that one fatal moment of self-betrayal, when his passionate heart +gave up its secret.</p> + +<p>‘I wonder what Daphne will think of this turbid Avon +after she has seen Lake Leman,’ he speculated presently, ‘eh, +Turchill?’</p> + +<p>‘The lake is a great deal wider,’ said Edgar, with his matter-of-fact +air; ‘and those capital steamers are a great attraction.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</span></p> + +<p>‘A lake with steamers upon it! Too horrible!’ cried Daphne. +‘I shall not like it half so well as my romantic Avon, though its +waters are sometimes “drumly.” Dear old Avon!’—they were +at the boat-house by this time, and she was stepping on shore as +she spoke—‘how long before I shall see you again?’</p> + +<p>‘Less than three months,’ said Edgar, clasping her hand as +she sprang up the steps which Bink had cut in the meadow +bank. ‘Not quite three months; and then, darling,’ in a lower +tone, ‘you will be all my own, and I shall be the happiest man +on earth.’</p> + +<p>‘Who knows?’ returned Daphne. ‘How can one be sure +when one is leaving a place that one will ever come back to it? +Good-bye, dear old river!’ she cried, turning to look back at it +with eyes full of tears. ‘I feel as sad as if I were taking my last +look at you.’</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV.<br> +<span class="fs70">‘BUT I WOT BEST WHER WRINGETH ME MY SHO.’</span></h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Twenty-four</span> hours after that quiet row up the moonlit +river, the South Hill party were on the Calais steamer, tossing +and tumbling about in the Channel, much to the discomfiture +of Mrs. Mowser, who was a bad sailor, and took care to make +everybody in the ladies’ cabin perfectly familiar with that fact. +There was nothing of the Spartan about Mowser, nothing in +any wise heroic in her conduct under the trial of sea-sickness. +Yet there was a kind of martyrlike fidelity in her; for even in +her agony she never let her mistress’s travelling-bag and jewel-box +out of her eye—nay, would hardly trust those valuables out +of her own grasp, clutching at them convulsively in the throes +of her malady, and suspecting evil intentions in guileless fellow-sufferers.</p> + +<p>It was a lovely night, and Madoline and Daphne both stayed +on deck, to the indignation of Mowser, who was sure Miss Lawford +would catch cold, and declared it was all Miss Daphne’s +doing.</p> + +<p>‘I thought you’d have come down to the cabin and had a +comfortable lay-down,’ said Mowser when they had all scrambled +or staggered up the oozy steps, and had been interrogated as to +their names by an alert official, in a manner somewhat alarming +to the sleepy and feeble-minded voyager.</p> + +<p>Then came a weary hour or so in the warm light refreshment-room, +a cup of coffee, or a <em>bouillon</em>, a few stifled yawns, +an occasional excursion to the platform, and finally the welcome +departure, by flat fields and unknown marsh-lands, with the +inevitable row of poplars against the horizon. Daphne seemed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</span> +to know the depressing landscape by heart. Her father, muffled +in his corner, slept peacefully. Madoline slumbered, or seemed +to slumber. Gerald and Edgar had secured a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">coupé</i> to smoke in; +and by a judicious arrangement with the guard Sir Vernon and +his daughters had a compartment all to themselves. But not +one wink of sleep visited Daphne’s eyelids. Wearily she watched +the monotonous landscape, enlivened a little now and then by +a glimpse of village life in the clear cold light of early morning; +cattle moving about in misty meadows, casements opening to +the balmy air. What a long journey it seemed to that one wakeful +passenger! but the longest—were it even a long unprofitable, +uneventful life-journey—must end at last; and by-and-by +there came the cry of ‘Paris!’ and the mandate that all passengers +were to pass into the great bare luggage repository +to answer for the contents of bags and baggage; a weary +interval, during which the South Hill party loitered in bleak +waiting-rooms, while Jinman and Mrs. Mowser delivered up +keys, and satisfied the requirements of the State.</p> + +<p>A long day in Paris, during which Sir Vernon reposed from +his fatigues at the Bristol Hotel, while the young people went +about sight-seeing; a dinner at Bignon’s, where Daphne protested +she could perceive no difference between the much-vaunted +<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">consommé</i> of that establishment and Mrs. Spicer’s clear +soup; an evening at the Français, where they saw Got in +Mercadet; and then off again in the early summer morning by +the eight o’clock train for Dijon and Geneva, a twelve hours’ +journey.</p> + +<p>It was a peerless morning. Paris, with its busy markets and +teeming life, seemed brimming over with brightness and gaiety; +boulevard-building in full progress; waggons coming in from +the country; artisans hurrying, grisettes tripping to their work. +Daphne’s spirits rose with the thought of fresh woods and pastures +new.</p> + +<p>‘I have been longing all my life to see Switzerland,’ she +said, when all the difficulties of departure were overcome, and +the train was speeding gaily past suburban gardens, and groves, +and bridges, ‘and now I can hardly believe I am going there. +It is a journey to dream about and look forward to, not to come +to pass.’</p> + +<p>‘Are no bright things ever to come to pass? Is all life to +be dull and colourless?’ asked Gerald Goring, sitting opposite +her in the railway-carriage, with Lina by his side. They were +all together to-day, having established themselves as comfortably +as possible in the spacious compartment, and having provided +themselves largely with light literature, wherewith to +beguile the tedium of the journey.</p> + +<p>‘I don’t know about you,’ said Daphne; ‘you are an exceptional +person, and have been able to realise all your dreams!’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</span></p> + +<p>‘Not all,’ answered Gerald gravely: ‘I suppose no one ever +does that.’</p> + +<p>‘You have but to form a wish, and, lo! it is gratified,’ murmured +Daphne, taking no notice of his interruption. ‘Last +winter it flashed across your brain that it would be nice to shoot +cariboos—poor innocent harmless cariboos, who had never injured +you—and, in a thought, you are off and away by seas and +rivers and snow and ice to gratify the whim. What pleasure +can Switzerland have for you? Every inch of it must be as +vapidly familiar as that dear old English Warwickshire which +you esteem so lightly.’</p> + +<p>‘Perhaps; but it is a pleasure to revisit a familiar place +with those I love. I was a poor solitary waif when I went +through Switzerland, from Geneva to Constance, from Lindau +to Samaden, picking up my companions by the way, or travelling +in Byronic solitude—though, by the way, I doubt if Byron +ever was much alone. Judged by his poetry, he may be a gloomy +and solitary spirit; but judged by his life and letters, he was a +social soul.’</p> + +<p>‘I like to think of him as gloomy and alone,’ said Daphne, +with a determined air. ‘Please don’t dispel all my illusions.’</p> + +<p>Edgar was sitting by her side, cutting up magazines and +newspapers, watchful of her every look, thinking her every word +delightful, ready to minister to her comfort or pleasure, but +without much ability to entertain her with any conversational +brightness—unless they two could have been alone, and could +have talked of their future life at Hawksyard; the stables, the +gardens, the horses they were to ride together next winter, when +Daphne was to take the field, a heaven-born Diana. He was +never tired of talking of that happy future, so near, so near, and +to which he looked forward with such fervent hope.</p> + +<p>They were nearing Fontainebleau; already the forest showed +dark on the horizon. Daphne, so vivacious hitherto, became +curiously silent. She sat looking towards that distant line of +wood, that smiling valley with its winding river. All her soul +was in her eyes as she looked. Two years ago—almost day for +day, two years—and her heart had awakened suddenly from its +long sleep of childish innocence to feel and to suffer.</p> + +<p>Gerald stole a look—guiltily as it were—at the too expressive +face. Yes, she remembered. Her soul was full of sad and +tender memories. He could read all her secrets in those lovely +eyes, the lips slightly parted, the lace about her neck stirred +faintly by the throbbing of her heart. She had no more forgotten +Fontainebleau and their meetings there than he had. +To each it dated a crisis in life: for each it had given a new +colour to every thought and feeling.</p> + +<p>Lina, her hands moving slowly in some easy knitting, looked +up at her sister.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</span></p> + +<p>‘Are we not near Fontainebleau, where you spent your +holidays once?’ she asked.</p> + +<p>‘Yes,’ Daphne answered shortly.</p> + +<p>‘You speak as if you had not been happy there.’</p> + +<p>‘I liked the place very much; but it was a dull life. Poor +Miss Toby and her sick headaches, and Dibb for my only companion.’</p> + +<p>‘And Dibb was ineffably stupid,’ said Gerald, suddenly forgetting +himself, and moved to laughter at the thought of honest +Martha’s stolidity; ‘at least, I have often heard you say as +much,’ he added hastily.</p> + +<p>‘She was a good harmless thing, and I won’t have her ridiculed,’ +said Daphne, brightening, all serious thoughts taking +flight at the absurdity of Gerald’s lapse. ‘I wonder if she has +finished that crochet counterpane.’</p> + +<p>‘Finished it! Of course not,’ cried Gerald. ‘She is the +sort of girl who would die, and come to life again in a better +world still working at the same counterpane—as I imagine from +your description of her,’ he concluded meekly.</p> + +<p>They were leaving Fontainebleau far behind them by this +time; its old church, and its palace, with all its historic memories +of Francis and Henri, Napoleon and Pius VII. The forest +was but a dark spot in the vanishing distance; they were speeding +away to the rich wine country with its vast green plains, +and steep hillsides clothed with vines. At two o’clock they +were at Dijon, and seemed to have been travelling a week. Sir +Vernon grumbled at the dust and heat, and regretted that he +had undertaken the whole journey in a day.</p> + +<p>‘We ought to have stayed the night at Dijon,’ he said fretfully, +when they were out of the station, steaming away towards +Macon, after a hurried luncheon in the well-furnished refreshment-room.</p> + +<p>‘It is a wretchedly dull place to stop at, sir,’ said Gerald; +‘hardly anything to see.’</p> + +<p>‘At my age a man does not want always to be seeing things,’ +growled Sir Vernon; ‘he wants rest.’</p> + +<p>The day had been oppressively hot—a sultry heat, a sunbaked +landscape. Madoline and her sister bore it with admirable +patience, beguiling the tedium of those long hours now with +conversation, now with books, anon with quiet contemplation +of the landscape, which for a long way offered no striking features. +It was growing towards evening when they entered the +Jura region, and found themselves in a world that was really +worth looking at: a wild strange world, as it appeared to +Daphne’s eye; vast rolling masses of hill that seemed to have +been thrown up in long waves before this little world assumed +shape and solidity; precipitous green slopes, grassy walls that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</span> +shut out the day, and the deep rapid river cleaving its tumultuous +course through the trough of the hills.</p> + +<p>‘Don’t you think this is better than Stratford-upon-Avon?’ +asked Gerald mockingly, as he watched Daphne’s excited face, +her eyes wide with wonder.</p> + +<p>‘Ever so much wilder and grander. I should like to live +here.’</p> + +<p>‘Why?’</p> + +<p>‘Because in such a world one would forget oneself. One’s +own poor little troubles would seem too mean and trumpery to +be thought about.’</p> + +<p>‘No man’s trouble is small or mean to the sufferer himself,’ +replied Gerald. ‘There is nothing grand or dignified in the +abstract notion of Job’s boils; yet to him they meant an unendurable +agony which tempted him to curse his Creator and +destroy his own life. I don’t believe the grandest natural surroundings +would lessen one’s sense of the thorn in one’s side.’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t think you have any thorns, Daphne,’ said Edgar +tenderly, ‘or that you need take refuge from your sorrows +among these desolate-looking mountains.’</p> + +<p>‘Of course not. I was only speaking generally,’ answered +Daphne lightly; ‘but oh! what a mighty world it is—hills that +climb to the sky, and such lovely tranquil valleys lying between +those dark earth walls. Vines, and water-mills, and waterfalls +tumbling over rocky beds. If Switzerland is much grander than +this, I think its grandeur will kill me. I can hardly breathe +when I look up at those great dark hills.’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t know that there is anything in Switzerland that +impresses one so much as one’s first view of the Jura,’ said +Gerald. ‘It is the giant gateway of mountain-land—the entrance +into a new world.’</p> + +<p>The heat seemed to increase rather than diminish with the +shades of evening. No cool breeze sprang up with the going +down of the sun. The sultry atmosphere thickened, and became +almost stifling; and then, just as it was growing dark, big +raindrops came splashing down, a roar of thunder rolled along +the hills, like a volley of cannon; thin threads of vivid light +trembled and zigzagged behind the hill-tops, and the storm +which had been brooding over them all the afternoon broke +in real earnest.</p> + +<p>‘A thunderstorm in the Jura,’ exclaimed Gerald; ‘what +a lucky young woman you are, Mistress Daphne! Here is one +of Nature’s grandest effects got up as if on purpose to give you +pleasure.’</p> + +<p>‘I hope it may cool the air,’ said Sir Vernon, from the comfortable +corner where he had been fitfully slumbering ever since +they left the French territory.</p> + +<p>Daphne sat looking out of the window, and spoke never a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</span> +word. She was drinking in the beauty and grandeur of this +unspeakable region, trying to fill her soul with the form and +manner of it. Yes, it was worth while living, were it only to +see these mountain peaks and gorges; these hurrying waters +and leaping torrents; these living forces of everlasting Nature. +She had been weary of her life very often of late, so weary that +she would gladly have flung it off her like a worn-out garment, +and have lain down in dull contentment to take her last earthly +rest; but to-night she was glad to be alive—to see the forked +lightnings dancing upon the mountain-sides; to hear all earth +shudder at the roar of the thunder; to feel herself a part of +that grand conflict. A little later, when they had gone through +an almost endless tunnel, and were nearing Geneva, the thunder +grew more and more distant, seemed to travel slowly away, like +an enemy’s cannon firing stray shots as the foe retreated; and +the night sky flung off its black cloud-mantle, and all the stars +shone out of a calm purple heaven; while the little lights of +the city, faint yellow spots upon the dark blue night, trembled +and quivered in the distance.</p> + +<p>‘Isn’t this dreadfully like one’s idea of Manchester?’ said +Daphne, when they were in the station, and tickets were being +collected in the usual businesslike way.</p> + +<p>‘Can there be a higher model than Manchester for any commercial +city?’ asked Gerald.</p> + +<p>‘Commercial! Oh, I hope there is nothing commercial in +Switzerland. I have always thought of it as a land of mountains +and lakes.’</p> + +<p>‘So is Scotland, yet there is such an element as trade in that +country.’</p> + +<p>‘You are bent on destroying my illusions. Oh, what a horrid +row of omnibuses!’ cried Daphne, as they came out of the station +and confronted about twenty of those vehicles, with doors +hospitably open, and commissionaires eager to abduct new +arrivals for their several hotels. ‘And where is Mont Blanc?’ +she inquired, looking up at the surrounding chimney-pots.</p> + +<p>‘At your elbow,’ answered Gerald; ‘but you may not see +him to-night. The monarch of mountains is like our own gracious +sovereign, and is not always visible to his subjects.’</p> + +<p>There was a private carriage from the Beau Rivage Hotel +waiting for the South Hill party, and in this they all drove +down a hilly-street, which was bright and clean, and wide, and +prosperous-looking, but cruelly disappointing to Daphne. Jinman +and Mowser followed in the omnibus with the luggage. +Mowser, like Daphne, was considerably disappointed.</p> + +<p>‘If this is Switzerland, I call it very inferior to Brighton,’ +she said snappishly. ‘Where are the glaziers and the mountings?’</p> + +<p>‘Did you expect to find them just outside the station?’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</span> +demanded the more travelled Jinman. ‘I have lived months +in Switzerland and never seen a glashyeer. I don’t hold with +having one’s bones rattled to bits upon a mule for the sake of +seeing a lot of dirty ice. One can look at that any hard winter +on the Serpentine.’</p> + +<p>‘Swisserland is Swisserland,’ answered Mowser sententiously, +‘and I don’t hold with travelling all this way from +home—I’m sure I thought this blessed day would never come +to an end—unless we are to see somethink out of the common.’</p> + +<p>‘The hotels are first-class,’ said Jinman, ‘and so are the +restorongs on board the boats. Nobody need starve in Switzerland.’</p> + +<p>‘Can we get a decent cup of tea?’ asked Mowser. ‘There’s +not a scullery-maid at South Hill as would drink such cat-lap +as they brought me at the Bristol.’</p> + +<p>Jinman explained that the teapot was an institution fully +understood in the Helvetian States.</p> + +<p>‘They’re a more domestic people than the French,’ said +Jinman condescendingly, ‘I must say that for them. But +Genever is the poorest place for restorongs I was ever at; +plenty of your caffy-staminies, where you may drink bad wine +and smoke bad cigars to your heart’s content; but hardly a +decent house where you can get a dejoonay à la fourchette, or +give a little bit of dinner to a friend. The hotels have got it +all their own way.’</p> + +<p>‘They ought to,’ answered Mowser, ‘when there’s such a +many of ’em. I wonder they can all pay.’</p> + +<p>At the Beau Rivage, Sir Vernon and his daughters found a +spacious suite of rooms on the third floor, many-windowed, +balconied, looking over the lake. The two young men had +secured quarters a little way off at the International. Sir Vernon +grumbled at being put on the third storey, after having given +due notice of his coming; but the American dollar and the +Russian rouble had bought up the first and second stages of the +big hotel, and an English country gentleman must needs be +contented with an upper floor. But the rooms were lovely, and +Daphne was delighted with their altitude.</p> + +<p>‘We are all the nearer Mont Blanc,’ she said, standing half +in and half out of the window; ‘one of the waiters told me it +was over there—<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tout près</i>—but though I have been straining my +eyes ever since, I can’t discover a gleam of snow behind those +dark hills.’</p> + +<p>There were the loveliest flowers on the tables and cabinets, +such flowers as one hardly expects to find at an hotel, were it +never so luxurious. Madoline admired them wonderingly.</p> + +<p>‘One would think the people here knew my particular vanity, +and were anxious to gratify me,’ she said; and then turning to +one of the waiters who was arranging books and writing-desks<span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</span> +on the tables, she asked: ‘Have you always such lovely flowers +in the rooms?’</p> + +<p>‘No, madame. They were ordered this morning by a telegram +from Paris.’</p> + +<p>‘Father! No, Gerald; it must have been your doing.’</p> + +<p>‘A happy thought while I was loitering about that miserable +railway-station,’ replied Gerald.</p> + +<p>‘How good of you! Dear flowers. They make the place +seem like home.’</p> + +<p>‘When you are settled at Montreux we can arrange for the +contents of the Abbey hot-houses to be sent you weekly. It +will be something for that pampered menial MacCloskie to look +after, in the intervals of his cigars and metaphysical studies. I +have an idea that he employs all his leisure in reading Dugald +Stewart. There is a hardness about him which I can only attribute +to a close study of abstract truth.’</p> + +<p>Daphne was standing out in the balcony, with Edgar at her +side, looking down at the scene below. Geneva seemed pretty +enough in this night view—a city of lake and lamplight, ringed +round with mountains; a city of angles and bridges, sharp lines, +lofty houses, peaked roofs; the dark bulk of a cathedral, with, +a picturesque lantern on the roof, dominating all the rest.</p> + +<p>‘I think if it would only lighten I could see Mont Blanc,’ +said Daphne, with her eyes fixed upon that bit of sky to which +the waiter had pointed when she questioned him about the +mountain. ‘One good vivid flash would light it up beautifully.’</p> + +<p>‘My dearest, how dangerous!’ exclaimed Edgar; ‘pray, +come out of the balcony. You might be blinded.’</p> + +<p>‘I’ll risk that. It will not be the first time I have stared the +lightning out of countenance.’</p> + +<p>A summer flash lit up the sky as she spoke. There was one +wide quiver of pale blue light, but never a glimpse of snow-clad +peak gleamed from the distance.</p> + +<p>‘How horrid!’ exclaimed Daphne; ‘but that was a very +poor flash. I’ll wait for a better one.’</p> + +<p>She waited for half-a-dozen, in spite of Edgar’s urgent +efforts to lure her indoors, but the summer flashes showed her +nothing but their own vivid light.</p> + +<p>‘If the electric light prove no better than that for all practical +uses, I don’t envy the inventor,’ she exclaimed with infinite +disgust.</p> + +<p>Dinner was served in the adjoining room, but Madoline and +her sister begged to be excused from dining. They would take +tea together in the drawing-room while the three gentlemen +dined. Sir Vernon declared that he had no appetite, but he was +willing to sit down, for the public good as it were. After which +protest he did ample justice to a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">sole à la Normande</i>, and a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</span> +<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">poulet à la Marengo</i>, to say nothing of such pretty tiny kickshaws +as <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">gâteau St. Honoré</i> and ice-pudding.</p> + +<p>For Madeline and Daphne a round table was spread with a +snowy cloth, a pile of delicious rolls, unquestionable butter, and +a glass dish of pale golden honey, excellent tea, and cream—a +thoroughly Arcadian meal.</p> + +<p>‘Dearest, how brightly your eyes are sparkling,’ said Lina, +with an admiring look at the young face opposite. ‘I can see +you are enjoying yourself.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, there is always a pleasure in novelty. Why cannot +one pass all one’s life in new places? The world is wide enough. +It is only our own foolishness that keeps us tied, like a poor +tethered animal, to one dull spot.’</p> + +<p>‘Why, Daphne, I thought you were so fond of home, that +the banks of the Warwickshire Avon made up your idea of +earthly paradise!’</p> + +<p>‘Sometimes, yes. But lately I have grown terribly tired of +Warwickshire.’</p> + +<p>‘That’s a bad hearing; and next year, when you are settled +at Hawksyard——’</p> + +<p>‘Please don’t speak of that. Thank Heaven we are three +days’ journey from Hawksyard. Let me forget it if I can.’</p> + +<p>‘Daphne, how can you talk like that of a dear old place +which is to be your home—a place where one of the best men +living was born?’</p> + +<p>‘If you think him such a wonder of goodness, why did you +not have him when he asked you?’ cried Daphne, in a sudden +fit of irritation. Those nerves of hers, always too highly strung, +were to-night at their sharpest tension. ‘I am sick to death +of hearing him praised by people who don’t care a straw about +him.’</p> + +<p>‘Daphne!’ exclaimed Lina, more grieved than offended at +this outburst.</p> + +<p>Daphne was on her knees beside her sister in the next +moment.</p> + +<p>‘Forgive me, darling, I am hideously cross and disagreeable. +I suppose it is that tiresome lightning and the annoyance of not +seeing Mont Blanc. All that long, dusty, fusty journey, and +nothing but an hotel and a lamp-lit town at the end of it. I +wanted to find myself in the very heart of mountains, and +glaciers, and avalanches.’</p> + +<p>‘I think you know how honestly I like Edgar,’ said Madoline, +believing in her guilelessness that Daphne had resented her +praise of Mr. Turchill because she fancied it hollow and insincere. +‘I daresay if I had not cared for Gerald long before +Edgar proposed to me, I might have given Mr. Turchill a +different answer. I cannot tell how that might have been. +My life has had only one love. I loved Gerald from the days<span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</span> +when he first came to South Hill, a school-boy, when he used to +tell me all his troubles and his triumphs, when any success +of his made me prouder than if it had been my own. My +heart was given away ages before Edgar ever spoke to me of +love.’</p> + +<p>‘I know, dear; I can understand it all; only, don’t you +know, when everybody conspires to praise the young man to +whom one is engaged, and when all one’s relations are everlastingly +congratulating one upon one’s good fortune—the implication +being that it is quite undeserved—there is a kind of +weariness that creeps over one’s soul at the sound of those +familiar phrases.’</p> + +<p>‘I will never praise him again, dear,’ answered Lina, smiling +at her. ‘I shall be perfectly contented to know that you value +him as he deserves to be valued, and that your future happiness +is assured by his devoted love.’</p> + +<p>Daphne gave a fretful little sigh, but made no further protest. +She was thinking that she had seen a Newfoundland dog +every whit as devoted as Edgar. Yet the affection of that Newfoundland +would have hardly been deemed all-sufficient for the +happiness of a lifetime.</p> + +<p>She went back to the table, and did execution upon the rolls +and honey with a healthy girlish appetite, despite that feverish +unrest which disturbed the equal balance of her mind.</p> + +<p>Daphne ordered Edgar to attend her on an exploration of +the city next morning, directly after breakfast.</p> + +<p>‘Madoline and my father know the place by heart,’ she said; +‘and, of course, Mr. Goring is tired of it. How could a man +who is weary of all creation care for Geneva?’</p> + +<p>‘Who told you I was weary of creation?’ asked Gerald +languidly.</p> + +<p>‘Your ways and your manners,’ replied Daphne. ‘I knew as +much the first time I saw you.’</p> + +<p>The weather was clear and bright, the town looking its best, +as Daphne and her lover left the hotel on their excursion. They +were to be back before noon, at which hour they were to start +with Gerald and Madoline for Ferney.</p> + +<p>‘If it were not for the lake this place would be beneath contempt,’ +said Daphne decisively, as they crossed the low level +bridge, and lingered to look at the sapphire Rhone, and to speculate +upon that deepened azure hue which the waters assume +when they flow from the lake into the river. ‘It is no more +like the Geneva of my dreams than it is like Jerusalem the +Golden.’</p> + +<p>‘Is it not really?’</p> + +<p>‘Of course not. My idea of Switzerland was a succession of +mountain ledges, varied by an occasional plank across a torrent. +Imagine my revulsion of feeling at finding a big businesslike<span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</span> +town, with omnibuses, and cafés, and manufactories, and everything +that is commonplace and despicable.’</p> + +<p>‘But, surely, I think you must have known that Geneva was +a town,’ faltered Edgar, grieved at his dear one’s ignorance, and +glad to think his mother was not by to compare this foolishness +with her own precise geographical knowledge, acquired thirty +years ago at Miss Tompion’s, and carefully harvested in the +store-house of a methodical mind.</p> + +<p>‘Well, perhaps I may have expected something in the way +of a city; a semi-circle of white peaky houses on the margin of +the lake; a mediæval watch-tower or two; a Gothic gateway, +the very gate that was shut against Rousseau, don’t you know; +and Mont Blanc in full view.’</p> + +<p>‘I call it a very fine town,’ said Edgar, venturing to disagree +with his beloved.</p> + +<p>‘I wish it did not swarm so with English and Americans. I +have heard nothing but my own tongue since I came out,’ +protested Daphne.</p> + +<p>She was better pleased presently when they mounted a +narrow street on the side of a breakneck hill. She was tolerably +satisfied with the cathedral, where the tomb of the great Protestant +leader Henri de Rohan took her fancy by its massive +grandeur, couchant lions at its base, the soldier in his armour +above. She was interested in the pulpit from which Calvin and +Theodore de Bèze preached the Reformed Faith, and was somewhat +disgusted with her companion for his utter ignorance of +the historic past, save inasmuch as it was feebly reflected in the +most limited and conventional course of instruction.</p> + +<p>‘What did you learn at Rugby?’ she asked impatiently. +‘You don’t seem to know anything.’</p> + +<p>‘We didn’t give much time to history, except Livy and +Xenophon,’ answered Edgar, feebly apologetic.</p> + +<p>‘And therefore you are not a bit of use as a cicerone. You +really ought to subscribe to Mudie and read a lot of instructive +books. There’s no good in reading old histories; people are +always discovering letters and archives that put the whole story +of the past in a new light. You must get your history hot from +the press.’</p> + +<p>‘I would rather take my information at second-hand from +you, dear,’ answered Edgar meekly. ‘It seems natural to +women to read a great deal, and to find almost a second life in +books, but men——’</p> + +<p>‘Are so shamefully lazy that their capacity for taking in +knowledge is exhausted by the time they have skimmed the +daily papers,’ answered Daphne. ‘And now, please, take me to +the museums Mr. Goring told you about.’</p> + +<p>With some trouble, and a good deal of inquiring, they +found a private collection of art and <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">bric-à-brac</i>, historical relics,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</span> +furniture, delft, and china, that was well worth seeing. Then, +having regaled their eyes upon this to the uttermost, they +scampered off to the public museum, where the only objects of +thrilling interest were the manuscripts and letters of dead and +gone celebrities, from Calvin downwards. They found that +famous reformer’s penmanship as angular as his character; they +found Bossuet a careless and sprawling writer; Fénelon careful, +neat, and fine; the Duc de Richelieu a fop even in the use +of his pen, his writing exquisitely clear, minute, and regular; +while De Maintenon’s hand was large, bold, angular, and eminently +readable—the natural indication of an unscrupulous +managing temper, a woman born to govern, by fair means or +foul. Daphne lingered a little over Rousseau’s manuscript of +‘Julie,’ a work of delicate neatness, evidently copied from the +rough draft.</p> + +<p>‘Is not “Julie” one of the novels which one mustn’t read?’ +asked Daphne, when she had perused half a page. ‘It looks +uncommonly dull. I thought wicked stories were always interesting.’</p> + +<p>Edgar had never heard of ‘Julie.’ It was doubtful if he had +ever heard of Rousseau; but at this remark he hurried Daphne +away from the manuscript, lest some snaky little bit of immorality +should uncurl itself on the page, and lift up its evil +head before her. It was time for them to get back to the hotel, +so they gave but a cursory glance at the pictures and other treasures +of the museum, and hastened into the glare of the broad +white street, where Edgar insisted upon putting his betrothed +into a fly. They found Madoline and Gerald waiting for them +in the porch of the Beau Rivage, and a smart open carriage with +a pair of horses ready to take them to Ferney.</p> + +<p>‘Thank goodness we are going away from Geneva,’ said +Daphne, as the carriage rattled through the wide clean streets +towards the country; ‘and now I suppose we shall see something +really Swiss.’</p> + +<p>‘You will see the home of a great man of letters,’ answered +Gerald, looking at her lazily with those languid dreamy eyes +whose shifting hue had so puzzled her in the forest of Fontainebleau, +‘and as you are such a hero-worshipper, that ought to +satisfy you.’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t care a straw for Voltaire,’ said Daphne.</p> + +<p>‘Indeed! And pray how much do you know about him?’</p> + +<p>‘Everything. I have read Carlyle’s description of him in +“Frederick the Great.” He was a horrid man; cringed to his +goat-faced eminence Dubois; allowed himself to be caned by the +Duc de Rohan’s hired bravoes, the Duc looking on out of a +hackney coach window all the time.’</p> + +<p>‘Don’t say allowed himself. I don’t suppose he could help +it.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</span></p> + +<p>‘He ought to have prevented it. Imagine a great man +beginning his career by being beaten in the public streets.’</p> + +<p>‘Who knows that your Shakespeare did not get a sound drubbing +from Sir Thomas Lucy’s gamekeepers, before he was stung +into retaliating by that exquisitely refined lampoon which tradition +ascribes to him? You worship your Swan of Avon for +what he wrote, not for what he did. Can you not deal the same +measure to Voltaire?’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t know anything of his writing, except a few +speeches out of “Zaïre,” and an epitome of his “Louis Quatorze.” +If you are going to put him on an equality with +Shakespeare——’</p> + +<p>‘I am not. But I say that as an all-round literary worker +he never had an equal, unless it were Scott, who has surpassed +him in many things, and who could, I believe, have equalled +him on any ground.’</p> + +<p>‘Scott was an old dear,’ answered Daphne, with her usual +flippancy, ‘and I would rather have “Kenilworth” and “The +Bride of Lammermoor” than all this Voltaire of yours ever +wrote.’</p> + +<p>‘And which you, most conscientious of critics, never read.’</p> + +<p>‘Well, Daphne, what do you think of the country?’ asked +Madoline, now that they had left the city and were driving +slowly up hill through a pastoral district. ‘Is it not pretty?’</p> + +<p>‘Pretty,’ cried Daphne, ‘of course it is pretty; but it isn’t +Swiss. What do I care for prettiness? There is enough of +that and to spare in Warwickshire. Why,’ with ineffable disgust, +‘the country is absolutely green!’</p> + +<p>‘What colour did you expect it to be?’ asked Edgar, smiling +at her energetic displeasure.</p> + +<p>‘White, of course! One dazzling sweep of snow. One blinding +world of whiteness.’</p> + +<p>‘If you want that kind of thing you had better go to the +North Pole,’ said Gerald.</p> + +<p>‘Not I. If this is Switzerland I have done with travelling. +I daresay the North Pole is as tame as Stratford High Street.’</p> + +<p>‘Does not that grand Jura range frowning yonder content +you?’ asked Gerald. ‘Is not your eye satisfied by the cloud-wrapped +Alps on the other side of that blue lake?’</p> + +<p>‘No; they are too far off. I want to be among them—a +part of them. After a hypocritical waiter telling me last night +that Mont Blanc was <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">là, tout près</i>, a truthful chambermaid confessed +this morning that it is fourteen hours’ drive to Chamounix, +and then one is only at the foot of the mountain. As for this +landscape we are now travelling through——’</p> + +<p>‘It is uncommonly like Jersey,’ said Edgar. ‘I took my +mother there for her holiday five summers ago. It is a capital +place for boating and rambling about, and crossing over to the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</span> +other islands: but the mater didn’t like it. The people weren’t +genteel enough for her. The gowns and bonnets weren’t up to +her mark.’</p> + +<p>They were at Ferney by this time, a rustic village with one +or two humble cafés, a few small shops, a farm-yard. Here +Daphne descried a pair of oxen drawing a waggon of hay—noble +beasts, dappled and tawny—and the sight of these gave +a foreign air to the scene which in some wise lessened her disgust.</p> + +<p>A shaded shrubberied drive admitted them to the house +where Voltaire lived so long and so peacefully, and which is now +in the occupation of a gentleman who graciously allows it to be +shown—rather ungraciously—by his major-domo. Lightly as +Daphne had spoken of Voltaire, she was too keenly imaginative +not to be interested in the house which any famous man had +inhabited. Two quiet rooms, <em>salon</em> and bed-chamber, looked +into a short broad alley of trees, a garden, and summer-house +perched high on the hillside, and commanding a wide prospect +of fertile valley and gloomy mountain. All things in those two +rooms were exactly as they had been in the great man’s lifetime; +everything was exquisitely neat, and all the colours had faded +to those delicate half-tints which the artistic soul loveth: faint +grays and purples, fainter greens and fawn colours. Here was +the narrow bed on which Voltaire slept, with its embroidered +coverlet; chairs and <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">fauteuils</i> covered with tapestry; walls upholstered +with figured satin damask, pale with age; Lekain’s +portrait over the bed; Madame du Châtelet’s opposite, where +the great satirist’s cynical glance must have rested on it as he +awakened from his slumbers.</p> + +<p>They all looked reverently at these things, hushed and subdued +by the thought that they were amidst the surroundings of +the dead; belongings that had once been familiar and precious +to him who now slept the last long sleep in his vault at the +Pantheon; where never-ending gangs of Cook’s tourists are +perpetually being ushered into his mausoleum, and perpetually +asking one another who was Voltaire?</p> + +<p>They loitered a little in the garden, wrote their names in a +visitors’-book, and then went back to explore the village, and to +take a modest luncheon of coffee and bread and butter, sour +claret, and Gruyère cheese at one of the humble taverns, while +the horses stood at ease before the door, and the driver refreshed +himself modestly at the expense of his fare.</p> + +<p>They drove home to the hotel by a way which passed through +a quaint village, and then skirted the lake, and which was somewhat +more romantic than the country road by which they had +come, and Daphne expressed herself satisfied, on the whole, with +her first day in Switzerland.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI.<br> +<span class="fs70">‘FORBID A LOVE AND IT IS TEN TIMES SO WODE.’</span></h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Sir Vernon</span> showed himself especially gracious to his younger +daughter and her lover next morning at breakfast, when the +itinerary of their holiday was discussed. So far as his own pleasure +was concerned, he would have liked nothing better than to +go straight to Montreux, where a delightful villa, with a garden +sloping to the lake, had been secured for his accommodation; +but he did not forget that Daphne had seen nothing of Switzerland, +and Edgar very little; and for their sakes he was ready to +make considerable sacrifices.</p> + +<p>‘I am a wretched traveller, and I detest sight-seeing,’ he said +languidly; ‘but I don’t wish to spoil other people’s pleasure. +Suppose we make a little round before we settle down in our +villa by the lake? Let us go to Fribourg and hear the organ, +and then on to Berne for a day or so, and then to Interlaken. +There I can rest quietly in my own rooms at the Jungfraublich, +while you young people drive to Lauterbrunnen and Grindelwald, +and do any little climbing in a mild way which is compatible +with the safety of your necks and bones generally; and +then we can come straight back to Montreux. How would you +like that, Madoline?’</p> + +<p>‘Very much, indeed, dear father. It will be a delight to me +to go over the old ground with Daphne.’</p> + +<p>‘And you, Goring?’</p> + +<p>‘I am Lina’s slave—her shadow; true as the dial to the sun.’</p> + +<p>‘Papa,’ said Daphne, drawing her chair nearer to him, and +with a coaxing look which no man but a father could have resisted, +‘it is so good of you to propose such a charming trip, and +I shall enjoy it immensely; but would it be any way possible, +now we are so near, to go to Chamounix, and get to the top of +Mont Blanc; or, at least, part of the way up?’</p> + +<p>‘No, my dear. Quite out of the question.’</p> + +<p>‘But it is only a drive to Chamounix; and there is a diligence +goes every morning.’</p> + +<p>‘Edgar can take you there next year, when you are married. +I am too old for a drive of fourteen hours’ duration.’</p> + +<p>Daphne looked miserable. Mont Blanc was the central +point of all her desires. It irked her to be so near and not to +reach the world-famous mountain. She looked at Edgar doubtfully. +No; she could not realise the idea of coming back next +year, alone with him. She had never been able to project her +mind into that future in which they two should be one, bound +by a sacred yoke, doomed to be for ever together. From any +casual glance at such a future her mind always shrank away +shudderingly, as from the dim memory of a bad dream.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</span></p> + +<p>‘I don’t believe I shall ever come to Switzerland again,’ she +said discontentedly, when breakfast was finished and her father +had retired to his own room to write letters.</p> + +<p>Madoline was sitting at work by an open window, silken +water-lilies and bulrushes developing themselves gradually +under her skilful fingers, on a ground of sage-green cloth. The +tables were covered with books and miniature stands; the room +was bright with flowers, and looked almost as home-like as South +Hill; but before the evening Mowser and Jinman would have +packed all these things, and despatched the greater part of them +to Montreux, while the travellers went on to Fribourg in light +marching order, which in this case meant about three portmanteaux +per head. Some books must, of course, be taken, and +drawing materials, and fancy-work, and a writing-desk or two, +and camp-stools for sitting about in romantic places, and a good +deal more, which made a formidable array of luggage by-and-by +when Sir Vernon and his family were assembled at the +railway-station.</p> + +<p>‘Do you mean to tell me that we require all these things for +a week or ten days?’ he said, scowling at the patient Jinman, +who was standing on guard over a compact pyramid of trunks, +portmanteaux, and Gladstone bags, umbrellas, sunshades, and +heterogeneous etceteras.</p> + +<p>‘I don’t think there’s anything could have been dispensed +with, Sir Vernon,’ answered Jinman. ‘The books and ornaments +and most of the heavy luggage have gone on to Montrooks.’</p> + +<p>‘Great Heaven, in the face of this would any man marry, +and make himself responsible for feminine existences!’ exclaimed +Sir Vernon, shrugging his shoulders disgustedly as he +turned away; yet Jinman could have informed him that his +own share of the luggage was quite equal to that of his daughters.</p> + +<p>They were all established presently in a German railway +compartment: Sir Vernon seated in his corner and absorbed +in an English newspaper, whose ample sheet excluded every +glimpse of lake and wooded slopes, Alps and Jura; while +Edgar smoked on the platform outside, and Daphne stood at +the open door, gazing at the changing landscape: the smiling +lake below; the dark slopes and mountain range on the farther +shore; the villages nestling in the valley on this nearer bank; +the cosy little homesteads and bright gardens; the vine-clad +terraces, divided by low gray walls; the quaint old churches, +with tiled roofs and square clock-towers; and yonder, far away +at the end of the lake, Chillon’s gloomy fortress, which she +recognised with a cry of delight, having seen its presentment in +engravings and photographs, and knowing Byron’s poem by +heart.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</span></p> + +<p>She gave a sigh of regret as a curve of the line carried her +away from the azure lake and its panorama of hills.</p> + +<p>‘I can hardly bear to leave it,’ she said; ‘but, thank Heaven, +we are coming back to it soon.’</p> + +<p>‘You are reconciled to Switzerland, then, in spite of your +disillusions,’ said Gerald.</p> + +<p>‘Reconciled! I should like to live and die here.’</p> + +<p>‘What! abandon your beloved Shakespeare’s country?’</p> + +<p>‘I am heartily sick of Shakespeare’s country.’</p> + +<p>‘Daphne,’ cried Edgar, with a look of deepest mortification, +‘that is a bad look-out for poor old Hawksyard.’</p> + +<p>‘Hawksyard is a dear old place, but I don’t want to be reminded +of it—or of anything else in Warwickshire—now I am +in Switzerland. I want to soar, if I can. I am in Byron’s +country. He lived there,’ pointing downwards to where they +had left Lausanne and Ouchy. ‘He wrote some of his loveliest +poetry there; his genius is for ever associated with these scenes. +Sad, unsatisfied spirit!’</p> + +<p>Her eyes filled with sudden tears at the thought of that disappointed +life, seeking solace from all that is loveliest in Nature, +shunning the beaten tracks, yet never finding peace.</p> + +<p>‘If you are very good,’ said Gerald gravely, ‘within the next +ten minutes I will show you something you are anxious to see.’</p> + +<p>‘What is that?’</p> + +<p>‘Mont Blanc. Get your glass ready.’</p> + +<p>‘Why, we left him behind us, across the lake, sulkily veiled +in impenetrable cloud.’</p> + +<p>‘He will show himself more amiable presently. You will +get a good view of him in five minutes if you focus your glass +properly and don’t chatter.’</p> + +<p>Daphne spoke never a word, but stood motionless, with her +landscape glass glued to her eyes, and waited, as for a divine +revelation.</p> + +<p>Yes, yonder it arose, white and cloudlike on the edge of the +blue summer sky, the mighty snow-clad range, of which Mont +Blanc is but a detail—the grand inaccessible region; mountain-top +beyond mountain-top; peak above peak; everlasting, untrodden +hills, producing nothing, pasturing nothing, stupendous +and ghastly as the polar seas; a world apart from all other +worlds; a spectacle to awe the dullest soul and thrill the coldest +heart; a revelation of Nature’s Titanic beauty.</p> + +<p>‘Oh, it must have been such mountains as those that the +Titans hurled about them when they fought with Zeus,’ cried +Daphne when she had gazed and gazed till the last gleam of +those white crests vanished in the distance.</p> + +<p>‘Do you feel better?’ asked Gerald, with his mocking smile.</p> + +<p>‘I feel as if I had seen the world that we are to know after +death,’ answered Daphne.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</span></p> + +<p>‘Would you be surprised to hear that these excrescences, +which you think so grand, are but modern incidents in the +history of the earth? Time was when Switzerland was one +vast ice-field: nay, if we can believe Lyell, the clay of London +was in course of accumulation as marine mud at a time when +the ocean still rolled its waves over the space now occupied by +some of the loftiest Alpine summits.’</p> + +<p>‘Please don’t be instructive,’ exclaimed Daphne. ‘I want +to know nothing about them, except that they are there, and +that they are beautiful.’</p> + +<p>At Fribourg they drove down the narrow street to the Zähringer +Hof, the hotel by the suspension bridge, where from a +balcony they looked down a sheer descent to the river, and to +the roofs and chimneys of the old town lying in a cleft of +the hills, while yonder, suspended in mid-air, a mere spider-thread +across the sky, stretched the upper and loftier bridge. +It was nearly dinner-time when they arrived. There were dark +clouds on the horizon, and only gleams of watery sunshine +behind the gray old watch-towers on the crest of the hill across +the river.</p> + +<p>‘I’m afraid we are going to have another storm,’ said Gerald, +lounging against the embrasure of a window, and looking as if +Fribourg, with its modern suspension bridges and mediæval +watch-towers, were just the most uninteresting place in the world.</p> + +<p>He looked thoroughly worn-out and weary, as if he had +been labouring hard with body and mind all day, instead of +lolling in a railway-carriage, staring listlessly at the landscape. +Sir Vernon, the ostensible invalid, was not more languid.</p> + +<p>‘Let it come down,’ cried Daphne; ‘but whatever the weather +may be, I shall go and hear the organ after dinner. There is +the bell for vespers. How nice it is to find oneself in a Roman +Catholic town, with vesper-bells ringing, and dear old priests and +nuns and all sorts of picturesque creatures walking about the +streets!’</p> + +<p>They dined in their own sitting-room, Sir Vernon having a +good old English dislike to any intercourse with unintroduced +fellow-creatures. To sit at a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">table-d’hôte</i> with the Tom, Dick, +and Harry of cockney Switzerland would have been abhorrent +to him.</p> + +<p>‘We may get a worse dinner in our own room,’ he said, looking +doubtfully at some unknown spoon-food offered to him by +way of an <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">entrée</i>, ‘but we avoid rubbing shoulders with the +kind of people who travel nowadays.’</p> + +<p>‘Are they so much worse than the people who used to +travel——’</p> + +<p>‘When I was a young man? Yes, Daphne, quite a different +race,’ said Sir Vernon with authority. ‘Gerald was right. +We are in for another storm.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</span></p> + +<p>A quiver of livid light, a crash of thunder, and black darkness +yonder behind the hills gave emphasis to his statement. +Daphne flew to the window to look at the bridges and the +towers, which were almost expunged from the face of creation +by a thick blinding rain. A waggon was crawling across the +nearer and lower bridge, and the whole fabric rocked under its +weight.</p> + +<p>‘Nobody will dream of going to the cathedral to-night,’ +said Sir Vernon.</p> + +<p>But the waiter in attendance declared that everyone would +go. There would be a concert on the great organ from eight to +nine. The cathedral was close by; there would be a carriage +in waiting at ten minutes to eight to convey those guests who +graciously deigned to patronise the concert, for which the +waiter was privileged to dispose of tickets. Furthermore, the +storm would assuredly abate before long. It was but a thunder-shower.</p> + +<p>Daphne stood at the window watching the thunder-shower, +which seemed to be drowning the lower town and flooding the +river. The rain came down in torrents; the thunder roared +and bellowed over the hills; the chainwork of the suspension +bridge creaked and groaned.</p> + +<p>Sir Vernon protested that the storm made him nervous, and +retired to his room, leaving the young people to do as they +pleased.</p> + +<p>They sat in the stormy dusk sipping their coffee, ready to +put on their hats and be off the minute the carriage was +announced. Daphne wore a gown of some creamy-white material, +which gave her a ghostly look in the gloom.</p> + +<p>‘You have heard this famous organ, Lina,’ she said. ‘Is it +really worth stopping at Fribourg on purpose to hear it when, +with a little more time and trouble, one might get half-way up +Mont Blanc?’</p> + +<p>‘It is a wonderful organ; but you will be able to judge for +yourself in a few minutes.’</p> + +<p>‘We should have been getting near Chamounix by this +time, if we had started by this morning’s diligence,’ sighed +Daphne.</p> + +<p>‘Restless, unsatisfied soul! still harping on the mountain,’ +said Gerald.</p> + +<p>‘I have seen him, at least,’ exclaimed Daphne, clasping her +hands; ‘that is something. Far, far away, like a glimpse of +another world: but still I have seen him. Shall we see him +again to-morrow, do you think, on the way to Interlaken?’</p> + +<p>‘I’m afraid not. To-morrow I shall have the honour to +introduce you to the Jungfrau.’</p> + +<p>‘I don t care a straw for her,’ exclaimed Daphne contemptuously.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</span></p> + +<p>‘What, not for Manfred’s mountain? Can you, who have +so devoured your Byron, be indifferent to the background of +that gloomy individual’s existence?’</p> + +<p>‘There is an interest in that, certainly; but Mont Blanc is +my beau-ideal of a mountain.’</p> + +<p>Here the carriage was announced. The two girls put on +their hats and wraps, soft China crape and gray camel’s-hair +shawls, and hurried down to the hall. The rain was still falling, +the thunder still grumbling amidst distant hills. They crowded +into the fly, and were jolted over stony and uneven ways to the +cathedral.</p> + +<p>They went in at a narrow little door to a great dark church, +with solitary lamps dotted about here and there in the gloom. +Everything had a mysterious look; the richly-carved oak, the +shrines, the chapels, the shrouded altar far away at the end.</p> + +<p>There were, perhaps, a hundred people sitting about in high +narrow pews with massive carved oak seats, sitting here and +there in a scattered way, all wrapped in shadow and gloom, +silent, overawed, expectant.</p> + +<p>Madoline and Daphne walked side by side up the long nave, +between two lines of oaken seats, the two men following; then +midway between the organ and the altar, they went into one of +the pews—Lina first, then Daphne. She had been sitting there +a minute or so looking about the dim dark church before she +discovered that it was Gerald, and not Edgar, who sat by her +side. Edgar had taken the seat behind them.</p> + +<p>They sat there for five or ten minutes, hushed and listening; +the rain splashing on the roof, the distant thunder reverberating; +nothing to be seen in the vast building but those yellow +lamps gleaming here and there, and patching with faint light +an isolated statue, or a pulpit, or a clustered column.</p> + +<p>At last, when the silence, broken only by faintest whisperings +among the expectant audience, had endured for what +seemed a weary while, the organ pealed forth in a grand burst +of sound, which swept along the arched roof, and filled the +church with music. Then after that crash of mighty chords +came tenderest phrases, a flowing melody that sank low as a +whisper, and then that strain of almost supernatural likeness +to the human voice rose up above the legato arpeggios of the +accompaniment, and thrilled every ear—tender, angelic, a +divine whisper of love and melancholy. Daphne had risen from +her seat, and stood with her arms resting upon the massive +woodwork in front of her, gazing up through the darkness +towards that glimmering spot of light yonder, near the arch of +the roof, which showed where the organ was, far away, +mysterious.</p> + +<p>Oh, that heavenly voice, with its soul-moving sadness! A +rush of tears streamed from her eyes; she stretched out her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</span> +hands unconsciously, as if yearning for some human touch to +break the mournful spell of that divine sorrow, and the hand +nearest Gerald was clasped in the darkness; clasped by a warm +strong hand which held it and kept it—kept it without a +struggle, for, alas! it lay unresistingly in his. They drew a little +nearer to each other involuntarily, shudderingly happy—with +the deep sense of an unpardonable guilt, a shameful treason; +yet forgetting everything except that vain foolish love against +which both had fought long and valiantly.</p> + +<p>A peal of thunder on the organ within, an answering peal +from the storm without. The mimic tempest blended itself +with heaven’s own artillery; and at the terrible sound those +guilty creatures in the church let go each other’s hands. Daphne +clasped hers before her face, and sank on her knees.</p> + +<p>‘Pity me and help me, O God!’ she prayed, and looking up +she saw just above her in a marble niche the image of the +Mother of God; and in this moment of temptation and self-abandonment, +it seemed to her a natural thing that women +should ask a woman’s mediation in their hour of sorrow.</p> + +<p>A funeral hymn of Sebastian Bach’s pealed from the organ +with an awful grandeur which thrilled every listener; and then +came a silence, and after that the low murmur of the storm +dying away in the distance, from the overture to ‘William Tell,’ +the flutelike tones of the ‘<em>Ranz des Vaches</em>,’ telling of pastoral +valleys and solemn mountains, a life of Arcadian innocence and +peace.</p> + +<p>With those lighter, gayer strains the concert ended, and they +all went slowly and silently out of the church. The storm was +over, and the moon was breaking through dark clouds.</p> + +<p>‘Don’t let us go back in that jingling abomination of a fly,’ +said Gerald, striding on over the wet pavement, leaving the two +girls to follow with Edgar Turchill.</p> + +<p>They picked their way through the streets. The town was +all dark and quiet, save for a glimmering yellow candle here and +there under a gable; there was none of the brightness and out-of-door +life of a French town. A couple of omnibuses and a fly +or two carried off the people who had been in the cathedral to +their several hotels.</p> + +<p>Gerald Goring was waiting for them in front of the Zähringer.</p> + +<p>‘What made you hurry on so?’ asked Madoline wonderingly.</p> + +<p>‘Did I hurry? I think it was you others who crawled. +That music irritated my nerves a little. It is full of studied +effects; the organist has trained himself to play upon the emotions +of his audience, now soaring to the seraph choir, now +going down to the depths of Pandemonium. The thunderstorm +and the organ together would have been too much for anybody.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</span> +Oh, pray don’t go indoors yet,’ he exclaimed, as they were all +three moving towards the entrance of the hotel. ‘Let us go for +a walk on the bridge. Don’t you know that after the organ the +great feature of Fribourg is the bridge?’</p> + +<p>‘If we are to be on our way to Interlaken to-morrow, we had +better see all we can to-night,’ said the practical Edgar.</p> + +<p>They went on the bridge; Gerald still walking ahead, and +keeping in some wise aloof from them. Daphne had not spoken +since they left the cathedral.</p> + +<p>‘Had the music an unpleasant effect upon you too, dear, that +you are so silent?’ Madoline asked, as they two walked side by +side.</p> + +<p>‘It was only too beautiful,’ answered Daphne.</p> + +<p>‘And you are glad we came here.’</p> + +<p>‘No. Yes. I would rather have been half-way up Mont +Blanc.’</p> + +<p>‘Poor child! But that is a pleasure in reserve for another +holiday. I know Edgar will take you wherever you like to go.’</p> + +<p>‘Do you think so? What a dance I shall lead him!’ cried +Daphne with a mocking laugh. ‘I shall not be content with +Mont Blanc or the Matterhorn. I shall insist upon seeing all +the extinct volcanoes, the wonderful fiery mountains that have +burned themselves out. Cotopaxi is about the mildest hill he +will be invited to climb.’</p> + +<p>Mr. Turchill had dropped into the background, and was +quietly enjoying his cigar, unaware of the pleasures in store for +him. Gerald walked ever so far ahead, cigarless, a gloomy +figure.</p> + +<p>‘I’m afraid either the thunder or the organ has given Gerald +one of his nervous headaches,’ said Lina anxiously.</p> + +<p>The moon showed herself fitfully athwart hurrying clouds, +now lighting up hills and watch-towers, river and rugged ravine, +with a wild Salvator-Rosa-esque effect, now hidden altogether, +and leaving all in gloom. Midway upon the bridge Madoline +and Daphne stopped, and stood looking down into the hollow +below, where the quiet sleeping town was dimly visible, with its +quaint street lamps, and rare gleams of light from narrow casements, +and stony ways shining after the rain. Here, when they +had stood for some minutes, Edgar joined them, having finished +his cigar, and he and Madoline began to talk about the place; +he questioning, she expounding its features.</p> + +<p>While they two were talking, Gerald came slowly back, and +stood by Daphne’s side, a few paces apart from the others. She +said never a word. They stood side by side for some minutes +like statues. She was wondering if he could hear the passionate +throbbing of her heart, which would not be stilled.</p> + +<p>They were standing thus, as if bound by a spell, when a +heavy waggon came creeping slowly along the bridge, making<span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</span> +the spot on which they stood tremble and sway under their +feet.</p> + +<p>‘We are hanging by a thread between time and eternity,’ +said Gerald, drawing closer to her. ‘What if the thread were +to snap, and drop us, hand in hand, into the black gulf of death?’</p> + +<p>She did not shudder at the thought, but turned and looked +at him in the moonlight, with a strange sad smile.</p> + +<p>‘Would you be glad?’ he asked softly.</p> + +<p>‘Yes,’ she answered, between a sigh and a whisper, still +looking up at him with that pathetic smile; and his eyes looked +fondly down into hers, losing themselves in the depth of a +fathomless mystery.</p> + +<p>‘Do you know that this bridge is the second longest in the +world, three hundred yards long, and a hundred and sixty-eight +feet above the river?’ asked Edgar Turchill’s matter-of-fact +tones, as he walked towards them, cheerful, contented, pleased +with himself and all the world.</p> + +<p>‘For God’s sake spare us a gush of second-hand Baedeker,’ +cried Gerald with intense irritation. ‘As if any living soul, +except a Cook’s tourist, could care how many feet or how many +yards long a bridge is. It is the effect one values, the general +idea that one is on that very bridge of Al Sirât, laid over the +midst of hell, and finer than a hair, and sharper than the edge +of a sword, over which the righteous must pass to Mahomet’s +paradise. It is the notion of man’s audacity in making perilous +ways that is really delightful. When that waggon went across +just now, I thought the last straw was being laid, and we were +all going.’</p> + +<p>Edgar came round to Daphne with a calm air of proprietorship +which made her shudder.</p> + +<p>‘What an interesting evening we have had!’ he said.</p> + +<p>‘Very.’</p> + +<p>‘You look pale and tired. Has it all been too much for +you?’ he asked tenderly.</p> + +<p>‘I think that organ would be too much for anyone.’</p> + +<p>‘Do you know—I am no judge, and you mustn’t laugh at +me for expressing an opinion—I hardly thought it equal, as an +organ, to the one at St. Paul’s. I took my mother there once +when all the charity children were assembled. I can’t tell you +what a grand sight it was, the dome crowded with their fresh +young faces.’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, for pity’s sake don’t talk about it,’ cried Daphne, +almost hysterically. ‘To compare that dark solemn cathedral, +with just a few people dotted about among the shadows, and the +thunder pealing over the roof—to compare such a scene with +that pagan St. Paul’s, and the dome crowded with rosy-cheeked +children, all white caps and pinafores and yellow worsted stockings!’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</span></p> + +<p>‘I was talking of the organ,’ replied Edgar, somewhat +offended.</p> + +<p>‘Then why introduce the charity children? Oh, please let +my thoughts dwell upon that dark church to-night; let me +remember the music, the darkness.’</p> + +<p>‘Daphne, dearest one, you are crying,’ exclaimed Edgar, +startled at the sound of a stifled sob.</p> + +<p>‘Who would not cry at such music?’</p> + +<p>‘But so long after. You are nervous and hysterical.’</p> + +<p>‘I am only tired. Please don’t worry me,’ retorted Daphne +fretfully, wrapping herself tightly in her soft gray shawl, and +quickening her pace.</p> + +<p>She said not a word more till they were inside the Zähringer +Hof, when she wished the other three a brief good-night, declaring +herself utterly worn out, and tripped lightly upstairs to her +room on the second storey. Madoline’s room was next her sister’s, +and when she went up a few minutes later, and knocked at +the door of communication between the two rooms, Daphne +excused herself from opening it.</p> + +<p>‘I’m dreadfully sleepy, dear,’ she said; ‘please leave me alone +for to-night!’</p> + +<p>‘Willingly, dearest, if you are sure you are not ill.’</p> + +<p>‘Not the least in the world.’</p> + +<p>‘And there is nothing you want Mowser to do for you?’</p> + +<p>‘Nothing. She has unpacked my things. I have everything +I want.’</p> + +<p>‘Then good-night, and God bless you.’</p> + +<p>‘Good-night,’ answered Daphne, but invoked no blessing +upon the sister she loved so well. Prayer breathed from such a +guilty heart would be almost blasphemy.</p> + +<p>She walked up and down the room for a long time, up and +down, up and down, her soul filled with ineffable joy. Yes; guilty, +treacherous, vile, ungrateful as she knew herself to be, she could +not stifle that wild sense of happiness, the rapture of knowing +herself beloved by the man she loved. Nothing but evil could ever +come out of that love; nothing but struggle, and sorrow, and +pain; yet it was deep delight to have been loved, the one perfect +joy that was possible for her upon this earth. To have +missed it would have been never to have lived: and now death +might come when it would. She had lived her life; she had had +her day.</p> + +<p>That this love was a thing of guilt, a scorpion to be crushed +and trodden under her foot, she never questioned. Not for an +instant did it enter into her mind that she could profit by +Gerald Goring’s inconstancy, that she was to take to herself the +lover whose faith had been violated by to-night’s revelation. +Never did it occur to her that any alteration in his future or<span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</span> +hers was involved in the admissions which each had made to the +other.</p> + +<p>‘He knows that I love him; he knows how weak and vile I +am,’ she said to herself. ‘If Lina were to know too? If she +were to see me with the mask off my face, what a monster of +perfidy and ingratitude I should seem to her! Oh, I should die +of shame. I could never endure the discovery. And to make +her unhappy—her to whom I owe so much, my dearest, my +best, the guardian angel of my life. Oh, Lina, Lina, if you +knew!’</p> + +<p>She flung herself on her knees beside the bed, and, with +hands clasped above her head, breathed her passionate prayer:</p> + +<p>‘Let me die to-night. Oh, Thou who knowest how sinful +and weak I am, let me die to-night!’</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII.<br> +<span class="fs70">‘I MAY NOT DON AS EVERY PLOUGHMAN MAY.’</span></h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">A chambermaid</span> brought Daphne a letter at half-past six +o’clock next morning. She had fallen asleep in the summer sunlight +after a night of almost utter sleeplessness; the warm air +blowing in upon her across the hills on the opposite side of the +river; the noises of the early awakened town floating up from +the valley below.</p> + +<p>She started from her pillow, scared and agitated at the sound +of the chambermaid’s knock, and took the letter with a trembling +hand. Gerald’s writing! She knew it too well; yet this was +the first letter he had ever addressed to her.</p> + +<p>‘How dare he write to me?’ she exclaimed angrily, as she +tore open the envelope.</p> + +<p>The letter began with no fond words of endearment. The +writer dashed at his meaning with passionate directness, with +feeling too intense to be eloquent.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>‘Tell me what I am to do. After last night, my future, my +life, are in your hands. Both belong to you if you will have +them. Shall I break the truth to Lina? Shall I tell her how, +little by little, in spite of myself, my heart has been beguiled +away from that calm affection which was once all-sufficient for +the joy of life; how a new and passionate love has replaced the +old; and that, although I shall honour, respect, and admire her +as the first and best of women till the end of my days, I am no +longer, I never can be again, her lover? I think, Daphne, that +the hard, outspoken, brutal truth may be the wisest and best. +Let us look Fate in the face. Neither you nor I can ever be +happy asunder. Will the sacrifice of my happiness secure Lina’s?<span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</span> +Answer me from your heart of hearts, my beloved, as you answered +me on the bridge last night.’</p> +</div> + +<p>There was not an instant’s doubt in Daphne’s mind as to how +this letter must be answered. Lina’s happiness sacrificed to +hers! Lina, so good, so pure-minded, in all things so much +above her, to be made miserable, in order that she might triumph +in a successful treachery!</p> + +<p>‘I don’t think the most virtuous person in the world could +loathe me worse than I should loathe myself, if I were to do this +thing,’ she said to herself resolutely.</p> + +<p>She sat down by the open window, wrapped in her loose +white dressing-gown, her soft golden hair falling over her shoulders +like a veil, her cheeks pale, her eyes heavy, an image of +youthful sorrow.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>‘Not for this wide world,’ she wrote, answering Gerald Goring’s +question as directly as he had asked it, ‘not to be completely +and unspeakably happy would I rob my sister of her +happiness; not if it could be done without making me a monster +of ingratitude, the most treacherous and despicable of women. +All you and I have to do is to forget our folly of last night, and +to be true, each of us, to the promises we have made. You +would be, indeed, a loser, condemned to pay a life-long penalty +for your foolishness, if you could barter such a flower as Madoline +for such a weed as me. Be true to her, and you will find +your reward in that truth. Do you know how good she is; how +priceless in her purity and love; and could you let her go for +my sake—for a creature who is compounded of faults and inconsistencies, +caprices, self-will; a creature with no more soul than +Undine? Remember how long she has loved you; think how +much she is above you in the beauty of her character; how fitted +she is to make your home happy, your life nobler and better +than it could ever be without her. Why, if, in some moment of +madness, you were to surrender her love, your life to come would +be one long regret for having lost her. Forget, as I shall forget; +be true, as I will be true, heaven helping me; and let me write +myself, without a blush, in this my first, and, perhaps, my last +letter to you,—Your Sister,</p> + +<p class="right"> +<span class="smcap">Daphne</span>.’<br> +</p> +</div> + +<p>Her eyes were streaming with tears as she wrote. Every +word came from her heart. There was no duplicity of thought, +no lurking hope that Gerald might refuse to be ruled by her. +She wrote to him faithfully, honestly, resolutely, her heart and +mind exalted by her intense love of her sister. And when the +letter was sealed and given to the chambermaid—who must have +wondered a little at this outbreak of letter-writing before breakfast +as a new development in the British tourist—she stole softly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</span> +to the door leading into Madoline’s room and opened it as noiselessly +as she could.</p> + +<p>Lina was still asleep, the calm beautiful face turned towards +the sunlight, the long dark lashes dropping on the oval cheek, +the lips faintly parted. Daphne crept to the bed-side and sat +down beside her sister’s pillow. Lina awoke and looked up at +her.</p> + +<p>‘My pet, have you been here long? Is it late?’ she asked.</p> + +<p>‘Late for you, love. About half-past seven. I have only +this moment come in.’</p> + +<p>‘How white and haggard you look!’ said Lina anxiously. +‘Have you had a bad night?’</p> + +<p>‘I did not sleep particularly well. I seldom can in a strange +place.’</p> + +<p>‘Daphne, I am afraid you are ill—or unhappy. There was +something in your manner last night that alarmed me.’</p> + +<p>‘I am not ill: and I have not felt so happy for a long time +as I feel this morning.’</p> + +<p>‘Why, dearest?’</p> + +<p>‘Because I have been making good resolutions, and I mean +to act upon them.’</p> + +<p>‘Would it be too much to ask what they are?’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, a general determination to be very obedient to you, +and very respectful to my father, and very tolerant of Edgar’s +stupidities, and all that kind of thing, don’t you know?’</p> + +<p>‘My darling, I can’t bear to hear you talk of Edgar like that. +He is so thoroughly good.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes,’ sighed Daphne, with an air of resignation. ‘If there +were only a little rift in his goodness, I should get on with him +so much better. It is dreadful to have to deal with a man +whose excellence is always putting one to shame.’</p> + +<p>‘I think you could be easily worthy of him.’</p> + +<p>‘No, I couldn’t. And if I could I wouldn’t. And now +I must run away and dress, for I want to explore those hills +across the river before breakfast.’</p> + +<p>She looked bright and fresh and full of youthful energy an +hour afterwards, when she went down to the sitting-room, +where Edgar was loafing about wearily, longing for her to +appear. Her neat tailor gown of darkest olive cashmere, and +coquettish little olive-green toque, set off the pearly tints of her +complexion and the brightness of her loosely-coiled hair. She +came into the room buttoning a long Swedish glove, the turned-back +sleeve showing the round white arm.</p> + +<p>‘What a fetching get-up,’ said Edgar, who was apt to embellish +his speech with those flowers of slang which are in everybody’s +mouth; ‘but what is the use of those long gloves tucked +away under the sleeve of your gown?’</p> + +<p>‘No use,’ answered Daphne; ‘but they’re fashionable. I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</span> +want you to come and ramble on that hill over there before +breakfast. Do you mind?’</p> + +<p>‘Mind!’ cried Edgar. ‘You know I am always delighted to +walk with you. But, I say, Daphne, what was the matter with +you last night? You were so cross.’</p> + +<p>‘I know I was; but I am never going to be cross again. I +am going to turn over a new leaf. I have been wild and +wilful, but I am not wilful now.’</p> + +<p>‘You are always the dearest and best of girls,’ answered +Edgar fatuously.</p> + +<p>They passed Gerald Goring on the stairs. Daphne gave him +a friendly nod, just the easiest salutation possible; but her +cheek paled as she went by, and her reply to Edgar’s next observation +was somewhat wide of the mark.</p> + +<p>He talked Baedeker to her as they went across the bridge; +and he talked Baedeker about the watch-towers; and still again +Baedeker when, in the course of their wanderings, they came to +a chapel on a height, from whence there was a lovely view, +exquisitely beautiful in the clear calm summer morning. They +roamed about together till it was time to go back to the ten o’clock +breakfast, by which hour Sir Vernon had resigned himself +to the ordeal of facing his family.</p> + +<p>After breakfast there came more sight-seeing, Sir Vernon +having decided upon going on to Berne by a late afternoon +train. So they all set out together in a roomy landau to explore +the town and neighbourhood. They went into the +arsenal, where a funny old man in a blue blouse showed them +ancient and modern gunnery. They saw the venerable lime-tree +which stands in front of the Town Hall and the Rathhaus, +propped up with wood and stone; a tree which, according to +tradition, was originally a twig borne by a young native of Fribourg +when he arrived in the town, breathless from loss of blood, +to bring the news of the victory of Morat. ‘Victory!’ he +gasped, and died.</p> + +<p>Gerald, more than usually cynical this morning, declined to +believe in either the twig or the heroic messenger.</p> + +<p>‘I always shut my mind against all these romantic stories +upon principle,’ he said languidly. ‘The outcome of all modern +research—Mr. Brewer, and all the rest of it—is to prove that +none of these delightful traditions has a germ of truth in it. It +saves a great deal of trouble to begin by disbelieving them.’</p> + +<p>They went about the town in rather a dawdling desultory +way, looking at the fronts of old houses, at the queer little shops, +and finally paused before the church of St. Nicholas, which they +had seen so dimly last night. Edgar insisted upon going in, +but Daphne would go no farther than the doorway, where +she looked respectfully at the bas-reliefs which she was told to +admire.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</span></p> + +<p>‘I saw quite enough of it last night,’ she said, when Edgar +urged her to go in and explore the interior.</p> + +<p>‘Why, Daphne, it was too dark for you to see anything.’</p> + +<p>‘All churches are alike,’ she answered impatiently. ‘Please +don’t worry.’</p> + +<p>Sir Vernon, who happened to be within earshot, looked at +his daughter curiously, wondering at this development of +modern manners. Could a pearly delicacy of complexion, +luminous eyes of that dark gray which is almost violet, and +bright gold hair, quite make amends for this utter want of +courtesy? But Edgar appeared perfectly content to be so +treated; and it was Edgar who was most concerned in the +matter.</p> + +<p>They dawdled away a long morning seeing the town and +driving about the somewhat pastoral landscape which surrounds +it, lunched late, and started at five o’clock for Berne, where +they arrived at the Berner Hof in time for a late dinner. +Daphne grumbled a little on the way, protesting against the +landscape between Fribourg and Berne as a relapse into English +pastoral scenery.</p> + +<p>‘What do I want with meadows, and orchards, and cottages?’ +she exclaimed. ‘I can see those in England. If it +were not for the cows living on the ground-floor, and the fodder +being carried up to the roof by those queer slanting covered +ways, there wouldn’t be a shade of difference between the +houses here and those at home, except that these are ever so +much dirtier.’</p> + +<p>‘You ought to have come a few million years ago, when +Switzerland was a glacial chaos,’ said Gerald.</p> + +<p>The Berner Hof pleased Sir Vernon by its spaciousness and +air of English comfort, but it impressed Daphne as an hotel +which would have been more in keeping with Liverpool or +Manchester.</p> + +<p>‘I had quite made up my mind that in Switzerland we should +stop at wooden <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">châlets</i> perched upon mountain ledges, with an +impending avalanche always in view, and the “<em>Ranz des Vaches</em>” +sounding in the distance all day long.’</p> + +<p>‘There are such hostelries,’ answered Gerald; ‘but I think, +if you found yourself at one of them, you would be rather +inclined to wish yourself at the Berner Hof, or the Beau +Rivage.’</p> + +<p>Next day was the first Tuesday in the month, and the occasion +of the monthly market, a grand assemblage of small dealers +from the adjacent country.</p> + +<p>They all went out directly after breakfast, and proceeded +straight to the noble central street, a mile in length, which +under various names pierces the town in a straight unbroken +line from one end to the other. Very old and quaint are the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</span> +houses in this long street, many of them built over arcades, +under which the foot-passengers walk, and within whose arches +the market-people set out their stalls. The drapery stalls, +gay with many-coloured handkerchiefs fluttering in the summer +air; the jewellers’ stalls, all twinkling and flashing with +that silver trinketry which is a national institution, chains of +endless length, necklaces, earrings, bracelets, glittering in the +sun; stalls loaded with fruits and vegetables; stalls of gaudy-coloured +pottery, jugs and jars of queerest, quaintest shapes; +and up and down the stony street cows and oxen being led +perpetually, meek, submissive, gentle, beautiful, in an endless +procession; while every here and there under a countryman’s +cart the patient dogs of burden lay at rest, placid but watchful, +faithful guardians of the master’s property. It was a scene of +picturesque and national life which pleased Daphne immensely. +She had never seen such a market before, never seen so long a +street, except the monotonous length of a Parisian boulevard +as she was being jolted along in a fly from station to station. +Here she saw the people in their national costume. Here +Switzerland seemed really Swiss.</p> + +<p>She flew from stall to stall, admiring, selecting, bargaining, +wanting to buy a barrowful of red and orange pots and +pans.</p> + +<p>‘They would look so lovely in the corridor at South Hill, on +high brackets,’ she said.</p> + +<p>‘I’m afraid the brackets would have to be very high,’ +answered Lina, smiling at her.</p> + +<p>‘I suppose you mean that for a sneer,’ retorted Daphne, +‘but if Mr. Burne Jones, or Mr. Rosetti, or Mr. Morris were +to say those pots and pans were the right thing, there would +be an eruption of them over the walls of every fashionable +room in England. I consider them positively lovely. And as +for the silver chains, I shall never live without one round my +neck.’</p> + +<p>‘Come and make your selection,’ said Edgar, pointing to +one of the biggest and grandest stalls in the open place near +the famous clock-tower, where the cock was to crow, and the +figure of grim old Time was to turn his glass, and all manner +of wonderful things were to happen just before the striking of +the hour. This stall showed the best array of silver trinketry +which they had seen yet, and the country people were clustered +about it, gazing at the bright new silver, and a good deal at +golden-haired Daphne in her creamy Indian silk gown, a radiant +figure under a creamy silk umbrella.</p> + +<p>‘Choose the prettiest, Daphne, and wear it for my sake,’ said +Edgar, with his portly leather purse in his hand, an English +pigeon offering himself up to be plucked.</p> + +<p>‘<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Combien?</i>’ he asked, rather proud of his readiness with a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</span> +foreign language, pointing to the handsomest of the chains, a +duster of many slender chainlets, about three yards long.</p> + +<p>‘<i lang="de" xml:lang="de">Wie viel?</i>’ asked Daphne, with a compassionate glance at +her affianced.</p> + +<p>‘It is ver sheep,’ answered the vendor, showing a disgusting +familiarity with the English tongue. ‘Gut und sheep, sehr +schön, ver prurty, funf pound Englees.’</p> + +<p>‘Five pounds!’ screamed Daphne: ‘why, I thought it would +be about five shillings! Pray come away, Mr. Turchill. They +see we are English.’</p> + +<p>She turned from the stall indignantly, and marched across +to look at the fountain, where the gigantic figure of an ogre, in +the act of dropping a child into the yawning cavern of his jaws, +stands out against the tall white houses, balconied, jalousied, +like a bit of Parisian boulevard made picturesque by a dash of +Swiss quaintness. The vegetables and the pottery stalls, and +the fluttering cotton handkerchiefs were grouped all about the +fountain, a confusion of vivid colour.</p> + +<p>‘That is something like a statue,’ cried Daphne, looking up +unblinkingly at the giant grinning at her through a warm hazy +atmosphere. ‘A dear old thing which recalls the fairy-tales of +one’s childhood, instead of a stupid old Anglo-Indian general, +whom nobody ever heard of, riding a tame old horse. Why +don’t we have Kindlifressers and other fairy tale statues in +the London streets? They would make London ever so much +livelier.’</p> + +<p>Here Edgar came after her, carrying a small box neatly +papered and tied up, which he put into her hand.</p> + +<p>‘May you never wear heavier fetters than these!’ he said, +having composed the little speech as he came along.</p> + +<p>‘What,’ she exclaimed, ‘did you actually buy the chain after +all? Well, I do despise you. Could you not see that the man +was swindling you?’</p> + +<p>‘He was not so bad as you think. I only gave him three +pounds for the chain, and I believe it is worth as much as that. +I should think it cheap at thirty if you were pleased with it,’ he +added, with homely tenderness.</p> + +<p>‘Oh, you poor predestined victim to extortion,’ exclaimed +Daphne, looking at him with a serio-comic air. ‘Such a man +as you ought never to go about without a keeper. However, as +you have been so good as to allow yourself to be fleeced for my +sake, I accept the chain with pleasure, and will wear it as the +badge of my future captivity.’</p> + +<p>She shot a swift side-glance at Gerald as she spoke, curious +to see how he took this direct allusion to an engagement which +it had been her habit somewhat to ignore. He was standing +looking listlessly along the street, interested neither in man nor +woman; but though he had an air of utter vacancy, eyes that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</span> +saw not, ears that heard not, Daphne detected a quiver of lip +and brow, which showed her that the shot had gone home.</p> + +<p>Sir Vernon had gone to the museum to look at the pictures, +leaving the young people free to wander where they pleased +until dinner-time. They went up and down the arched ways, +looking at the shops and stalls, the country people, the dogs, the +cattle; then turned aside from this busy thoroughfare, where +all the life and commerce of the canton seemed to have concentrated +itself, to explore the dusky cathedral, where all was +silence, and coolness, and repose. There was one great disappointment +for Daphne. The grand panoramic picture of the +Alps, for which the minster terrace is celebrated, was not on +view to-day. The mountains hid themselves behind a gauzy +veil, a warm vapour which thickened the air above the old city.</p> + +<p>‘I can’t think what I have done to offend the Alps,’ cried +Daphne petulantly. ‘They seem to bear a grudge against me. +They wouldn’t show me their frosty pows at Geneva, and they +won’t at Berne. I am not going to break my heart about them, +however. Please let us get the cathedral over as fast as we can, +and go and look at the bears. I am dying to see the live bears; +for I have seen so many inanimate ones in stone, and wood, and +iron, that I seem to have bears on the brain.’</p> + +<p>They were standing in the open square in front of the +cathedral, looking up at the bronze statue of Rudolph von +Erlach, with the four seated bears at its base. They went into +the church presently, and admired the fifteenth-century stained +glass, and sculptured Pietas, and the choir stalls. As they +were leaving the church, they saw a man and a woman going +quietly into the vestry, preceded by the minister in his black +gown.</p> + +<p>‘A wedding evidently,’ whispered Edgar to Daphne. +‘Wouldn’t you like to see a Swiss wedding?’</p> + +<p>‘Do you think they are going to be married? What a sober +idea of matrimony! I should have thought a Swiss wedding +would have been like a scene in an opera.’</p> + +<p>An inquiry of the verger proved that it was really a wedding, +so they all crept quietly into the spacious vestry, and stood in +the background, while the priest tied the knot according to the +Calvinistic manner.</p> + +<p>It was not a grandiose or thrilling ceremonial, yet there was +a certain sober earnestness in its very simplicity. The rite, +shorn of all ornament, was a religious rite performed with all +the grave businesslike straightforwardness of a civil agreement. +Matrimony thus approached wore a somewhat appalling aspect: +no sweet harmony of boyish voices shrilling a bridal hymn; no +mighty organ exploding suddenly in the crashing chords of +Mendelssohn’s Wedding March; only a man and woman standing +before a priest in a naked stony vestry; a priest who interrogated<span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</span> +them coldly, with his eyes on his book, very much as if +he had been hearing them their Catechism. The man had a +dull indifferent look, and there was that in the bearing and +appearance of the dowdily-dressed woman which hinted that +the marriage was an after-thought.</p> + +<p>Daphne shuddered as she came out of the sunless vestry.</p> + +<p>‘That is not my idea of a quiet wedding,’ she said. ‘Please +let us go to the bears; I am dying to see something cheerful.’</p> + +<p>They went back to the crowded arcades, the stalls, the processional +cattle, and all the life and bustle of a monthly market, +and down the whole length of the street, till they found themselves +on a bridge that spanned a deep hollow between two +hills. On one side of the bridge they looked down into the +cattle market, where a multitude of blue blouses, of every shade +and tone, from the vivid azure garment bought yesterday, to +the faded and patched coat of age and poverty, mixed up with +the brown, and cream, and roan, and dun of the cows and oxen, +made a wonderful harmony in blues and browns. On the other +side there was a famous bear-pit, where half-a-dozen mangy-looking +animals are maintained in a state of inglorious repose +for the honour of the city.</p> + +<p>The bear is not a handsome or a graceful beast, nor does +his woolly front beam with intelligence. Yet he has a look of +ponderous benevolence, a placid air of being nobody’s enemy but +his own, which commends him to those who enjoy his acquaintance +only at a distance. He is fond of being fed, and has an +amiable greediness, which brings him in direct sympathy with +his patrons. There is something childlike, too, and distinctly +human in his love of buns, to say nothing of his innate aptitude +for dancing. These qualities are liable to distract the judgment +of his admirers, who forget that at heart he is still a savage, +and that his hug is mortal.</p> + +<p>Daphne had provided herself with a bag of cakes, and immediately +became on the friendliest terms with three ragged-looking +Bruins who were squatting on their haunches, ready to +receive the favours of an admiring public. She would not +believe Baedeker’s story of the English officer, who fell into the +den, and was killed by these woolly monsters, after a desperate +fight for life.</p> + +<p>‘I couldn’t credit anything unkind of them,’ she protested. +‘See how patiently that dear thing waits, with his mouth wide +open, and how dexterously he catches a bit of roll.’</p> + +<p>Even the delight of leaning upon a stone parapet to feed +bears in a not too odoriferous den must come to an end at last, +and Daphne, having had enough of the national beasts, consented +to get into a roomy open carriage which Gerald had +found while she was dispensing her favours, to the admiration +of half-a-dozen country people, who were leaning lazily against<span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</span> +the parapet, and wondering at the beauty of the two English +girls in their cool delicate-hued raiment.</p> + +<p>There was plenty to admire in the neighbourhood of Berne, +albeit the Alps were in hiding, and after a light luncheon at a +confectioner’s in one of the arcades, they drove about till it was +time to dress for dinner.</p> + +<p>They started early on the next afternoon for Thun, and +between Berne and Thun the Jungfrau first revealed herself in +all her virginal beauty—whiter, purer than all the rest of the +mountain world—to Daphne’s delighted eyes. Never could she +take her fill of gazing on that divine pinnacle, that heaven-aspiring +mount, rising above a cluster of satellite hills, like +Jupiter surrounded by his moons.</p> + +<p>‘If you told me that on that very mountain-top Moses saw +God, I should believe you,’ cried Daphne, deeply moved.</p> + +<p>‘I am sorry to say the pinnacle on which Jehovah revealed +Himself to His chosen mouthpiece is a shabby affair in comparison +with yonder peak, a mere hillock of seven thousand feet or +so,’ said Gerald, looking up from the day before yesterday’s +<cite>Times</cite>.</p> + +<p>‘You have seen it?’</p> + +<p>‘I have stood on Serbâl, and Gebel Mousa, and Bas Sasâfeh, +the three separate mountain-tops which contend for the honour +of having been trodden by the feet of the Creator.’</p> + +<p>‘How delightful to have seen so much of this world!’</p> + +<p>‘And to have so little left in this world to see,’ answered +Gerald; ‘there is always the reverse of the shield.’</p> + +<p>‘It will make it all the pleasanter for you to settle down +at Goring Abbey,’ said Daphne, assuming her most practical +tone. ‘You will not be tormented by the idea of all the lovely +spots of earth, the wonderful rivers and forests and mountains +which you have not seen, as Edgar and I must be at dear old +Hawksyard. But we mean to travel immensely, do we not, +Edgar?’</p> + +<p>Another distinct allusion to her coming life, the near approaching +time when she and Edgar would be one. The Squire +of Hawksyard smiled delightedly at this recognition of the bond.</p> + +<p>‘I am sure to do whatever you wish, and go wherever you +like,’ he answered; ‘but I am tremendously fond of home, one’s +own fireside, don’t you know, and one’s own stable.’</p> + +<p>‘And one’s own china-closet, and one’s own linen-presses,’ +added Daphne, laughing; ‘and one’s own jams and pickles and +raspberry vinegar. Are not those things numbered among the +delights of Hawksyard? But I mean you to take me to the +Amazon, and when we have thoroughly done the Andes, we’ll +go over the Isthmus of Panama, and across Mexico, and finish +up with the Rockies. They are only a continuation of the same +range, don’t you know, the backbone of the two Americas.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</span></p> + +<p>Edgar laughed as at an agreeable joke.</p> + +<p>‘But I mean it,’ protested Daphne, with her elbow resting +on the ledge of the window, and her eyes devouring the Jungfrau. +‘We are going to be a second Mr. and Mrs. Brassey in +the way of travelling.’</p> + +<p>Mr. Turchill looked somewhat uncomfortable, moved by the +thought of a hunting-stable running to seed, at home, while he, +a wretched sailor at the best of times, lay tossing in some southern +archipelago, all among dusky islanders, and reduced to a +fishy and vegetable diet. If Daphne were in earnest the sacrifice +would have to be made. Upon that point he was certain. +Never could he resist that capricious creature; never could he +deny her a pleasure, or beat down her airy whims with the +sledge-hammer of common sense.</p> + +<p>‘I believe we shall be one of the most foolish couples in +Christendom,’ he said aloud; ‘but I think we shall be one of the +happiest.’</p> + +<p>‘A girl must be very hard-hearted who could not be happy +with you, Edgar,’ said Madoline, looking at him with a frank +sisterly smile. ‘You are so thoroughly good and kind.’</p> + +<p>‘Ah, but goodness and kindness don’t always score, you +know,’ he replied, with a laugh in which there was just a shade +of sadness.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII.<br> +<span class="fs70">‘LOVE IS NOT OLD, AS WHAN THAT IT IS NEW.’</span></h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Sir Vernon’s</span> party had sailed over the smiling waters of +Thun, with its villa-dotted shores, and its low amphitheatre of +pastoral hills which form the foreground to the sublimer mountain-land. +They and all their belongings had been carried into +Interlaken by the funny little railway across the Bodelei, that +fertile garden-ground between two lakes, which has such an +obvious air of having begun life under water. They had seen +the long rank of prosperous-looking omnibuses waiting for travellers, +and in one of those vehicles they had been carried away +from the walnut-tree boulevard, and all the gaiety and fashion +of Interlaken, to a rustic road ascending the hill towards the +pine-woods, and the mountain peaks far away beyond them, +piled up against the sky.</p> + +<p>Here at the Jungfraublich they found a charming suite of +rooms prepared for them; rooms not gorgeously furnished or +richly ornamented, but with long French windows which looked +upon as fair a landscape as the eye of man could desire to +behold. There rose the Jungfrau in her sublime beauty, above +the fertile valley with its lakes and meadows, its <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">châlets</i> and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</span> +gardens, orchards and <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">bosquets</i>; all the simplicity and prettiness +of Nature on a small scale lying at the feet of the immensities.</p> + +<p>It was twilight when they arrived, and the first star of evening, +a faint luminous spot in the blue gray, hovered over the +snowy pinnacle of the mountain.</p> + +<p>‘Oh, you dear!’ cried Daphne, to the mountain and not to +the star; ‘you will be a part of my life from this night. How +shall I ever live without you when I go back to Warwickshire?’</p> + +<p>‘You will have to console yourself with an occasional glimpse +of the Wrekin or the Cotswolds,’ said Madoline, laughing.</p> + +<p>‘I am almost sorry I ever came to Switzerland,’ murmured +Daphne, turning away from the open window with a sigh, when +she had gazed, and gazed, as if she would fain have made herself +a part of the thing she looked at.</p> + +<p>‘Why, dearest?’ asked Lina.</p> + +<p>‘Because I shall be always longing to come back here. I +shall never be able to tolerate the eternal flatness of home—mole-hills +instead of mountains.’</p> + +<p>‘Hawksyard is rather flat, I admit,’ said Edgar, apologetically; +‘but it is remarkably well drained. There isn’t a healthier +house in England.’</p> + +<p>‘Will not all their modern aestheticism—their Queen Anne +worship; their straight garden walks, and straight-backed chairs; +their everlasting tea-trays, and Japanese screens, and sunflowers, +and dadoes—sicken you after this mountain-land?’ cried +Daphne. ‘Such a narrow, petty, childish idea of beauty! Have +these perpendicular people ever seen the Jungfrau, do you +suppose?’</p> + +<p>‘Seen her, and outlived her, and ascended to a higher empyrean +of art,’ answered Gerald. ‘You poor child, do you know +that you are going into raptures about things which a well-bred +person would hardly deign to mention, any more than a Pytchley +man would stoop to talk about the Brighton Harriers? This is +cockney Switzerland, as cockney as the Trossachs, or Killarney, +as Ramsgate and Margate. Everybody knows the Jungfrau, at +least by sight; everybody has been at Interlaken. It is the chief +rendezvous of the travellers who come in flocks, and are driven +from pillar to post like sheep, with an intelligent interpreter +playing the part of sheep-dog. I hope you will do the Matterhorn +and Monte Rosa before you go home; and then you will +be acquainted with a brace of mountains which may be spoken +about in polite society.’</p> + +<p>‘The Jungfrau is good enough for me,’ answered Daphne; +‘I shall never behold anything more beautiful. Manfred loved +her.’</p> + +<p>‘I beg your pardon, that amiable gentleman did not love +anything. “And you, ye mountains,” he exclaims, “why are ye<span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</span> +beautiful? I cannot love ye.” He does not care for the sun, +nor for his fellow-men, nor for his own life. He has all the +misanthropy of Hamlet, without Hamlet’s unselfish reasons for +being misanthropic. However, I suppose to young ladies in their +teens he will always appear an interesting character. No doubt +you will be starting with your alpenstock at daybreak to-morrow +in search of the Witch of the Alps. You will most likely discover +her by one of the bridges on the road to Grindelwald, +offering dirty bunches of edelweiss, or indifferently fresh milk, +to the passers-by.’</p> + +<p>‘Daphne is going nowhere without me,’ said Lina, laying her +hand caressingly upon her sister’s shoulder. ‘She is too enthusiastic +to be trusted in strange places. You will not go anywhere +alone, will you, darling?’</p> + +<p>‘I will do nothing in this world to vex you,’ answered +Daphne earnestly, with the straightest, clearest look in her +lovely eyes.</p> + +<p>Gerald Goring heard her tone, and saw that direct and truthful +gaze. He knew well how much that little speech meant; +how grave and complete was the promise in those few words. +Yes, she would be true, she would be faithful: were it at the +cost of two broken hearts. He began to perceive that he had +underrated the moral force of this seemingly volatile creature; +physically so fragile, so made up of whims and fancies, yet, where +honour and affection were concerned, so staunch.</p> + +<p>Later in the evening, after they had dined, and Sir Vernon +had retired for the night, Mr. Goring loitered alone in the terraced +garden of the hotel. The mountain, faintly touched with +silvery light from a young moon, rose in front of him, and below +glimmered those earthlier lights which told of human life—yellow +candle-light in wooden <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">châlets</i>; the flare of the gas yonder, +faint in the distance, where the walnut-tree walk was all alive +with the light of its hotels and its modest Kursaal. A fitful +gust of music from the band came floating up the valley. Behind +him the hotel stood out whitely against a background of +dark pine-woods; lights in many windows. Those ten lighted +windows in a row on the first storey belonged to Sir Vernon’s +apartments. He looked up, vaguely wondering which was +Daphne’s window. That one, at the end of the range, most +likely—the casement wide open to the night and the mystic +mountain-land. While he was deciding this a white-robed figure +stepped lightly out upon the balcony, and stood there, gazing at +the far-away peaks faintly outlined against a purple sky.</p> + +<p>There were three or four other loungers upon the terrace, +each with his cigar, the luminous point of which gleamed here +and there among the bushes like a glowworm. There was no +reason why Daphne should distinguish Gerald Goring from the +rest, as he sat in an angle of the stone balustrade, half hidden<span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</span> +in the shadow of an acacia, lonely, dissatisfied; yet it was painful +to him, in his egotism, to see her standing there, immovable, +a lovely statuesque form, with upturned face and clasped hands, +worshipping the blind, dumb, unresponsive goddess Nature, and +all unconscious that he, her lover, with a human heart to feel +and to suffer, was looking up at her with passionate yearning +from the dewy darkness below.</p> + +<p>‘She does not care a jot for me; she is harder than the +nether millstone,’ he said to himself savagely. ‘Yet I once +thought her the softest, most yielding thing in creation—a being +so impressionable that she might be moulded by a thought of +mine. I feared the touching of our spirits, as if I were flame +and she tinder. Yet our souls have touched, and kindled, and +burst into a blaze; and she has strength of mind to pluck herself +away unscathed, not a feather of her purity scorched, from +that fiery contact.’</p> + +<p>He sat in his shadowy corner, lazily finishing his cigar, and +looking up at the figure in the balcony till it slowly melted from +his gaze, and a muslin curtain was dropped across the open window. +Then he left the garden and wandered away up the wooded +hillside, by narrow winding paths, which seemed to have no particular +direction, but to have been worn by the footprints of +other idlers as purposeless—it might be as unhappy—as he. He +stayed in the shadowy wood for a long time, smoking a second +cigar, and preferring that perfumed solitude, and his own gloomy +thoughts to any diversion which the little lighted town down in +the green hollow yonder could have furnished him. And then, +at last, on the verge of midnight, when all the lighted windows +of the Jungfraublich had gone out one after another, and the +big white barrack looked blank and bare, he turned and groped +his way back to it through the sinuous woodland paths, and was +admitted by a sleepy porter, who was mildly reproachful at having +been kept up so long.</p> + +<p>A grand excursion had been planned for the next day, Sir +Vernon approving the scheme, and politely requesting to be left +out of it.</p> + +<p>‘You wouldn’t know what to do with me,’ he said. ‘I should +be a burden to you, and I should be terribly tiresome to myself. +I have letters to write which will occupy me all the morning, and +in the afternoon I can stroll down to the Kursaal, or sit in the +garden here, or take a little walk in the wood. You will be +back before nine o’clock, I daresay.’</p> + +<p>Madoline was loth to leave her father for so long a day. He +was an invalid, and required a good deal of attention, she reminded +him.</p> + +<p>‘There is Jinman, my dear; he can do all I want. Of course +it is much pleasanter for me to be waited on by you; but Jinman +is very handy, and will serve on a pinch.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</span></p> + +<p>‘But all those letters, dear father,’ urged Lina, looking at +an alarming bundle of businesslike documents. ‘Could I not +help you with those? Could not the greater part of them stand +over till we are at Montreux?’</p> + +<p>‘Some of them might, perhaps; but some must be answered +to-day. Don’t worry yourself about me, Lina; I know you +have set your heart upon going up to Müren with Daphne.’</p> + +<p>‘I should like to show her the scenery which delighted me so +years ago,’ answered Lina; ‘but I can’t bear the idea of leaving +you for so long.’</p> + +<p>‘My dear child, you are talking nonsense,’ said Sir Vernon +testily. ‘In October you are going to leave me altogether.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes; but I shall not be leaving you in a strange hotel; and +I shall be so near, at your beck and call, always.’</p> + +<p>Sir Vernon, having made up his mind to the sacrifice, carried +it out with consistent fortitude. He himself ordered the carriage +which was to carry off his beloved daughter, with those other +three who were comparatively indifferent to him.</p> + +<p>They drove away from the hotel immediately after a seven +o’clock breakfast, in the clear light of morning, while the fields +and hedges were still dewy, and the earth wore her fairest freshest +colours and breathed out her sweetest odours. Soon after +they left the village they came to the road beside the deep and +rapid Lutschine, which cleaves the heart of the valley. On +either side rose a lofty wall of hills, slope above slope, climbing +up to heaven, clothed to the very summit with tall feathery firs, +some of stupendous size, the sombre tints of these patriarchs relieved +by the tender green of the young larches; the White +Lutschine rushing on all the while, a wild romantic stream, +tumbling and seething over masses of stone. Here by the river +bank they stopped to see the murder-stone, an inscription cut on +the face of the rock, which tells how at this spot a brother slew +his brother.</p> + +<p>It is a lovely drive, so lovely that it is hardly possible for the +mind to be distracted from its fairness by any other thought. +Daphne sat silent in her corner of the carriage, drinking in the +beauty of the scene, her gaze wandering upward and upward to +those mighty hills, those forests upon the edge of heaven, so remote, +so inaccessible in their loveliness, the greenery pierced +every here and there by narrow streamlets that came trickling +down like wandering flashes of silvery light. Solitude and silence +were the prevailing expression of that exquisite scene. The +cattle had all been removed to the upper regions, to remote +pastures on the borderland of the everlasting snow-fields; of +human life there were few signs; only a distant <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">châlet</i> showing +here and there, perched on some ledge of the green hills. The +voice of the river was the one sound that broke the summer +stillness.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</span></p> + +<p>There was a pleasant contrast to this solemn loneliness, this +silent loveliness of Nature without humanity, when the carriage +drove jingling up to the inn at Lauterbrunnen, where there was +all the life and bustle of a country inn at fair-time or market. +Many vehicles and horses in the open space in front of the +house; a long verandah, under which travellers were sitting +resting after an early morning tramp from Mürren or Grindelwald; +guides, with swarthy sunburnt faces, homely, good-natured, +unintelligent, sitting at ease upon a long stone parapet, +waiting their chances; a great fuss and noise of taking horses +in and bringing horses out; a call for hay and water; a few +people strolling down the road to look at the Staubach, and telling +each other admiringly, inspired by the prophet Baedeker, +that it is the highest unbroken fall in the world. It was very +glorious in the morning sunshine, a dim rainbow-tinted arc of +spray; and Daphne thought of the Witch of the Alps, and how +she had worn this cloudlike fall as a garment, when she showed +herself to Manfred. There was no inn there in those far-away +romantic days—no odour of bad brandy and worse wine; no +tourists; no cockneyism of any kind—only the sweet pastoral +valley in its lonely beauty, and the solemn regions of mountain +and snow rising whitely above its placid greenery, and walling it +in from the commonplace earth.</p> + +<p>There was a halt of half an hour or so at Lauterbrunnen, +just long enough to pay proper homage to the Staubach, and to +explore the queer little primitive village, and for Daphne to +burden herself with a number of souvenirs, all more or less of a +staggy or goaty order, bargaining sturdily for the same with the +sunburnt proprietor of a covered stall opposite the inn, whose +honesty in no case demanded more than thrice the amount he +was prepared to accept. By the time Daphne had concluded +her transactions with this merchant of mountain <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">bric-à-brac</i>, +and had made herself spiky with paper-knives and walking-sticks +of the horny kind—which treasures she reluctantly surrendered +to the safe keeping of an inn servant, to be packed in the +carriage against her return—the steeds were ready to convey the +two ladies up the mountain-path, the gentlemen being bent upon +going up on foot. Daphne wanted to walk, and had just bought +herself an alpenstock with that view, but Lina would not let her +undertake the journey; so she handed Edgar her alpenstock, +and allowed herself to be hoisted into a queer kind of saddle, +with a railing round it, and Lina being similarly mounted, they +began the ascent, going through more mud, just at starting, than +seemed compatible with such perfect summer weather.</p> + +<p>‘I hope, Edgar,’ said Daphne gravely, ‘that you won’t take +your idea of my horsemanship from my performance on this +animal, and in this saddle, or else I am afraid you’ll never let +me ride Black Pearl.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</span></p> + +<p>Edgar laughingly assured her that her seat was perfection, +even in the railed-in saddle, and that she should have the best +horse money could buy, or judgment secure.</p> + +<p>The two young men went on before them, leaping from +stone to stone, and making great play with their alpenstocks as +they bounded across the streamlets which frequently intersected +their path. It was a narrow, narrow way, winding up the +shoulder of the hill, now in sunlight, now in shade; the summer +air sweetened with the scent of the pine-trees; pine-clad slopes +above, pine-clad slopes below, sometimes gently slanting downward, +a green hillside which little children might play upon, +sometimes a sheer descent, terrible to the eye; <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">châlets</i> dotting +the meadows far below; villages spread out on the greensward +of the valley, and looking like clusters of toy houses; the road +winding through the valley like a silver ribbon; the awful +Jungfrau range facing them, as they ascended, in all its unspeakable +majesty; grander, and yet ever grander, as they came +nearer to it.</p> + +<p>Sometimes, as they rode through the pine-trees, they seemed +to be riding straight into the snowy mountains; they were so +close, so close to that white majesty. Then as they came suddenly +into the open, those airy peaks receded, remote as ever, +melting farther and farther away as one rode after them, like a +never-to-be-reached fairyland.</p> + +<p>‘I could almost cry with vexation,’ exclaimed Daphne after +one of these optical illusions. ‘I thought we were close to the +Jungfrau, and there she stands smiling down at me, with her +pallid enigmatical smile, from the very top of the world. Edgar, +if you love me, you must take me up that impertinent mountain +before I am year older.’</p> + +<p>‘You were talking yesterday of the Cordilleras.’</p> + +<p>‘I know, but we must finish off the Alps first—Mont Blanc, +and the Jungfrau, the Schreckhorn, the Rothhorn, the Matterhorn, +the Finsteraarhorn, and all the rest of them. I cannot be +defied by the insolence of Nature. She has thrown her gauntlet, +and I must positively pick it up. If the mountain won’t come +to Mahomet—and the general experience seems to show that +mountains are obstinate things—Mahomet must go to the mountain. +I mean to have it out with Mont Blanc before I die.’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t believe a lady has ever done the ascent,’ said Edgar, +leading his mistress’s meek and patient steed along a winding +ledge. The animal was a mere infant, rising three, but as free +from skittishness as if he had been rising three-and-twenty.</p> + +<p>‘That shows how densely ignorant you must be of the age +you live in,’ protested Daphne. ‘Be sure that there is nothing +in this life which the man of the present can do which the +woman of the present won’t imitate; and the more essentially +masculine the thing is the more certain she is to attempt it.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</span></p> + +<p>‘But I hope you don’t rank yourself among masculine +women, Daphne,’ murmured Edgar, drawing protectingly near +her, as they turned a sharp corner.</p> + +<p>‘I don’t; but I mean to ascend Mont Blanc.’</p> + +<p>They were approaching the village on the height. The +Lauterbrunnen valley was sinking deeper and deeper into remoteness, +a mere green cleft in the mountains. They had met +and passed many people on their way: ladies being carried +down by sturdy natives in a kind of sedan-chair, something of +the palki species; voyagers struggling upwards with their belongings, +with a view to spending some days in the quiet settlement +among the snow-peaks; guides jogging by with somebody else’s +luggage; mules laden with provisions. The guides gave each +other a grinning good-day as they passed, and exchanged remarks +in a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">patois</i> not very easy to understand; remarks that +had a suggestion of being critical, and not altogether commendatory, +of the clients at that moment under escort.</p> + +<p>‘Here we are, up in the skies at last,’ cried Daphne, as she +sprang lightly to the ground, spurning her lover’s proffered aid, +and just brushing against the eager arms held out to receive +her; ‘and oh how dreadfully far away the top of the Jungfrau +still is, and how very dirty she looks now we are on a level with +her shoulder!’</p> + +<p>‘It is too late in the year for you to see her in her virginal +purity. A good deal of the snow has melted,’ said Madoline apologetically.</p> + +<p>‘But it ought not to melt. I thought I was coming to a +region of eternal snow. Why, the lower peaks are horribly +streaky and brown. Thank Heaven the Silberhorn still looks +dazzlingly white. And is this Mürren? A real mountain +village? How I wish we were going to live here for a month.’</p> + +<p>‘I fancy you would get horribly tired of it,’ suggested +Gerald Goring.</p> + +<p>She did not stay to argue the point, but ordered Edgar to +explore the village with her immediately. The big wooden +barrack of an hotel, with its bright green blinds and pine balconies, +looked down upon her, the commonplace type of an advanced +civilisation. Young men, all affecting a more or less +Alpine-Clubbish air, lounged about in various easy attitudes; +young women, in every variety of hat and gauze veil, read +Tauchnitz novels, or made believe to be sketching, under artistic-looking +umbrellas. Daphne made but a cursory survey of this +tourist population before she started off upon her voyage of +discovery, with Edgar in delighted attendance on her steps. +Madoline and Gerald, who both knew all that there was to be +known about Mürren, were content to loiter in the garden of +the Hôtel des Alpes, dreamily contemplative of the sublimities +around and about them.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</span></p> + +<p>‘I give you half an hour for your explorations,’ said Gerald, +as Daphne and her swain departed; ‘if you are not back by +that time, Lina and I will eat all the luncheon. At this elevation +luncheon is not a matter to be trifled with. There are +limits to the supplies.’</p> + +<p>He went into the hotel to give his orders, while Lina walked +slowly up and down one of the terraced pathways, looking at the +wild chaos of glacier and rock before her, looking, yet seeing but +little of that chilly grandeur, caring but little for its origin or +its history, with sad eyes turned inward, vaguely contemplating +a vague sorrow.</p> + +<p>It was not a grief of yesterday’s date—it was a sorrow made +up of doubts and anxieties which had their beginning in Gerald +Goring’s letter telling her of his intended trip to Canada. +From that hour to this she had perceived a gradual change in +him. His letters from the Western world, kind and affectionate +as they had been, were altogether different from the letters he +had written to her in former years. When he came back the +man himself seemed different. He was not less kind, or less +attentive, less eager to gratify and to anticipate her wishes. To +her, and in all his relations with her, he was faultless: but he +was changed. Something had gone out of him—life, spirit, +soul, the flame which makes the lamp glorious and beautiful; +something was faded and dead in him; leaving the man himself +a gentlemanly piece of mechanism, like one of those victims to +anatomical experiment from whose living body the brain, or +some particular portion of the brain, has been abstracted, and +which mechanically performs and repeats the same actions with +a hideous soulless monotony. ‘Was it that he loved her less? +Was it that he had ceased to love her?’ she had asked herself, +recoiling with shuddering heart-sickness from the thought; as +if she had found herself suddenly on the verge of some horrible +abyss, and seen inevitable ruin and death below. No, she told +herself, judging his heart by her own. A love that had grown +as theirs had grown, side by side with the gradual growth of +mind and body, a love interwoven with every memory and every +hope, was not of the kind to change unawares to indifference. +She was perfectly free from the taint of vanity; but she knew +that she was worthy of her lover’s love. She, who had been +her father’s idol, the object of respect and consideration from +all about her, was accustomed to the idea of being beloved. She +had been told too often of her beauty not to know that she +was handsomer than the majority of women. She knew that in +mental power she was her lover’s equal: by birth, by fortune, +by every attribute and quality, she was fitted to be his wife, +to rule over his household, and to be a purifying and elevating +influence in his life. His mother had loved her as warmly as it +was possible for that languid nature to love anything. Their<span class="pagenum" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</span> +two lives were interwoven by the tenderest associations of the +past as well as by the solemn engagement which bound them in +the present. No, it was not possible for Madoline, seeing all +things from the standpoint of her own calm and evenly-balanced +mind, to imagine infidelity in a lover so long and so closely bound +to her. Those sudden aberrations of the human mind which +wreck so many lives, for which no looker-on can account, and +which make men and women a world’s wonder, had never come +within the range of her experience.</p> + +<p>Rejecting the idea of inconstancy, Madoline was compelled +to find some other reason for the indefinable change which had +slowly been revealed to her since Gerald’s last home-coming. +What could it be except the languor of ill-health, or, perhaps, +the terrible satiety of a life which had so few duties, and so +many indulgences, a life that called for no effort of mind, for +not one act of self-denial?</p> + +<p>‘Every man ought to have a career,’ she said to herself. +‘My poor Gerald has none; no ambition; nothing to hope for, +or work for, or build upon. The new days of his life bring him +nothing but old pleasures. He is getting weary and worn out +in the very morning of existence. What will he be when the +day begins to wane?’</p> + +<p>She had been thinking of these things for a long time, and +had determined upon opening her mind to her lover, seriously, +candidly, without reserve, with all the outspoken freedom of one +who deemed herself a part of his life, his second self.</p> + +<p>Here, in the face of these solemn heights, which seem ever +typical of the loftier aims of life—all the more so, perhaps, +because of that air of unattainableness which pervades them—she +felt as if they were more alone, farther from all the sordid +considerations of worldly wisdom than in the valley below. She +could speak to him here from her heart of hearts.</p> + +<p>He was walking by her side along one of the narrow paths, +just where a rustic fence separated the grounds of the hotel +from the steep mountain side—walking somewhat listlessly, lost +in a dreamy silence—when she put her arm gently through his +and drew a little nearer to him.</p> + +<p>‘Gerald dearest, I want to talk to you—seriously.’</p> + +<p>He turned suddenly, and looked at her, with more of alarm +in his countenance than she had anticipated.</p> + +<p>‘Don’t be frightened,’ she said with a sweet smile. ‘I am +not going to be severe. I am only anxious.’</p> + +<p>‘Anxious about what?’</p> + +<p>‘About you, dear love; about your health, mental and +physical. You remember what you told me before you went to +Canada.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes.’</p> + +<p>‘Your trip did you good, did it not?’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</span></p> + +<p>‘Worlds of good. I came home a whole man.’</p> + +<p>‘But since you came home the old feeling of languor has +returned, has it not? You take so little interest in life; you +look at everything with such a weary indifferent air.’</p> + +<p>‘My dearest, do you expect me to go into raptures with the +beaten tracks and cockney lions of Switzerland, as poor little +Daphne does? There is not a yard of the ground we have +been passing over that I do not know by heart—that I have +not seen under every condition of atmosphere, and in every +variety of circumstances. You forget how many months of +my life I wasted in balancing myself upon razor-edged <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">arrêtes</i>, +and hewing my way up perpendicular peaks with an ice-axe. +I cannot gush about these dear old familiar mountains, or fall +into an ecstasy because the lakes are bluer and broader than +our Avon.’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t expect you to be ecstatic, dear; I only want to +know that you are happy, and that you take a healthy interest +in life. I have been thinking lately that a man in your position +ought to have a public career. Without public duties the +life of a very rich man must inevitably be idle, since all his +private duties are done by other people. And an idle life never +yet was a happy one.’</p> + +<p>‘Spoken like a copy-book, my dearest,’ answered Gerald +lightly. ‘Well, I own I have led an idle life hitherto, but some +of it has been rather laborious idleness; as when I accomplished +the passage of the Roththal Sattel and ascended yonder Jungfrau +between sunrise and sundown; or when I came as near +death as a man can come, and yet escape it, while climbing the +Pointe des Ecrins, in the French Alps.’</p> + +<p>‘I want you by-and-by to think of another kind of labour, +Gerald,’ said Lina, with tender seriousness. ‘I want you to +think of doing good to your fellow-men—you, who are so gifted, +and who have the means of carrying out every benevolent intention. +I want you to be useful in your generation, and to win +for yourself one of those great enduring names which are only +won by usefulness.’</p> + +<p>‘Come now, my sweetest monitor, there you shoot beyond +the mark. Surely Virgil and Horace, Dante and Shakespeare, +have won names of wider glory than all the useful men who +ever lived. That idea of usefulness has never had much charm +for me. I have not a practical mind. I take after my mother, +who was one of the lilies of the field, rather than after my +father, who belonged to the toilers and spinners. If I had discovered +in my nature any vein of the gold of poetry, I would +have been willing to dig hard for that immortal ore; but as I +can’t be a poet, I don’t care to be anything else.’</p> + +<p>‘And with your talents and your wealth you con be content +to be nothing?’ exclaimed Lina, deeply shocked.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</span></p> + +<p>‘Nothing, except a tolerably indulgent landlord, a patron of +the fine arts, on a small scale, and by-and-by, if you please—your—obedient—husband.’</p> + +<p>The last words came somewhat slowly.</p> + +<p>‘If you are happy, I am content,’ said Lina, with a sigh; +‘but it is because I fancy you are not happy that I urge you to +lead a more active life, to give yourself greater variety of +thought and occupation.’</p> + +<p>‘And do you think that, if I were unhappy, the wear and +fret of public life, the dealing with workers whose chief object +seems to be to frustrate and stultify each other’s efforts; to be +continually baulked and disappointed; to have my most generous +impulses ridiculed, my loftiest hopes cried down as the +dreams of a madman; perhaps, at the close of my career, after +I had given my days and nights, my brain and body, to the +public cause, to be denounced as an incendiary and a lunatic—do +you think a career of that kind would ensure happiness? +No, love, Providence, in its divine wisdom, has allowed me to +belong to the lotus-eating class. Let me nibble my lotus, and +lie at ease in my sunshiny valley, and be content to let others +enjoy the rapture of the fray.’</p> + +<p>‘If I could be sure that you were happy,’ faltered Lina, +feeling very unhappy herself.</p> + +<p>‘Ought I not to be happy, when you are so good to me?’ +he asked, taking her hand and pressing it tenderly, with very +real affection, but an affection chastened by remorse. ‘I am +as happy as a man can be who has inherited a natural bent +to melancholy. My mother was not a cheerful woman, as you +know.’</p> + +<p>This was an undeniable fact. Lady Geraldine, after having +made what some people called a splendid marriage, and others a +<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mésalliance</i>, had gone through life with an air of subdued +melancholy, an elegant pensiveness which suited her languid +beauty as well as the colours she chose for her gowns, or the +flowers she wore in her hair. She had borne herself with infinite +grace, as one whose cup of life was tinctured with sorrow, +beneath the snowy calm of whose bosom the slow consuming +fire of grief was working its gradual ravages. She died of an +altogether commonplace disease, but she contrived so to bear +herself in her decay, that when she was dead everybody was +convinced she had perished slowly of a broken heart, and that +she had never smiled after her marriage with Mr. Giles-Goring. +This was society’s verdict upon a woman who had lived an +utterly selfish and self-indulgent life, and who had spent fifteen +hundred a-year upon her milliner.</p> + +<p>Lina and Gerald strolled up and down for a little while, +almost in silence. She had said her say, and nothing had come +of it. Her disappointment was bitter; for she had fancied that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</span> +it needed but a few words from her to kindle the smouldering +fires of ambition. She had supposed that every man was ambitious, +however he might allow his aspirations to be choked by +the thorns of this world: and here she had found in the lover +of her choice a man without the faintest desire to achieve greatness, +or to do good in his generation. Had he been such a man +as Edgar Turchill, she would have felt no surprise at his indifference +to the wider questions of life. Edgar was a man born to +do his duty in a narrow groove; a large-hearted, simple-minded +creature, but little removed from the peasant who tills the +fields, and whose desires and hopes are shut in by the narrow +circle of village life. But Gerald Goring—Gerald, whose ardent +boyhood, whose passion for all the loftier delights of life, had +lifted him so high above the common ruck of mankind—to find +him at nine-and-twenty a languid pessimist, willing to live a life +as selfish and as useless as his mother had led before him: this +was indeed hard. And it was harder still for Madoline to discover +how much she had overrated her influence upon him. +A few years ago a word from her had been sufficient to urge +him to any effort, to give bent and purpose to his mind; but a +few years ago he had been still warm with the flush and fire of +early youth.</p> + +<p>Daphne and Edgar joined them presently, both warm and +breathless after a small experiment in the climbing way.</p> + +<p>‘We have seen everything, and we have been up a mountain,’ +exclaimed Daphne. ‘It is the funniest little village—a +handful of wooden cottages perched on a narrow track straggling +along anyhow on the very edge of the hill; a little new +church that looks as if it had dropped from the clouds; a morsel +of a post-office; a stack of wood beside every house; and a +bundle of green vegetables hanging to dry in every porch and +balcony. Poor people, do they live upon dried vegetables, I +wonder? We found an English lady and her son sitting in the +middle of the road—if you can call it a road—sketching a native +boy. He was a very handsome boy, and sat as still as a statue. +We stood ever so long and watched the two artists; and then we +had a climb; and Edgar says I am a good climber. Do you +think,’ coaxingly to Lina, ‘we might try the Silberhorn after +luncheon?’</p> + +<p>They lunched in a sunny airy corner of the big bare <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">salle-à-manger</i> +merrily enough, or with that seeming gaiety of heart +which brightens so many a board, notwithstanding that the +stream flows darkly enough below the ripple and the gleam. +Daphne had made it the business of her life to seem happy and +at ease ever since that fatal night at Fribourg. She wanted +Gerald Goring to believe that she was satisfied with her lot—nay, +even that she was honestly attached to her plighted husband, +and that her conduct that night had been but a truant<span class="pagenum" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</span> +impulse, a momentary aberration from common sense and duty. +She was fighting her battle bravely, sometimes smiling with an +aching heart, sometimes really succeeding in being happy, with +the inconsiderate unreasoning happiness of youth and health, +and the rapture of living in a world where all was alike new and +beautiful. After luncheon she went out with Edgar for another +ramble, until it should be time to begin the descent to Lauterbrunnen. +They had all agreed to walk down, in a leisurely +way, after tea; and the horses had already gone back with +the two men who had led them up. Daphne wanted to learn +where and how she could get nearest to the mountains. It +seemed provoking to see them there, so near, and yet as far +beyond her reach as if she had been looking at them from her +window at Interlaken.</p> + +<p>‘Would it really be too much for an afternoon walk?’ she +asked, gazing longingly at the Silberhorn.</p> + +<p>Gerald explained the preparations and the assistance, and +the length of time which would be required for any attempt +upon that snowy crest.</p> + +<p>‘Please show me the very ledge where the child’s red frock +used to be seen,’ she asked, perusing the wilderness of crag and +peak.</p> + +<p>‘What child? what frock?’ asked Edgar.</p> + +<p>‘Don’t you know that ever so many years ago a lammergeier +carried off a child from this village of Mürren, and alighted +with it upon an inaccessible shelf of rock on the side of the +Jungfrau, and that for years afterwards some red scraps, the +remnants of the poor baby’s clothes, were seen amongst the +snow?’</p> + +<p>‘A pitiful story, wherever you found it,’ said Gerald; ‘but +I think the baby’s frock would have been blown away or buried +under the snow before the vulture had forgotten the flavour of +the baby.’</p> + +<p>And then, seeing that Daphne hungered for any information +about yonder mountain, he condescended to tell her how he +and a couple of friends, allied by the climbing propensity rather +than by ancient friendship, had ascended the north face of the +Silberhorn, with the idea of finding a direct route over its summit +to the top of the Jungfrau; how after ten hours of very +hard work they had planted their feet on the top of the dazzling +peak, only to find the snow falling thickly round them, +and the Jungfrau and the Giessen glacier already hidden behind +a fleecy cloud; how, after waiting in vain for the storm +to pass, they had made a perilous descent to the upper plateau +of the Giessen glacier; and how there, amidst thick clouds and +driving snow, they groped their way round the edges of huge +crevasses before they hit on a practical path descending the +ice-fall; and how, finding the night closing in upon them, they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</span> +were fain to sit upon a ledge of rock under a sheltering cliff till +daybreak.</p> + +<p>‘Poor things!’ exclaimed Daphne with infinite compassion; +‘and you never reached the top of the Jungfrau after all.’</p> + +<p>‘Not by that way. I have scaled her granite point from the +Roththal Sattel.’</p> + +<p>‘And is it very lovely up there?’</p> + +<p>‘<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">C’est selon.</i> When I mounted, the Maiden was wrapped in +cloud, and there was no distant view, nor could we spare more +than a quarter of an hour for rest on the summit; but we +saw an avalanche or two on our way, and altogether we had +a very good time.’</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX.<br> +<span class="fs70">‘I MEANE WELL, BY GOD THAT SIT ABOVE.’</span></h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was pleasant to drink tea at a little table in the garden of +the inn, with the white mountain world spread before them in +all its glory, flushed with the golden lights of afternoon. Edgar +looked ineffably happy as he sat sipping his tea and watching +Daphne eat bread and honey, which seemed her chief nutriment +in this part of the world; for Swiss poultry and Swiss +veal, for all the varieties of <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">vol-au-vent</i>, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">fricandeau</i>, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">ris de veau</i>, +and <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">fricassée</i>, under which the inevitable calf disguised himself, +she showed herself absolutely indifferent; but she had an infinite +capacity for Swiss rolls and Swiss honey.</p> + +<p>While they were sitting at tea, resting before they began +the downward walk, Mr. Turchill produced a letter which that +morning’s post had brought him from his mother: one of those +worthy commonplace letters which set one’s teeth on edge +when read aloud amidst the loftiest aspects of nature. But +Edgar saw nothing beyond the love and the kindness in his +mother’s epistle, and would have read it on the summit of +Caucasus, yea, on that topmost untrodden snow-peak which the +Persians call the Holy Mountain, and would have perceived no +discord between the letter and the scene.</p> + +<p>‘The dear mother’s letter is full of you, Daphne,’ he said; +‘would it bore you and Mr. Goring if I were to read a little of +it, Lina?’</p> + +<p>Mr. Goring protested, with a stifled yawn, that he would +be delighted. ‘There is nothing,’ he asserted, ‘more interesting +than domestic correspondence. Look at the Paston letters, +for instance. And I could fancy your mother writing quite in +the Paston style,’ he added graciously.</p> + +<p>Edgar unfolded the thin, closely written sheet, written in +those neat, sloping characters which had been drilled into all<span class="pagenum" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</span> +the young ladies at Miss Tompion’s academy, and crossed—for +the habit of crossing a letter had obtained in Mrs. Turchill’s +youth, and she returned to it instinctively under stress +of foreign postage, albeit twopence halfpenny is not a ruinous +amount to pay for a letter.</p> + +<p>‘“I am pleased to hear that Daphne is enjoying herself, +and that she is so enthusiastic about the scenery. I remember, +when I learned drawing at Miss Tompion’s, doing a very pretty +sketch of Chamounix, with Mont Blanc in the background, in +black and white chalks on tinted paper. I believe some of the +snow was scratched in with a penknife by Signor Pasticcio, but +all the rest was my very own, and papa gave me a sovereign +when the drawing was sent home. It used to hang in your +father’s dressing-room, but one of the housemaids contrived to +break the glass one day with her broom-handle, and I did not +care to go to the expense of having it reglazed: Gilbert is so +dear for all jobs of that kind. I have always understood that +the Jungfrau is very inferior to Mont Blanc; but as you say +Byron admired it I have no doubt it is very beautiful, though, +of course, in a minor degree. Every geography will tell you +that Mont Blanc is the higher. I hope you are careful to avoid +wet feet”—hum—hum—hum,’ mumbled Edgar, skipping the +tender mother’s injunctions about his care of his health, and +hurrying on to that part of the letter which related to Daphne. +‘Oh, here it is. “Tell Daphne, with my love, that I am going +carefully over all the house-linen—weeding out all the sheets +that are weak in the middle”—dear old mother! she always +will go into details—“and making a large addition to the table-linen. +I have also had a new inventory made in duplicate. I +know that the modern idea is for the bride to provide the +house-linen. That is all very well when the husband is a young +man who has his own way to make in the world, but not for +my boy, who has a home of his own—a fine old house which his +ancestors have lived in, and spent their money upon, from +generation to generation. I hope Daphne will be as fond of the +old Hawksyard glass and china—which, as she knows, is the +collection of more than a century—as she is of the mountains; +but I’m afraid the romantic kind of temperament which goes +into raptures with mountains is hardly the disposition which +could take delight in housekeeping, and the many details of +home-life.”’</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>‘I hope you won’t be angry with her for saying that,’ added +Edgar apologetically, as he hastily folded the letter, feeling that +he had read too much. ‘You know she means it kindly.’</p> + +<p>‘I know she has been ever so much more indulgent than I +deserve,’ answered Daphne gaily; ‘I mean to be a most dutiful +daughter-in-law, and to learn everything your mother will deign<span class="pagenum" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</span> +to teach me in the way of housekeeping, from hemming tea-cloths +to making mincemeat. One ought to make one’s own +mincemeat, ought one not, Edgar? Do you and I belong to +the class who make their own mincemeat?’</p> + +<p>‘I think it’s rather a question of inclination than of rank, +love. But I’d rather you left the pies and puddings to the +cook. I’d rather have you riding across the Vale of the Red +Horse with me than stoning raisins or chopping suet in the +still-room.’</p> + +<p>‘And I would rather, too.’</p> + +<p>‘Do you know that there is a great deal of quiet sagacity in +your mother’s gentle depreciation of Daphne’s passion for +mountain scenery?’ said Gerald, his face lighting up with +something of the old mischievous spirit, something of that +gaiety of heart with which he had teased Daphne in the days +when she was Poppæa and he was Nero! ‘This frantic admiration +of snow-peaks is only a modern feeling, a mere fashion +and fad of the moment, like the worship of Chippendale furniture +and Adam chimney-pieces. The old Greeks knew nothing +of it. The ancients never raved about their mountains. They +valued them only because their tops touched the blue ether, the +world peopled by the gods. Even your Shakespeare, the man +of universal mind, had no passion for mountain lands.’</p> + +<p>‘Because he had never seen anything higher than the Wrekin, +poor darling!’ said Daphne, with delicious compassion; as +if she were speaking of a London Arab who had never seen a +buttercup.</p> + +<p>‘Ruskin thinks it was good for his genius to have seen so little. +“No mountain passions were to be allowed to Shakespeare,” he +says; “Shakespeare could be allowed no mountains—not even any +supreme natural beauty. He had to be left with his kingcups +and clover, pansies, the passing clouds, the Avon’s flow, and the +undulating hills and woods of Warwickshire, lest it should make +him in the least overrate their power on the strong, full-fledged +minds of men.”’</p> + +<p>‘That is remarkably clever,’ said Daphne; ‘but there is a +tone of calm superiority about it which makes my blood boil. +Why will all the critics insist upon patronising Shakespeare, as +if they knew so much more about him than ever be know about +himself? Talk of vivisection indeed, vivisection is not half so +atrocious as the way Shakespeare has been treated by modern +criticism!’</p> + +<p>And now, when all the valley below them lay steeped in +golden light, when the northward-facing mountains were beginning +to take the chill cold gray of evening, and the western +pinnacles were flushed with rose and purple, they began their +descent of the narrow winding way, gaily, to all seeming, for +they talked a good deal, and Daphne lingered on her way to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</span> +gather the wild flowers that grew on the thymy banks—harebells, +and clover, gentian, and the Alpine rose, a white starry +flower with a long fragile stem, and delicate ferns, and here and +there a handful of wild strawberries. Gerald had more than +once to insist upon her hastening her footsteps, lest night should +overtake them on the steep mountain path.</p> + +<p>‘If you loiter so much I will put you into a wooden sledge +when we get to the half-way house, and run you down the mountain,’ +he threatened.</p> + +<p>Lovelier and yet more lovely looked the pine-woods, the +green slopes, the fertile valley, the far-away white peaks, so +shadowy, so awful in the changing lights of evening. Half +the sky was ablaze with crimson and orange, fading off into +tender opalescent greens and purples, the indescribable hues of +rare jasper and rarer jade, as they neared the Staubach. +They had loitered as long as it was safe to loiter. The lamps +were lighted at the inn, and their coachman was watching for +their return. They drove home through the gray twilight, +which was fast deepening into night, and through a landscape +of deepest gloom—a narrow region, walled in by dark hills; +dim lights, dotted here and there amidst the darkness, ever so +far apart, telling of lonely lives, of humble peasant homes +where pleasure and variety were unknown, a life of monotonous +labour, hidden from the world.</p> + +<p>‘Have you enjoyed your day, Daphne?’ asked Lina, as they +drove home, the rapid river flowing noisily beside them, the +white foam on the waters flashing through the gloom.</p> + +<p>‘Enjoyed it? There is no word big enough to say how +delightful it has been! It is a day that will stand apart in +the history of my life,’ answered Daphne, slipping her hand +lovingly through her sister’s arm.</p> + +<p>‘What a privileged nature to be so easily made happy!’ +said Gerald, with a palpable sneer.</p> + +<p>People are apt to let slip society’s mask in such a moment, +on a dark road shut in by mountain and wood, after a long and +thoughtful silence, forgetting that feeling is audible in the +darkness, though faces are hidden, and the clouded brow or the +quiver of the lip is invisible.</p> + +<p>Gerald Goring had been thinking deeply during the hillside +walk and the homeward drive, touched inexpressibly by Madoline’s +affection, and trying as honestly as was possible to a +character which was not given to mental or moral effort—trying +to face a future clouded over with fears. Could he ever be +again as he had been, Madoline’s true lover? This was the +question which he asked himself, coming down the hill in the +glory of the evening light, a little aloof from the other three. +His honour and reverence for her were in nowise lessened by +that fatal passion which had changed the current of his life.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</span> +He knew that of all women he had ever met she was the noblest +and the best; that, with her, life would be lifted above the +sordid, vulgar level of selfish pleasures and sensual indulgences; +that, as her husband, he could not fail to become in somewise +useful to his species, to win some measure of renown, and to +leave a name behind him that would sound sweet in the ears of +generations to come. He could imagine her in the riper beauty +of matronhood, the mother of his children, training up his sons +to tread the loftier paths of life, rearing his daughters in an +atmosphere of purity and love. He pictured her at the head +of his household; he told himself that with such a wife he must +be an idiot if he missed happiness. And then he looked with +gloomy despairing eyes at the other side of the question, and +tried to realise what his life would be with the butterfly being +who had crept into his heart and made herself its empress.</p> + +<p>As well as he knew Lina’s perfection did he know Daphne’s +faultiness. She was frivolous, selfish, shallow, capricious, +vehement. Yes, but he loved her. She had no higher idea of +this world than as a place made exquisitely beautiful in order +that she might be happy in it; nor of her fellow-creatures +than as persons provided to minister to her pleasures; nor of +the future beyond life than as a vague misty something which +had better not be thought about; nor of duty, but as a word +found in the Church Catechism, and which one might banish +from one’s mind after one’s confirmation. Yes, but he loved +her. Her faultiness did not lessen his love by the weight of a +grain of thistledown. He yearned to take her to his heart, +faulty as she was, and cherish her there for ever. He longed +to spend the rest of his days with her, and it seemed to him +that life would be worthless without her. She might prove a +silly wife, a careless mother. Yes, but he loved her. For him +she was just the one most exquisite thing in creation, the one +supreme necessity of his soul.</p> + +<p>‘“<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Animæ dimidium meæ.</i>” Yes, that is what she is,’ he said +to himself as he sat in the summer darkness, with dreamy +eyes looking upward to the lonely melancholy hills, where huge +arollas of a thousand years’ growth spread their black branches +against the snow-line just above them. What a desolate +world it looked in the gathering gloom!—only a few solitary +stars gleaming in the infinite remoteness of the sky, the moon +not yet risen above yonder snowy battlements.</p> + +<p>It was past nine o’clock when they drove into the shrubberied +approach to the Jungfraublich. The hotel looked dazzling +after the obscurity of the valley. Daphne would have +liked to dash into the billiard-room and challenge her lover +to a game; but, since it was impossible for a young lady to +play at a public table, she went upstairs to the sitting-room on +the first floor, where Sir Vernon was waiting for them, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</span> +where there was a table spread with tea, cold chickens, and +rolls and honey. Lina sat by her father, telling him the history +of their day, and hearing all he had to say about his letters +and papers. Edgar was in tremendous spirits, and inclined +to make fun of the queer little village on the edge of everlasting +snows; Daphne was talkative; Sir Vernon was gracious. +It was only Gerald Goring who bore no part in the +conversation. He looked worn and wearied with the day’s +work, and yet it had been nothing for an Alpine climber; a +mere constitutional walk, barely enough to keep a man in +training. When tea was over he retired to the balcony, and +sat there, smoking cigarettes and watching the moon climb +the dark slopes of heaven; while the others looked over +newly-arrived papers and periodicals, and discussed to-morrow’s +trip to Grindelwald and the glaciers.</p> + +<p>The morning came, as fair and fresh a dawn as ever peeped +shyly across the edge of the Alps, but Gerald, watching the slow +kindling of that rosy glow after a sleepless night, greeted the +new day with no thanksgiving. To him, in his present frame of +mind, it would have seemed a good thing if that day had never +dawned; if this planet Earth had dropped out of its place in the +starry procession, and gone down to darkness and chaos, like a +torch burnt out. He rose with that inexorable sun, which pursues +his course with so little regard for the griefs and perplexities +of humanity, and was out in the dewy woods above the +hotel before civilised people were stirring. Anything was better +than to lie on a sleepless couch staring at the light. Here, +moving about among the dark pine-stems, treading the narrow +tracks, shifting his point of view at every turn in the path, life +was less intolerable. He could think better—his brain was +clearer—his pulse less feverish.</p> + +<p>‘What was he to do?’ he asked himself helplessly. What +did Wisdom counsel? What did Honour urge? Surely about +this latter voice there could be no question. Honour would +have him be true to Madoline, at any sacrifice of his own feelings. +Duty was plain enough here. He had pledged himself +to her by every bond which honest men hold sacred. He must +keep his word.</p> + +<p>‘But if we are both miserable for life?’ he asked himself. +‘Can she be happy if I am wretched? And what charm has +existence for me without Daphne?’</p> + +<p>‘You must forget Daphne,’ urged Duty; ‘your first and +nobler love must obtain the mastery. You must pluck this idle +weed, this mere caprice, out of your heart.’</p> + +<p>He told himself that the thing was to be done and he would +try honestly to do it. He would steel himself against Daphne’s +wiles. Did not Ulysses pluck himself away from the enchantress’s +fatal island, wrench himself out of her very web, and get<span class="pagenum" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</span> +home to Ithaca sound in body and mind, and live happy ever +afterwards with his faithful Penelope? Or at least this is the +popular idea of Ulysses, in spite of those breathings of slander +which make the Circe episode something more than Platonic. +What nobler image can life give than that of a faithful lover, +a loyal husband, tempted and yet true? Nor did poor little +Daphne go out of her way to exercise Circean arts. She +charmed as the flowers charm, innocently and unconsciously. +She was no Becky Sharp, weaving a subtle web out of people’s +looks and smiles, drooping lashes, lifted eyelids, the arrowy +gleams of fatal green eyes. She wanted to be faithful to her +lover, and loyal to her sister. Her letter had been straight and +true. If he sinned, he sinned of his own accord, and had no +such excuses as Adam used against the partner God had given +him.</p> + +<p>He wandered about restlessly, in an utterly purposeless +way, till it was time to go back to the seven o’clock breakfast. +He would have liked to start alone for the shining slate mountain +yonder, to spend the day there in a sultry solitude, lying +on his back and staring up at the unfathomable blue, smoking +a little, reading Heine a little—Heine’s ballad-book had been +his gospel of late—idling away the empty day, and growing wiser +and better in solitude. But he was pledged to go in beaten tracks; +to go and eat and drink at The Bear, and gaze at the lower glacier, +like a Cook’s tourist, and be faintly interested in the coachman’s +exposition of the view, and be blandly tolerant of girls +selling edelweiss, and boys waking the echoes with Alpine horns, +and all the conventional features of that exquisite drive from +Interlaken to Grindelwald.</p> + +<p>However much he might affect to despise the familiar route, +he could not deny the beauty of the landscape by-and-by, when +they were all seated in the carriage and had crossed the Lutschine +for the first time, and were climbing slowly up the raised +road above the river. It was a brilliant morning, the wooded +hills steeped in sunlight and balmy summer air; the tender green +of the young shoots showing bright against the sombre darkness +of the everlasting pines; water rushing down the hillsides every +here and there, sometimes a torrent, sometimes a fine thread +like spun glass, dropping from crag to crag. The two young +men got out of the carriage and walked up the hills; the valley +through which the road wound was exquisitely verdant—a scene +of pastoral beauty, fertile, richly wooded, but passing lonely. +Daphne sorely missed the dappled kine which relieve and animate +a Warwickshire landscape.</p> + +<p>‘What in Heaven’s name has become of the cattle?’ she +exclaimed. ‘Here are meadows, and homesteads, and gardens, +and orchards, but not a living object in the landscape. I thought +Switzerland swarmed with cows, and was musical with cowbells.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</span> +And where is the chorus of herdsmen singing the “<em>Ranz +des Vaches</em>?”’</p> + +<p>‘Perhaps there has been an outbreak of foot-and-mouth +disease, and the cows have all been condemned,’ speculated +Edgar.</p> + +<p>Gerald explained that the cattle and their keepers had all +gone up into the higher regions to crop the summer herbage.</p> + +<p>‘And that accounts for this green and silent valley,’ said +Daphne. ‘It is rather a romantic idea; but I should have liked +to see the cattle all the same. I adore cows. I think a Jersey +cow, with her stag-like head and eyes, is almost the loveliest +thing in creation.’</p> + +<p>‘You shall have a herd of them at Hawksyard,’ exclaimed +Edgar eagerly; ‘and I will build you a Swiss cowhouse at the +end of the walnut walk.’</p> + +<p>‘Thank you so much,’ said Daphne, with a faint smile, ‘but +I was thinking of them only in the abstract.’</p> + +<p>There were times when any allusion to Hawksyard and the +future irritated her like the sting of a summer insect.</p> + +<p>Children appeared at every turn of the circuitous road. +Here a sickly, large-eyed girl offered a handful of dingy edelweiss; +there an unkempt ill-fed boy ran beside the horses, +flapping off the flies with a leafy branch of ash or walnut; anon +appeared the mountain musician playing his plaintive strain +upon the native horn, and waking melancholiest echoes amid +the solemn hills. The road crossed the river several times, over +covered bridges, wooden arcades, which made a picturesque bit +in the landscape, a pleasant lounging place too, on such a summer +morning. But there seemed to be nobody about save the +fly-flapping boys, and women and children offering new milk or +the everlasting edelweiss.</p> + +<p>It was the first time Daphne had seen the little velvety white +flower, and she was keenly interested in it.</p> + +<p>‘Poor little colourless ice-blossom, so pale and dull-looking, +like a life without joy or variety!’ she said. ‘They say that it +grows under the snow. How nice it would be to go and hunt +for it oneself! Please give the children plenty of money, Edgar.’ +And Mr. Turchill, whose pockets were always full of loose Helvetian +coins—leaden sous and dingy-looking half-francs—scattered +his largesse among the natives with a liberality rare in +modern excursionists.</p> + +<p>Half-way up the hill they came to a rustic restaurant, where +the horses stopped to blow, and where the coachman invited the +ladies to go and see a tame chamois in a little shed at the back +of the house.</p> + +<p>‘He will be the first of his race I have seen,’ said Daphne, +‘though in Manfred’s time this part of the country seems to +have been overrun by them.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</span></p> + +<p>They went through the restaurant kitchen to the shed behind +it, to see the four-footed mountaineer. He was a melancholy +little animal, altogether a shabby specimen of the chamois tribe, +and looked sadly forlorn in his narrow den. One of his horns +had been broken off, perhaps in the struggles that attended his +capture.</p> + +<p>‘It is a painful sight,’ said Daphne, turning away with a +sigh.</p> + +<p>She would have given all her pocket-money to set the chamois +free; but he was one of the attractions of the house, and +could not have been easily ransomed.</p> + +<p>And now again across the Black Lutschine, by another +covered bridge, and up the steep winding road through a narrow +gorge in the hills, until the cleft widens, and the Grindelwald +valley opens before them in all its glory, ringed round with +mountains, the Great Eiger standing boldly out in front of them, +with broad patches of snow on his dark stony front, behind a +bold edge of pine-clad hill. There is unspeakable grandeur in +that bleak and rugged mountain rising above the verdure and +beauty of the nearer hills.</p> + +<p>Daphne clasped her hands in unalloyed delight.</p> + +<p>‘It would be worth while coming to Switzerland if it were +only for this,’ she exclaimed; ‘yet I am tortured by the idea of +all the mountain-passes, glaciers, and waterfalls that we are not +going to see. I have a great mind to throw away my Baedeker. +He makes me positively miserable with suggestions that I can’t +carry out.’</p> + +<p>‘You will be able to see all you care about next year,’ said +Edgar, ‘when you and I are free to go where we like. I believe +it will be always where <em>you</em> like.’</p> + +<p>‘Next year seems half a century off,’ she answered carelessly.</p> + +<p>Their journey was nearly done. The carriage went down into +the valley, then climbed another hill, and they had paused the +outskirts of the village of Grindelwald, and were drawing up in +the garden in front of the Bear Hotel. Very full of life and +bustle was the inn garden on this bright summer morning. +Tourists without number standing about, or sitting under the +verandah, Americans, Germans, English, French, all full of life +and enjoyment; some starting with their alpenstocks, intent on +pedestrian excursions; ladies and sedentary middle-aged gentlemen +being hoisted on to mules; carriages driving in; horses +being fed and cleaned; a Babel of languages, a perpetual moving +in and out.</p> + +<p>Mr. Goring ordered a slight refection of wine and coffee, rolls +and honey, to be brought to a pleasant spot under the verandah, +at a point where the view across the deep valley to the hills +beyond was widest and grandest. Here they rested themselves<span class="pagenum" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</span> +a little before starting on foot for the lower glacier. Both +Madoline and Daphne were in favour of walking.</p> + +<p>‘I went on a mule when I was here with my father,’ said +Lina, ‘and I remember thinking how much I should have preferred +being free to choose my own path.’</p> + +<p>It was a lovely walk, so soon as they were clear of the +hotels and boarding-houses, and the scattered wooden <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">châlets</i> of +the village, just such a ramble as Daphne loved; a narrow footpath +winding up and down a verdant hillside—here a garden, +and there an orchard—funny little cottages and cottage-gardens +perched anyhow on slopes and angles of the road; a rustic +bridge across the rocky bed of a river; and there in front of +them the glacier—a mass of corrugated ice lying on a steep +slope between two mountains—shining, beautiful, like a pale +sapphire. They loitered as much as they pleased by the wayside, +Daphne straying here and there as her fancy led her—a +restless, birdlike creature, almost seeming to have wings, so +lightly did she flutter from hillock to crag, so airy was the step +with which she skimmed along the narrow rocky pathway, beaten +by the feet of so many travellers. They spent a good deal of +time in the immediate neighbourhood of the glacier, ‘doing it +thoroughly,’ as Edgar remarked afterwards, with a satisfied air; +and then they went quietly back to The Bear, and dined in a +corner of the big, barren dining-room, and drove back to Interlaken +in the summer dusk, Gerald almost as silent as he had +been the night before during the much shorter drive from Lauterbrunnen.</p> + +<p>‘I’m afraid it bores you to go over the ground you know so +well,’ said Madoline, grieved at her lover’s silence, which looked +like depression, or mental weariness.</p> + +<p>‘No; the country is too lovely, one could hardly tire of it,’ +he answered; ‘but don’t you think it intensely melancholy? +There is something in the silence and darkness of these hills +which fills my soul with gloom. Even the lights scattered about +here and there are so remote and so few that they only serve to +intensify the solitude. So long as sunlight and shadow give life +and motion to the scene it is gay enough; but with nightfall +one finds out all at once how desolate it is.’</p> + +<p>There was more excursionising next day, and again on the +next; then came Sunday morning and church, and then a walk +through the pine-woods to see some athletic sports that were +held in a green basin which made a splendid amphitheatre, round +whose grassy sides the audience sat picturesquely grouped on the +velvet sward. On this day the young women came out in all the +glory of their canton costume—snowy habit-shirts and black +velvet bodices, silver chains pendent from their shoulders, silver +daggers or arrows thrust through their plaited hair, long silk +aprons of brightest colours—a costume which gave new gaiety<span class="pagenum" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</span> +to the landscape. Then in the evening there was a concert at +the little conversation-house in the walnut avenue, a concert so +crowded by native and foreigner that there was never an empty +seat in the verandah, and the waiters were at their wits’ ends to +keep everyone supplied with tea and coffee, lemonade and wine. +After the concert there were fireworks, coloured lights to glorify +the fountains—almost the gayest, brightest scene that Daphne’s +eyes had ever looked upon. Then, when Bengal lights and +rockets had faded and vanished into the summer night, they +walked quietly back to the hotel under a starry sky.</p> + +<p>‘I believe Daphne likes Bengal lights better than stars,’ said +Gerald mockingly, as he gave Madoline his arm, and went on +with her in advance of the others, across a field that lay on the +other side of the walnut walk.</p> + +<p>‘You may believe anything you like of Daphne’s bad taste +and general idiocy,’ the girl retorted; and Lina was distressed +at thinking how disagreeable these two, whom she would have +had so affectionately attached, always were to each other.</p> + +<p>And all the while Gerald Goring was wondering what he +was to do with his life—whether it were possible to break the +chain which bound him, that golden chain which had once been +his chief glory—whether it were possible to reconcile honour +and love.</p> + +<p>They left Interlaken next morning, and went straight +through to the little station at Montreux. Daphne, who had +pored over her Baedeker till she fancied that she knew every +inch of Switzerland, was deeply grieved at not being able to go +on to Lucerne and the Rigi, Flüelen, and all the Tell district; +but Sir Vernon would go no farther than Interlaken. He considered +that he had made a sufficient sacrifice of his own comfort +already for his younger daughter’s pleasure.</p> + +<p>‘I hate moving about, and I detest hotels,’ he said; ‘I am +yearning for the quiet of my own house.’</p> + +<p>After this no more could be said. Daphne gave herself up +to silent contemplation of the Jungfrau range throughout the +journey, by boat and rail, hardly taking her eyes from those +snowy peaks till they melted from her view, fading ghostlike in +the blue ether.</p> + +<p>‘They seem to be a part of my life,’ she said, as she turned +from the carriage window with a regretful sigh; ‘I cannot bear +to think that I have seen the last of them.’</p> + +<p>‘Only for this year,’ answered Edgar cheerily, not caring +much for mountains in the abstract, but ready to admire anything +that Daphne loved. ‘It is such an easy matter to come +to Switzerland nowadays. The Jungfrau is as accessible as +Brighton Pier.’</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXX">CHAPTER XXX.<br> +<span class="fs70">‘THER WAS NO WIGHT, TO WHOM SHE DURSTE PLAIN.’</span></h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">They</span> had been at Montreux more than a week, and it +seemed to Daphne as if she had lived half her life on the shore +of the beautiful lake, with the snowy summit of the Dent du +Midi rising yonder in its inaccessible grandeur, above the fertile +hills of the foreground, those precipitous green slopes, where +<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">châlets</i> and farms were dotted about picturesquely in positions +that would have seemed perilous for birds’ nests.</p> + +<p>The villa was charming; a white-walled <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">château</i> all plate-glass +windows, verandahs, balconies, brightened from roof to +basement by crimson and white Spanish blinds. The rooms +were prettily furnished in a foreign style—commodes, cabinets, +clocks, candelabra, and Louis Quatorze chairs of a painfully +upright architecture. To these Sir Vernon had added several +easy-chairs and couches of the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">pouf</i> species, hired from an upholsterer +at Geneva. Photographs in velvet or ivory frames, books, +work-baskets, easels, and five-o’clock tea-tables, brought from +South Hill, gave a home-like air to the rooms; and a profusion +of the loveliest flowers, exquisitely arranged, told of Madoline’s +presence.</p> + +<p>There was a delicious garden sloping down to the lake, +whose gently-curving shore made here a lovely bay; a garden +in which roses grew as they only grow in the neighbourhood of +water. There were summer-houses of the airiest construction; +trellised walks, rose-shaded; a parterre of carefully-chosen +flowers, with a fountain in the centre; and the blue bright water +at the edge of the lawn.</p> + +<p>Here Daphne had established her boat, a light skiff with a +felucca sail and a striped awning, to be used at pleasure; a boat +which, seen flitting across the lake in the sunshine, looked like +a swallow. There was a capital boat-house at a corner of the +lawn, wooden and delightfully Swiss, with balconies fronting +the lake, and an upper room in which one could take one’s pleasure, +sketching, writing, reading, tea-drinking. The weather +had been peerless since their arrival at Montreux; and Madoline +and Daphne spent the greater part of their lives out of doors. +They were always together, Daphne rarely leaving the +shelter of her sister’s wing. She had become amazingly industrious, +and had begun a tremendous piece of work in crewels, +neither more nor less than a set of curtain-borderings for the +drawing-room at Hawksyard. Vainly had Madoline entreated +her to begin with an antimacassar or a fender-stool, some undertaking +which would demand but a reasonable exercise of patience +and perseverance. Daphne would hear of no work that was not +gigantic.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</span></p> + +<p>‘Do you think Cheops would ever have been famous if he +had begun to make pyramids on a small scale?’ she asked. +‘He would have exhausted his interest in the idea, frittered +away his enthusiasm upon trifles. How much wiser it was in +him to make a dash at something big while his fancy was at +a white heat! If I don’t embroider a set of curtains I’ll do +nothing.’</p> + +<p>‘Well, dearest, you must follow your own fancy,’ answered +Lina gently; ‘but I’m afraid your life will be a history of great +beginnings.’</p> + +<p>Daphne began with extraordinary industry upon a bold +pattern of sunflowers and acanthus leaves, huge sunflowers, +huge foliage, on a Pompeian-red ground. Whenever she was not +in her boat, skimming about the lake, she was toiling at a leaf +or a sunflower, sitting on a cushion at Lina’s feet, the sunny +head bent over her work, the slim white fingers moving busily, +the dark brows knitted, in the intensity of her occupation. She +was always intent upon finishing a leaf, or a stalk, or a petal, +or on realising the grand effect of a completed flower. She +would sit till the last available moment before dinner, rushing +off to dress in a frantic hurry, and reappearing just as the +subdued announcement of dinner was being breathed into Sir +Vernon’s ear. Edgar was filled with delight to see her so occupied. +It seemed to him a pledge of future domesticity.</p> + +<p>‘It is so sweet to see you working for our home,’ he said +one afternoon, seated on the grass at her feet, and placidly +watching every stitch.</p> + +<p>‘Eh?’ she said, looking up in half-surprise, being much more +interested in the sunflowers for their own sakes than in their +future relation to the old Warwickshire Grange. ‘Oh yes, to +be sure. I hope I shall finish the curtains; but it is a dreadful +long way to look forward. There will be three hundred and +fifty-five sunflowers. I have done one and a half. That leaves +just three hundred and fifty-three and a half to do. I rather +wish it were the other way.’</p> + +<p>‘Beginning to flag already?’ said Lina, who was sketching +a little bit of the mountain landscape on the other side of the +lake, a bold effect of sun and shadow.</p> + +<p>‘Not the least in the world,’ cried Daphne; ‘only I do so +long to see the effect of the curtains when they are finished. +It will be stupendous. But do you know, Edgar, I am afraid +your mother will detest them. One requires to be educated +up to sunflowers; and Mrs. Turchill belongs to that degraded +period of art in which people could see beauty in roses and lilies.’</p> + +<p>‘One can hardly look back upon those dark ages without +a shudder,’ said Gerald Goring, stretched on a rustic bench close +at hand, looking up at the blue sky, an image of purposeless +idleness. ‘Thank Providence we have emerged from the age<span class="pagenum" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</span> +of curves into the age of angles—from the Hogarthian to the +Burne-Jonesian ideal of beauty.’</p> + +<p>‘There was a period in my own life when I had not awakened +to the loveliness of the sunflower,’ said Daphne gravely. +‘I know the first time I was introduced to one in crewel-work +I thought it hideous; but since I have known Tadema’s pictures +I am another creature. Yet I doubt if, even in my +regenerate state, a garden all sunflowers would be quite satisfactory.’</p> + +<p>‘You would require the Roman atmosphere, classic busts +and columns, Tyrian-dyed draperies, and everybody dressed in +the straight-down Roman fashion,’ replied Gerald languidly. +‘No doubt Poppæa was fond of sunflowers; and I daresay they +grew in that royal garden where Messalina held such high jinks +that time her imperial husband came home unexpectedly and +somewhat disturbed the harmony of the evening.’</p> + +<p>It was altogether an idle kind of life which they were leading +just now at Montreux. During the first week Edgar and +Daphne had excursionised a little upon the nearest hillsides in +the early morning before breakfast; but lovely as were the +chestnut-woods and the limpid streamlets gushing out of their +rocky beds and dripping into stone troughs fringed with delicate +ferns, exquisite as was the morning air, and the fairy picture of +the lake below them, developing some new charm with every +hundred yards of the ascent, Daphne soon wearied of these +morning rambles, and seemed glad to forego them.</p> + +<p>‘The weather is getting horribly oppressive,’ she said, ‘or +perhaps I am not quite so strong as I used to be. I would rather +sit in the garden and amuse myself more lazily.’</p> + +<p>‘You must not pretend to be an invalid,’ said Edgar cheerily; +‘come now, Daphne: why, there are not many girls can handle +a pair of sculls as you do.’</p> + +<p>‘I didn’t say I was an invalid. In my boat I feel in my +element, but listlessly creeping about these hills wearies me to +death.’</p> + +<p>‘You are very different from me,’ answered Edgar reproachfully. +‘Your company is always enough for my happiness.’</p> + +<p>‘Then you shall have as much of my company as you please +in the garden or on the lake. But pray let us be idle while we +can. When Aunt Rhoda arrives we shall be goaded to all kinds +of excursionising, dragged up every hill in the district.’</p> + +<p>‘I thought you wanted to climb mountains?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, mountains; Mont Blanc, or the Matterhorn, or Monte +Rosa—anything respectable. But to exhaust one’s energy in +scaling green banks! Why, in Wales they would call the Col +du Jaman a bank. However, when Aunt Rhoda arrive I shall +be equal to the effort. Of course we shall have to do Chillon.’</p> + +<p>‘I thought you were so interested in Chillon.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</span></p> + +<p>‘Yes, as an image in my mind. I love to gaze at its dark +towers from the distance, to send my fancies back to the +Middle Ages, penetrate the gloomy prison and keep the captives +company—but to go over the cells formally, in the midst +of a little herd of tourists, staring over each other’s shoulders, +and treading upon each other’s toes—to be shown by a snuffy +old custodian the ring to which Bonnivard was chained, the +grating out of which he could see the “little isle that in his +very face did smile”—that is a kind of thing which I absolutely +abhor.’</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Mrs. Ferrers had written to her brother, informing him that +as she had been all her life longing for a glimpse of Swiss scenery, +and that as so favourable an opportunity had now presented +itself for the gratification of that desire, she had made up her +mind to come straight to Montreux by herself.</p> + +<p>‘It is a tremendous undertaking for one who has travelled +so little,’ she wrote; ‘for you know, dear Vernon, how my devotion +to Lina and your interests kept me a prisoner at South Hill +during those years in which I should naturally have been seeing +all that is worth seeing in this beautiful world. It is an awful +idea to travel all the way from Warwickshire to Lake Leman, +with only a maid, but I feel that this is a golden opportunity +which must not be lost. To be in Switzerland with you and +dearest Lina will be a delight, the memory of which will endure +all my life. It is quite hopeless to suppose that dear Marmaduke +can ever travel with me beyond Cheltenham, or Bath, or Torquay. +His health and his settled habits both forbid the thought. +Why, then, should I not take advantage of your being in +Switzerland to realise a long-cherished wish? I shall be no +trouble to you: I do not ask you even to receive me under your +roof, unless indeed you happen to have a spare room or two at +your disposal. You can make arrangements for me and my +maid to live <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">en pension</i> at one of those excellent hotels which I +am told abound on the banks of the lake, and I can spend all +my days with you without feeling myself either a burden or an +expense.’</p> + +<p>‘What are we to do, Lina?’ asked Sir Vernon, when his +elder daughter had read the letter; ‘your aunt will be a terrible +bore in any case, but I suppose she will be a little less of a nuisance +if we put her out of the house.’</p> + +<p>‘There are three spare rooms,’ said Lina. ‘It would be +rather inhospitable to send her to an hotel—if she will not be +any trouble to you, dear father——’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, she will be no trouble to me,’ said Sir Vernon. ‘I’ll +take care of that.’</p> + +<p>‘Then I think you had better let me write and ask her to +stay with us.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</span></p> + +<p>‘Ask her!’ quoth Sir Vernon, ‘egad, she has asked herself.’</p> + +<p>The letter was written, and by return of post there came a +gushing reply, announcing that Mrs. Ferrers had broken the +intelligence of her departure to dear Marmaduke, who had borne +the blow better than might have been expected, and who was +amiably resigned to the loss of his wife’s society during the +ensuing six weeks. Is not a modern Anglican cleric bound to +imitate in somewise the example of the early Christian martyrs? +Fire or sword he is not called upon to suffer, nor to fight with +wild beasts in the arena; but these small domestic deprivations +are a scourge of the flesh, which tend to exercise his heroic +temper.</p> + +<p>‘Todd,’ said Marmaduke, in a fat and unctuous voice, ‘you +must take particular care of me while your mistress is away. +You know what I like, Todd, and you must make sure that I +have it.’</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Mrs. Ferrers arrived one sunny afternoon, with three Saratoga +trunks, and the newest things in sunshades. She had a +generally exhausted air after her journey, and declared that she +seemed to have been travelling since the beginning of the world.</p> + +<p>‘The dust, the heat, the glare between Paris and Dijon I can +never describe,’ she protested as she sank into the most luxurious +of the easy-chairs, which her eagle eye had detected at the first +glance.</p> + +<p>‘Please don’t try,’ said Gerald, ‘we went through it all ourselves.’</p> + +<p>‘It was something too dreadful,’ murmured Aunt Rhoda, +looking so cool and ladylike in her pale-gray cashmere gown and +flounced sicilienne petticoat, that it was difficult to believe she +had ever been a victim to dust and heat.</p> + +<p>She was refreshed with tea and bread and butter, and looked +round her with placid satisfaction.</p> + +<p>‘It is really very sweet,’ she murmured. ‘This villa reminds +me so much of the Fothergills’ place just above Teddington +Lock—the lawn—the flower-beds—everything. But, do you know, +Switzerland is not quite so Swiss as I expected to find it.’</p> + +<p>‘That was just what Daphne said,’ answered Madoline.</p> + +<p>‘Did she really?’ murmured Aunt Rhoda, looking across at +Daphne, who was sitting idly by the low tea-table. Mrs. Ferrers +felt a little vexed with herself at being convicted of coinciding +with Daphne.</p> + +<p>‘I suppose it is inevitable,’ she said, with a lofty air, ‘that +a place of which one has dreamed all one’s life, which one has +pictured to oneself in all the brightest colours of one’s own +mind and fancy, should be just a little disappointing. It was +tiresome to be told at Geneva that Mont Blanc had not been +seen for weeks, and it was provoking to find the cabman horribly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</span> +indifferent about Rousseau—for, of course, I made a point of +going to see his house.’</p> + +<p>‘And did you go to Ferney?’ asked Daphne eagerly. ‘Isn’t +it pretty?’</p> + +<p>‘My dear Daphne, you forget that I am a clergyman’s wife,’ +said Mrs. Ferrers, with dignity. ‘Do you suppose that I would +worship at the shrine of a man who made a mock of religion?’</p> + +<p>‘Not of religion,’ muttered Gerald, ‘but of priestcraft.’</p> + +<p>‘But you were interested about Rousseau,’ said Daphne. ‘I +thought they were both wicked men—that there was nothing to +choose between them.’</p> + +<p>‘Voltaire’s infidelity was more notorious,’ replied Mrs. Ferrers; +‘I could never have told Marmaduke that I visited the house of +an avowed——’</p> + +<p>‘Deist,’ interjected Gerald.</p> + +<p>Hard pressed, Mrs. Ferrers was constrained to admit that she +had never read a line written by either Voltaire or Rousseau, and +that she had only a kind of dictionary idea of the two men, so +vague that their images might at any moment become confounded +in her mind.</p> + +<p>When she had reposed a little after her journey, and had +seen the contents of the Saratoga trunks arranged in wardrobe +and drawers, Aunt Rhoda showed herself a most ardent votary +of the picturesque. She had a volume of Byron in her hand all +day, and quoted his description of Leman and Chillon in a way +that was almost as exasperating as the torture inflicted by a +professional punster. She insisted upon being taken to Chillon +on the morning after her arrival. She made Gerald organise an +excursion from Evian to the mountain village above, at the foot +of the Dent d’Oche, for the following day. She made them +take her to the Rochers de Naye, to the Gorge du Chauderon; +to Lausanne by steamer one day, to Nyon another day. She +was always exploring the guide-books in search of excursions +that could be managed between sunrise and sundown.</p> + +<p>Sir Vernon, having settled himself in his study at Montreux, +with books and papers about him, was just as much dependent +for his comfort and happiness upon Lina’s society as ever he +had been at South Hill. It was out of the question that a +daughter so unselfish and devoted could leave her invalid father +day after day. Thus it happened that Madoline in a manner +dropped out of the excursionising party. Gerald could not be +dispensed with—though he more than once declared in favour +of staying at home—for nobody else was familiar with those +shores, and Mrs. Ferrers protested that it would be impossible to +get on without him.</p> + +<p>‘You all have your Baedekers,’ he argued, ‘and you are only +going over beaten tracks. What more can you want?’</p> + +<p>‘Beaten tracks!’ exclaimed Aunt Rhoda indignantly. ‘I’m<span class="pagenum" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</span> +sure those pathways you took us up yesterday on the way to +the Dent d’Oche had never been trodden upon except by the +cows. And I hate groping about with my nose in a guide-book. +One always misses the things best worth seeing. Do you think +we could get on without him, Daphne?’ she asked in conclusion, +appealing to her younger niece, to whom she had been unusually +amiable ever since her arrival.</p> + +<p>‘I think we might manage without Mr. Goring,’ Daphne +answered gravely, with never a glance at Gerald. She had +scrupulously avoided all direct association with him of late. +‘Edgar and I are getting to know Switzerland and Swiss ways +wonderfully well.’</p> + +<p>‘Have you ever been to the Gorge du Chauderon?’ asked +Aunt Rhoda.</p> + +<p>Daphne confessed that this particular locality was unknown +to her. She did not even know what the Gorge was, except +that it sounded, in a general way, like a glen or ravine.</p> + +<p>‘Then how can you talk such arrant nonsense?’ demanded +her aunt contemptuously. ‘What good could you or Edgar be +in a place that neither of you have ever seen in your lives? +You can’t know the proper way to get to it, or the safest way +to get away from it. We should all tumble over some hidden +precipice, and break our necks.’</p> + +<p>‘Baedeker doesn’t say anything about precipices,’ said +Daphne, with her eyes on that authority.</p> + +<p>‘Baedeker thinks no more of precipices than I think of a +country lane,’ answered Aunt Rhoda.</p> + +<p>‘I am sure Lina would like to have Mr. Goring at home +sometimes,’ said Daphne. Gerald had strolled out into the garden +while they talked. ‘Could we not get a guide?’</p> + +<p>‘I detest guides,’ replied her aunt, who knew that those +guardians of the strangers’ safety were expensive, and fancied +she might have to pay her share of the cost. ‘Gerald may just +as well be with us as moping here. I know what my brother is, +and that he will keep Lina dancing attendance upon him all day +long.’</p> + +<p>Mr. Goring went with them everywhere, and seemed nothing +loth to labour in their service. He knew the ground thoroughly, +and led them over it in a quiet leisurely way, unknown to the +average tourist, who goes everywhere in a scamper, and returns +to his native land with his mind full of confused memories. He +had to put up with a great deal of Aunt Rhoda’s society during +all these excursions, and was gratified with lengthy confidences +from that lady; for Daphne was loyal to her faithful lover, and +walked with him and talked with him, and gave him as much of +her company as was possible. She talked of Hawksyard and her +future mother-in-law, of the tenants, and the villagers, the +horses and dogs. She talked of hunting and shooting, of everything<span class="pagenum" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</span> +which most interested her lover; and then she went home +in the evening so weary and worn out and heart-sick that she +was glad to sit quietly in the verandah after dinner, petting a +tawny St. Bernard dog called Monk, a gigantic animal, who +belonged to the house, and who had attached himself to Daphne +from her first coming with a warm regard. He was her sole +companion very often in her boating excursions, when she went +roaming about the lake in her light skiff, enjoying all the loveliness +of the scene, as she could only enjoy it, in perfect solitude.</p> + +<p>‘Surely it is hardly safe for that child to go about without a +boatman,’ exclaimed Mrs. Ferrers, as she stood at the open +window of her brother’s study, watching the swallow-sail as it +flitted across the sunlit ripples, bending to every movement of +the water. ‘Vernon, do you know that the lake is over a thousand +feet deep?’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t think the depth of water makes any difference,’ +replied Sir Vernon calmly. ‘The Avon is deep enough to drown +her; yet we never troubled ourselves about her aquatic amusements +in Warwickshire. I have Turchill’s assurance that she +is perfect mistress of her boat, and I think that ought to be +enough.’</p> + +<p>‘Of course if you are satisfied I ought to be,’ said Mrs. Ferrers, +with her ladylike shrug; ‘but I can only say that if I had +a daughter I should not encourage her in a taste for boating. +In the first place, because I cannot dispossess my mind of the +idea of danger; and in the second, because I consider such an +amusement revoltingly masculine. Daphne’s hands are ever so +much wider since she began to row. I was horrified the other +day at discovering that she wears six-and-a-half gloves.’</p> + +<p>Daphne liked those quiet mornings on the lake, or a ramble +among vineyards or orchards, with Monk for her sole companion, +better than the formal pilgrimages to some scene made +famous by the guide-books. Those excursions with her aunt +and Mr. Goring and Edgar had become passing wearisome. The +strain upon her spirits was too great. The desire to appear gay +and happy and at ease exhausted her. The effort to banish +thought and memory, and to take a rapturous pleasure in the +beauty of a picturesque scene, or the glory of a summer sky, was +becoming daily more severe. To talk twaddle with Edgar, to +smile in his face, with that gnawing pain, that passion of longing +and regret always troubling her soul, was a slow torture +which she began to think must sooner or later be mortal.</p> + +<p>‘Can I go on living like this for ever?’ she asked herself, after +one of those endless summer days, when, in the same boat, in +the same carriage with Gerald Goring, lunching at the same inn, +admiring the same views, treading the same narrow paths or +perilous wooden footbridges, she had yet contrived to keep herself +aloof from him. ‘Can I always go on acting a part—pretending<span class="pagenum" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</span> +to be true when I am false to the core of my wicked +heart, pretending to be happy when I am miserable?’</p> + +<p>The mountains and the lake were beginning to lose something +of their enchantment, something of their power to lift her +out of herself and to make her forget human sorrow amidst the +immensities of Nature. She did not love them less as they grew +familiar, nay, her love increased with her knowledge; but the +distraction diminished. She could think of herself and her own +sorrow now, under the walls of Chillon, just as keenly as in the +elm walk in Stratford churchyard. The wide lake glittering in +the morning sun was no longer a magical picture, before which +every thought of self faded. Gliding dreamily along the blue +water she gave herself up to a sadness that was half bitter, half +sweet; bitter, because she knew that her life was to be spent +apart from Gerald Goring; sweet, because she was so certain of his +love. He told her of it every day, however carefully she avoided +all direct association with him: told her by veiled words, by +stolen looks, by that despondency and gloom which hung about +him like a cloud. Love has a hundred subtle ways of revealing +itself. A fatal passion needs not to be expounded in the preachments +of a St. Preux, in the moral lectures and intellectual +flights of a Julie. Briefer and more direct is the language of an +unhappy love. It reveals itself unawares; it escapes from the +soul unconsciously, as the perfume from the rose.</p> + +<p>Daphne was very thankful when her aunt’s active and insatiable +spirit was fain to subside into repose; not because Mrs. +Ferrers was tired of sight-seeing, but simply because she had +conscientiously done every lion within a manageable distance of +Montreux. In her secret soul Aunt Rhoda thought contemptuously +of the bluest, biggest, lake in Switzerland, and all the glory +of the Savoy range. Had not these easily-reached districts long +ceased to be fashionable? Her soul yearned for Ragatz or +Davos, St. Moritz or Pontresina, the only places of which people +with any pretence to good style ever talked nowadays. It was +all very well for Byron to be eloquent about Lake Leman or +ecstatic about Mont Blanc; for in his time railways and monster +steamboats had not vulgarised Savoy, and a gentleman +might be rapturous about scenes which were only known to the +travelled Englishman. But to-day, when every Cook’s tourist +had scaled the Montanvert, when ‘Arry was a familiar figure on +the skirts of the Great Glacier, who could feel any pride or real +satisfaction in a prolonged residence on the Lake of Geneva. +With all those subtle wiles of which a worldly woman is mistress +did Mrs. Ferrers try to direct her brother’s thoughts and fancies +towards the Engadine. She reminded him how the fashionable +London physician had lauded the life-giving, youth-renewing +quality of the atmosphere, and had particularly recommended +Pontresina, if he could but manage the journey.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</span></p> + +<p>‘But I can’t manage it, and I don’t mean to manage it,’ retorted +Sir Vernon testily. ‘Do you suppose I am going to endure +a jolting drive of twenty-four hours——’</p> + +<p>‘Fourteen at most,’ murmured his sister.</p> + +<p>‘A great deal you know about it! Do you think I am going +to be carted up hill and down hill in order to get beforehand +with winter on a bleak plateau, diversified with glaciers and pine-trees? +It is absurd to suggest such a thing to a man in weak +health.’</p> + +<p>‘It is for your health that I make the suggestion, Vernon,’ +replied his sister meekly. ‘You cannot deny that Dr. Cavendish +recommended the Engadine.’</p> + +<p>‘Simply because the Engadine is the last fad of the moneyed +classes. These doctors all sing the same song. One year they +send everyone to Egypt, another year they try to popularise +Algiers. One would suppose they were in league with the Continental +railways and steam companies. One might get one’s +nerves braced just as well at Broadway or Malvern, or on the +Cornish moors; one might get well or die just as comfortably at +Penzance or Torquay. You quite ignore the trouble of a change +of quarters. I have made myself thoroughly comfortable here. +If I were to go to the Engadine I should take only Lina and +Jinman, and you would have to take Daphne home and keep +her at the Rectory till our return.’</p> + +<p>This was not at all what Mrs. Ferrers had in view. She had +taken for granted that if she could induce her brother to go to +the Engadine she would be taken, as a matter of course, in his +train. He was a free-handed man in all domestic matters, +though he very often grumbled about his poverty; and he +would have paid his sister’s expenses without a thought, if he +were willing to endure her company. But it seemed that he +was not willing, and that she had been unconsciously urging +him to her own ruin. To have her Swiss experiences suddenly +cut short, to have that audacious little flirt Daphne planted +upon her for a month’s visit! The thing was too horrible to +contemplate.</p> + +<p>‘My dear Vernon,’ she exclaimed, with affectionate eagerness, +‘if you do not feel yourself equal to the journey it would +be madness to undertake it.’</p> + +<p>‘Exactly my own idea. Please say no more about it,’ he +answered coldly. ‘I am sorry you are tired of Montreux.’</p> + +<p>‘Tired! I adore the place. It is positively delicious. A +little stifling, perhaps, in the heat of the day, but beyond +measure, lovely.’</p> + +<p>After this Mrs. Ferrers never more spoke word about St. +Moritz or Pontresina. She saw by last week’s society papers +that everybody worth talking about was taking his or her pleasure +in that exalted region; but she only sighed and kept<span class="pagenum" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</span> +silence. The ‘society papers’ ignored Lake Leman altogether, +nor did they ever mention Mont Blanc. It seemed as if they +hardly knew that such things existed. Their contributors all +went straight through. Aunt Rhoda remembered how, many +years before, when she had gone through the Trossachs and had +been full of enthusiasm and delight, and had gone home proud +of her tour, her travelled friends had so scorned her that she had +never again ventured to mention Katrine or Lomond, Inversnaid +or the Falls of Clyde.</p> + +<p>She settled down as well as she could to the domestic quiet +of Montreux—the mornings and afternoons in the garden; the +everlasting novels and poetry and crewel-work; Daphne and +the St. Bernard sitting on the sloping grass by the edge of the +water, or loitering about among the flowers. She bore this +luxurious monotony as long as she could, and then she was +seized with a happy thought which opened a little vista of +variety.</p> + +<p>She discovered, one sultry afternoon, that Lina was looking +pale and fagged, and called her brother’s attention to that fact.</p> + +<p>‘I don’t wish to alarm you, Vernon,’ she said, as they were +all sitting at afternoon tea on the lawn, in the shade of a magnificent +willow, whose long tresses trailed in the lake; ‘but I +believe if you don’t give Lina a little change from this baking +valley, she will be seriously ill.’</p> + +<p>‘Pray don’t say that, Aunt Rhoda; I assure you that I am +perfectly well,’ remonstrated Madoline, looking up from her +cups and saucers.</p> + +<p>‘My dear, you are one of those unselfish creatures who go +on pretending to be well until they sink,’ replied Mrs. Ferrers, +with an air of knowing ever so much more about Lina than Lina +knew herself. ‘You are languishing—positively pining for +mountain air. Everybody is not created with the constitution +of a salamander,’ she added, with a contemptuous glance at +Daphne, who was sitting in the full glare of the afternoon sun, +‘and for anybody except a salamander this place for the last +three days has been almost intolerable. Dearly as I love you +all, and delighted as I am to be with you, it has been only the +idea of the dust and the heat of the railway that has prevented +my going back to Warwickshire.’</p> + +<p>Sir Vernon looked uneasily at his beloved daughter. He had +kept her a good deal about him; he had let her stay at home to +bear him company, when the others were breathing the cool air +of the lake, or climbing into the fresher atmosphere of the hills; +and now it slowly dawned upon him that his selfishness might +have endangered her health. Rhoda was always an alarmist—one +of those unpleasant people who scent calamity afar off, and +are prescient of coming trouble in the hour of present joy; but +it was true that Madoline was pale and languid-looking. She<span class="pagenum" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</span> +had a fatigued look, and her beauty had lost much of its bloom +and freshness.</p> + +<p>‘Lina is not looking well,’ he said, glancing at her uneasily; +‘what can we do for you, dear?’</p> + +<p>‘Nothing, father,’ answered Lina, with her gentle smile: +‘there is nothing the matter.’</p> + +<p>‘You told me this morning that you could not sleep last +night,’ murmured Mrs. Ferrers.</p> + +<p>‘It was a very warm night,’ admitted Lina, vexed at her +aunt’s fussiness.</p> + +<p>‘Warm! It was stifling. This lake is at the bottom of a +basin, completely shut in by hills,’ said Mrs. Ferrers, as if she +had made a discovery. ‘I’ll tell you what we could do, Vernon. +I might take the two girls up to the hotel at Glion, or at Les +Avants. They are both very nice rustic hotels, clean and +airy. A few days in that mountain air would pick Lina up +wonderfully.’</p> + +<p>‘Would you like to go, dear?’ asked Sir Vernon doubtfully.</p> + +<p>‘I should like it of all things, if you would go with us,’ +answered his daughter; ‘but I don’t want to leave you.’</p> + +<p>‘Never mind me, Lina. I can get on pretty well for a few +days, sorely as I shall miss you. I suppose three or four days +will be enough?’</p> + +<p>‘Ample,’ said Mrs. Ferrers, delighted at having gained her +point. ‘We can ramble about and see everything that is to be +seen in three or four days.’</p> + +<p>‘So be it, then. Start as soon as you like. You had better +send Jinman up at once to engage rooms for you. This is +Monday. I suppose if you start to-morrow morning you can +come back on Friday.’</p> + +<p>‘Certainly. Three days in that magnificent air will be quite +long enough to make Lina strong,’ replied Mrs. Ferrers, assured +that in three days she would have exhausted the pleasures of a +lively hotel and picturesque surroundings.</p> + +<p>‘I wish you were coming with us, dear father,’ said Madoline.</p> + +<p>‘My dearest, do you think it would do me any good to have +my old bones dragged up an almost perpendicular hill, and to +put up with the indifferent accommodation of a rustic hotel? I +am much better taking my ease here. The young men will +want to go with you, no doubt.’</p> + +<p>‘If you please, sir,’ answered Edgar.</p> + +<p>Gerald Goring said never a word, but it was taken for +granted that he meant to go. He and Madoline must, of course, +be inseparable until that solemn knot should be tied which +would make them one and indivisible for ever and ever.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXI">CHAPTER XXXI.<br> +<span class="fs70">‘I WOLDE LIVE IN PEES, IF THAT I MIGHT.’</span></h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">They</span> had been three days at the homely, comfortable hotel +at Les Avants, and Madoline was looking all the better for the +fresh hillside air, an improvement upon which Mrs. Ferrers +expatiated as the latest confirmation of the one all-abiding fact +of her own ineffable wisdom. It was one of the loveliest days +there had been in all that delicious month of summer weather—passing +warm, yet with a gentle west wind that faintly stirred +the heavy chestnut leaves, and breathed on Daphne’s cheek, or +fluttered round her neck like a caress, scarcely moving the soft +lace ruffle round her throat. It was a day on which a white +gown seemed the only thing possible in costume, and Daphne +and Lina were both dressed in white. It was not by any means +the kind of day for climbing or excursionising of any kind, as +even that ardent explorer Aunt Rhoda was fain to confess; +rather a day on which to wander gently up and down easy +paths, or to sit in the pine-woods reading Tennyson or Browning, +or adding a few lazy stitches to the last sunflower in +hand.</p> + +<p>‘You seem to go at your work with a good deal less vigour, +Daphne,’ said Edgar, seated at his lady’s feet, on a carpet of fir-needles, +his knees drawn up to his chin, clad in light-gray alpaca, +and a Panama hat on the back of his head—a cool but not especially +becoming costume. Mr. Turchill was not one of those +few men who look well in unconventional clothes.</p> + +<p>‘The weather is too warm for industry.’</p> + +<p>‘I’m afraid those curtains will never be finished.’</p> + +<p>‘Oh yes, they will!’ said Daphne, ‘I mean to persevere. I +may be a very old woman by the time they are done, but I am +not going to give in. Lina says my life is a thing of shreds and +patches. I will show her that I am not to be daunted by the +stupendousness of a task. Three hundred and fifty-one and a +quarter sunflowers still to be done. Doesn’t it rather remind +you of that type of the everlasting—a rock against which a bird +scrapes its beak once in a thousand years, and when the bird has +worn away the whole rock, time will come to an end? Please +go on with “Luria,” and try to be a little more dramatic and a +little less monotonous.’</p> + +<p>‘I am a wretched reader,’ said Edgar apologetically, as he +looked for his place; ‘but I think I might read a shade better if +I understood what I was reading. Browning is rather obscure.’</p> + +<p>‘I’m afraid you have not a poetic mind. You didn’t seem to +understand much of “Atalanta in Calydon,” which you so kindly +read to us yesterday.’</p> + +<p>‘I’m afraid I didn’t,’ confessed the Squire of Hawksyard,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</span> +with praiseworthy meekness. ‘Modern poetry is rather difficult. +I can always understand Shakespeare, and Pope, and Crabbe, +and Byron, but I own that even Wordsworth is beyond me. His +meaning is pretty clear, but I can’t discover his beauties.’</p> + +<p>‘Simply because your intellectual growth was allowed to +stop when you left Rugby. But I insist upon you learning +to appreciate Tennyson and Browning; so please go on with +“Luria.”’</p> + +<p>‘In my opinion, Daphne,’ remarked Aunt Rhoda, with an +oracular air, ‘it would have been much better for the balance +of your mind if you had read a great deal more prose and a +great deal less poetry. Good solid reading of a thoroughly useful +kind would have taught you to think properly, and to express +yourself carefully, instead of perpetually startling people +by giving utterance to the wildest ideas.’</p> + +<p>‘I think I speak as the birds sing,’ answered Daphne, ‘because +I can’t help it.’</p> + +<p>‘The habit of sober thought is a valuable one, which I hope +you will acquire by-and-by, when you are mistress of a household; +or else I am sorry for your future husband.’</p> + +<p>‘Please don’t be sorry for me, Mrs. Ferrers,’ protested +Edgar, reddening angrily, as he always did at any slight to +Daphne; ‘I am so perfectly contented with my fate that it +would be a waste of power to pity me.’</p> + +<p>‘It is early days yet,’ sighed Aunt Rhoda. ‘But I live in +the hope that Daphne will steady and tone down before she +becomes a wife.’</p> + +<p>‘If you don’t begin to read this instant,’ whispered Daphne, +with her rosy lips close to Edgar’s ear, ‘I shall be made the text +of one of Aunt Rhoda’s homilies.’</p> + +<p>Edgar took the hint, and plunged anyhow and anywhere +into the pages of Browning.</p> + +<p>They lived all day in the woods, taking their luncheon +picnic fashion under the pine-trees. The two young men +catered, and fetched and carried for them, assisted by Mowser. +They brought cold fowls, and sliced Strasbourg ham, and salad, +fruit and cake, a bottle of Bordeaux, and another of a Swiss +white wine, which was rather like a weak imitation of Devonshire +perry. But such a meal, spread upon a snow-white +tablecloth under pine-trees, over whose dark feathery tops +gleam the blue bright summer heaven, is about the most +enjoyable banquet possible for youthful revellers. Even Aunt +Rhoda admitted that it was an agreeable change from the home +comforts of Arden Rectory.</p> + +<p>‘I hope my dear Rector is being taken care of,’ she murmured +plaintively, when she had dulled the edge of an appetite +sharpened by that clear air.</p> + +<p>‘I hope you will all do justice to the chickens,’ said Gerald,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</span> +looking across at Daphne, who sat by Edgar’s side in a thoroughly +Darby and Joanish manner. ‘I remember once being +at a picnic in a forest where an elderly fowl was made quite a +feature of. My hostess fancied I was desperately hungry, and +was quite distressed at my avoidance of the ancient bird.’</p> + +<p>Daphne’s eyes were on her plate, but a slow smile crept +over her face in spite of herself. She and Gerald had scarcely +looked at each other in all those days among the pine-trees. +They had lived in daily intercourse, and yet contrived to dwell +as completely apart as if the lake had flowed between them; +as if he, like St. Preux, had gazed across the blue waters to +catch the glimmer of his beloved’s casement, and she, like +Julie, had pined in the home that was desolate without love’s +fatal presence. It was hardly possible for resolve to have been +firmer than Daphne’s had been since that night at Fribourg. It +was hardly possible for an honest purpose to have been more +honestly fulfilled.</p> + +<p>Mowser, waiting upon the picnickers, saw that significant +look of Gerald’s, and Daphne’s answering smile; just as she had +seen many things at South Hill and elsewhere which only her +observant eyes had noted.</p> + +<p>‘Still at your old tricks, my young lady,’ she said to herself; +‘but Jane Mowser has got an eye upon you, and your mockinventions +shan’t succeed, if Mowser’s faithful service can circum-prevent +you.’</p> + +<p>After luncheon they all sat idly looking down at the distant +lake, lying so far beneath their feet, like a pool of blue water +in the hollow of the hills, or wandered a little here and there, +searching out higher points from which to look down at the +lake, or across to the cloud-wrapped Alps. As the day wore on +the light western breeze dropped and died away, and there came +the stillness of a sultry August afternoon, just such an atmosphere +as that of the lotus-eaters’ isle, the land where it was +always afternoon.</p> + +<p>Aunt Rhoda, who had lunched more copiously than the +others, succumbed to the enervating influence of summer. The +outline antimacassar on which she had been diligently stitching +a design of infantine simplicity—a little girl with a watering-pot, +a little boy with an umbrella—dropped from her hands. +The blue lake below winked at her in the sunshine like a Titanic +eye. The soft sweet breath of the pines gratified her nostrils, +and that delicious sense of being gently baked through and +through in Nature’s slow oven finally overcame her, and she +sank into a thoroughly enjoyable slumber, a sleep in which +she knew she was sleeping, and tasted all the blessedness of +repose.</p> + +<p>Daphne sat on a knoll a little way below her aunt, struggling +with a sunflower, heartily tired of it all the time, and painfully<span class="pagenum" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</span> +oppressed by the consciousness of three hundred and fifty-one +sunflowers remaining to be done after this one.</p> + +<p>‘It is like the line of the Egyptian kings,’ she murmured with +a sigh. ‘An endless procession—too stupendous for the imagination +to grasp.’</p> + +<p>Edgar, stretched at the feet of his adored, had fallen as fast +asleep as Aunt Rhoda. Madoline and Gerald had wandered off +to the higher grounds. They were going to the Col du Jaman +for anything Daphne knew to the contrary.</p> + +<p>This particular sunflower now approaching a finish seemed +the most irritating of all his tribe. Daphne tightened her thread, +pulled it into a knot, boggled at the knot, lost patience, and +threw the work aside in a rage.</p> + +<p>‘Who could do crewel-work on such a stifling day?’ she +cried, looking angrily down at the lake, with its girdle of towns +and villages, gardens and vineyards; looking angrily even at +picturesque Chillon, with its mediæval turrets and drawbridge, +angrily at the calm, snow-shrouded Dent du Midi, and the dark +green hills around its base.</p> + +<p>Then, having explored the wide landscape with eyes blind +for this moment to its beauty, she looked discontentedly at the +reclining form at her feet, the faithful lover, slumbering serenely, +oblivious of wasps and centipedes.</p> + +<p>‘A log,’ she muttered to herself, ‘a log. Blind and deaf! +Good; yes, I know he is good, and I try to value him for his +goodness; but oh, how weary I am—how weary—how weary!’</p> + +<p>She flung aside her work, and wandered away along a +narrow winding pathway, trodden by the feet of previous wanderers, +upward and upward towards the granite point of the +Dent du Jaman, gray against the sapphire sky. She walked, +scarcely knowing where she went, or why: urged by a fever of +the mind, which hurried her any whither to escape from the +weariness of her own thoughts; as if such escape were possible +to humanity.</p> + +<p>She had been walking along the same serpentine path for +nearly an hour, neither knowing nor caring where it might be +leading her. The gray peak of the granite rock always rose +yonder in the same distant patch of blue above the dark pine-trees. +It seemed as if she might go on mounting this hilly path +for ever and get no nearer to that lonely point.</p> + +<p>‘It as far off as happiness or contentment,’ she said to herself; +‘vain to dream of reaching it.’</p> + +<p>She stopped at last, and looked at her watch, feeling that +the afternoon was wearing on, and that it might be time for +her to hurry back to the family circle. It was past five, and +the dinner hour was seven; and she had been roaming upwards +by paths which might lead her astray in the descent, one +woodland path being so like another. She began her homeward<span class="pagenum" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</span> +journey, walking quickly, her thoughtful eyes bent upon the +ground. She was hurrying on, absorbed in her own thoughts, +when her name was uttered by that one only voice which had +power to thrill her soul.</p> + +<p>‘Daphne!’</p> + +<p>She looked up and saw Gerald Goring, seated on a fallen +pine-trunk, smoking.</p> + +<p>He flung away his cigarette and came towards her.</p> + +<p>‘Good afternoon,’ she said, with a careless nod; ‘I am +hurrying back to dinner.’</p> + +<p>He put out his hand and caught her by the arm, and drew +her towards him authoritatively.</p> + +<p>‘You are not going to escape me so easily,’ he said, pale to +the lips with strongest feeling. ‘No; you and I have a long +reckoning to settle. What do you think I am made of, that +you dare to treat me as you have done for the last month? +Am I a dog to be whistled to your side, to be lured away from +love and fealty to another by every trick, and grace, and charm +within the compass of woman’s art, and then to be dismissed +like a dog—sent back to my former owner? You think you +can cure me of my folly—cure me by silence and averted looks—that +I can forget you and be again the man I was before I +loved you. Daphne, you should know me better than that. +You have kindled a fire in my blood which you alone can +quench. You have steeped me in a poison for which you have +the only antidote. Oh! my Œnone! my Œnone! will you +refuse the balm that can heal my wounds, the balsam that you +alone can bestow?’</p> + +<p>Daphne looked at him without flinching, the sweet girlish +face deadly pale, but fixed as marble.</p> + +<p>‘I told you what I thought and meant in my letter,’ she said +quietly. ‘I have never wavered from that.’</p> + +<p>‘Never wavered!’ he cried savagely. ‘You are made of +stone. I have been trying you. I have been waiting for you +to give way. I knew it must come in the end, for I know that +you love me—I know it—I know it. I have known it almost +ever since I came back to South Hill, and saw your cheek +whiten when you recognised me; and I have been waiting to +see how long this drama of self-sacrifice would last—how long +you would deny your love, and falsify your whole nature. It +has lasted long enough, Daphne. The chase has been severe +enough. Your tender feet have been wounded by the thorny +ways of self-sacrifice. Your poor Apollo’s patience is well-nigh +worn out. My love, my love, why should we go on dissembling +to each other, and to all the rest of the world, looking at each +other with stony countenances—dumb—cold, when every throb +of each burning heart beats for the other, when every feeling in +each breast responds to its twin soul, as finely as a note of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</span> +music to the touch of the player? Let us end it all, Daphne. +Let us make an end of this long dissimulation—this life of +hypocrisy. Come with me, dear; fly with me. Now, Daphne—now, +this instant, before there is time for either of us to repent. +We can be married to-morrow morning at Geneva—it +can be easily managed in that Puritan city. Come away with +me, my beloved. I will honour and respect your purity as faithfully +as if a hundred knights rode at your saddle-bow. My +beloved, do you think that good can come to anyone by a life-long +lie, by the trampling out of Nature’s sweetest purest feeling +in two loving hearts?’</p> + +<p>He had drawn her to his breast. Folded in a lover’s arms +for the first time in her life, she looked up into eyes whose passionate +ardour seemed to encompass her with a divine flame: as +if this man who clasped her to his breast had been indeed the +old Greek god, sublime in the radiance of youth and genius and +immortal beauty.</p> + +<p>‘Daphne, will you be my wife?’</p> + +<p>‘I cannot answer that question yet,’ she said slowly, falteringly, +after a pause of some moments. ‘You must give me +time. Let me go now—this instant. I must hurry back to the +hotel.’</p> + +<p>‘What! when I hold you in my arms for the first time?—when +I am steeped in the rapture of a satisfied love? Oh +Daphne, if you knew how often in feverish dreams I have held +you thus; I have looked down into your eyes, and drunk the +nectar of your lips. What?’ as she drew herself suddenly away +from him; ‘even now you refuse me one kiss—the solemn +pledge of our union; cruel, too cruel girl!’</p> + +<p>‘To-morrow shall decide our fate,’ she said. ‘For pity’s +sake, as you are a gentleman, let me go.’</p> + +<p>He released her that moment. His arms dropped at his +sides, and she was free.</p> + +<p>‘There was no necessity for that appeal,’ he said coldly; +‘you can go—alone if you choose—though I should like to walk +back to the hotel with you. I left—your sister’ (it seemed as +if it were difficult for him to pronounce Lina’s name) ‘in the +garden before I strolled up here. I thought you were with your +devoted lover. You say to-morrow shall decide our fate. I +cannot imagine why you should hesitate, or postpone your decision. +I know that you love me as fondly as I love you, and +that neither of us can ever care for anyone else. Promise me at +least one thing before we part to-day. Promise me that you +will break off this pitiful mockery of an engagement to a man +whom you despise.’</p> + +<p>‘I do not despise him—that is too hard a word—but I promise +that I will never be Edgar Turchill’s wife.’</p> + +<p>‘Lose no time in letting him know that. My blood boils<span class="pagenum" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</span> +and my heart sickens every time I see him touch your hand. +Thank God, he keeps his kisses for your hours of privacy.’</p> + +<p>‘He has never kissed me but once in my life,’ said Daphne, +tossing up her head, and blushing angrily.</p> + +<p>‘Thank God again.’</p> + +<p>‘Good-bye,’ she said, looking at him with a pathetic tenderness, +love struggling with despair.</p> + +<p>He leaned against the brown trunk of a fir-tree, pale to the +lips, his eyes fixed on the ground, where the mosses and starry +white blossoms, and tremulous harebells, and delicate maidenhair +fern shone like jewels in the golden patches of light which +flickered with every movement of the dark branches above them. +His eyes perused every leaf and every petal, noting their form +and colour with mechanical accuracy of observation. His pencil +could have reproduced every detail of that little bit of broken +ground six months afterwards.</p> + +<p>‘Daphne,’ he said huskily, ‘you are very cruel to me. I am +not going to let you see how low a man can sink when he loves +a woman as weakly, as blindly, as madly as I love you. I am +not going to show you how base he can be—how sunk in his +own esteem. There is some remnant of pride left in me. I am +not going to crawl at your feet, or to shed womanish tears. But +I tell you all the same, you are breaking my heart.’</p> + +<p>‘It is all foolishness,’ said Daphne, pale, but calm of speech +and eye, every nerve braced in the intensity of her resolution. +‘It is folly and madness from beginning to end. You confessed +as much just this moment. Why should I sacrifice my honour +and my self-respect to gratify a weak, blind, mad love? I love +my sister with a truer, better, holier affection than I could ever +feel for you—if I had been your wife five-and-twenty years, and +it were our silver wedding-day.’</p> + +<p>She smiled even in her despair at the impossible image of +herself and Gerald Goring grown middle-aged and stout and +commonplace, like the principal figures in a silver wedding.</p> + +<p>‘Why cannot you let the past be past—forget that you ever +have been so foolish, so false, as to care for me?’</p> + +<p>‘Forget! yes, if I could do that. It would be as easy to +pluck my heart out of my body and go on living comfortably +afterwards. No, Daphne, I can never forget. No, Daphne, I +can never go back to the old calm tranquil love. It never was +love. It was friendship, affection, respect—what you will, but +not love. I never knew what love meant till I knew you.’</p> + +<p>‘Good-bye,’ she said gently, perceiving that an argument of +this kind might go on for ever.</p> + +<p>It was sweet to hear him plead; there was even a fearful +kind of happiness—half sweet, half bitter—in being alone with +him in that silent wood, in knowing that he was her own; heart, +mind, and soul devoted to her; ready to sacrifice honour and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</span> +good name for her sake: for what would the world say of him +if he jilted Madoline and ran away with Madoline’s sister? Her +breast swelled with ineffable pride at the thought of her triumph +over this man to whom her girlish heart had given itself unwittingly, +on just such a summer afternoon as this, two years ago. +The man who had so often seemed to scorn her, to regard her +only as a subject for friendly ridicule, in the beginning of things +at South Hill. He was at her feet; she had made him her +slave. Her heart thrilled with delight at the knowledge of his +love; yet above every selfish consideration was her thought of +her sister, and that made her firm as the granite peak of Jaman +yonder, rising sharply above its black girdle of firs.</p> + +<p>She looked at him for a few moments steadily, with a curious +smile, a smile which lighted up the expressive face with an +almost inspired look. Her hand rested lightly on the lace at her +throat, the finger-tips just touching the pearl necklace, Lina’a +new year’s gift, which she wore constantly. It was her talisman.</p> + +<p>‘Let us shake hands,’ she said, ‘and part friends.’</p> + +<p>‘Friends!’ he echoed scornfully, ‘am I ever anything else +than your friend? I am your slave. The greater includes the +less.’</p> + +<p>He clasped her hand in both of his, lifted it to his lips, and +then let her go without a word.</p> + +<p>The smile faded from her face as she turned from him. She +went slowly down the hill by the winding path. Gerald took a +hasty survey of the scene, and then struck downwards by a +descent that seemed almost perpendicular.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXII">CHAPTER XXXII.<br> +<span class="fs70">‘FOR LOVE AND NOT FOR HATE THOU MUST BE DED.’</span></h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">When</span> Daphne and Gerald were gone, and the fair woodland +scene was empty, a third figure came slowly out of the fir-grove, +a substantial form clad in a rusty black-silk gown, short petticoats, +side-laced cashmere boots, and a bonnet which was only +thirty years behind the prevailing fashion. This antique form +belonged to Jane Mowser, who carried a little basket of an +almost infantine shape, and who had been gathering wild strawberries +for her afternoon refreshment. While thus engaged +she had espied Daphne’s white frock gleaming athwart the dark +stems of the firs, and had contrived to skirt the pathway, and +keep the young lady in view. Thus she had been within earshot +when Daphne and Gerald Goring met, and had heard the +greater part of their conversation. ‘I’ve known it and foreseen<span class="pagenum" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</span> +it. I knew it would come to this from the very beginning,’ +she muttered breathlessly; ‘and I’m thankful that I’m the +chosen instrument for finding them out. Oh, my poor Miss +Madoline, what a viper you have nourished in your loving +bosom! Oh, the artfulness of that anteloping girl! pretending +to reject him, and leading him on all the time, and meaning to +run away with him to-morrow, and be married on the sly at +Geneva, as truly as my name is Mowser. But I’ll put a stop +to their goings on. I’ll let in the light upon their dark ways. +Jane Mowser will prove a match for an antelope and a traitor.’</p> + +<p>The little basket trembled in Mrs. Mowser’s agitated grasp, +as she trotted briskly downhill to the hotel. ‘I’ll make their +baseness known to Sir Vernon,’ said Mowser, ‘and if he has the +heart of a man he’ll crush that fair-haired young viper.’</p> + +<p>Having detested Daphne from the day of her birth, Mowser +now felt a virtuous thrill, the sense of a relieved conscience, in +the idea that Daphne had justified her dislike. It would have +been pain and grief to her had the girl turned out well; but to +have her judgment borne out, her wisdom made clear as daylight, +every evil feeling of her heart fully excused by the girl’s +bad conduct, this was comfort which weighed heavily in the +scale against her honest sorrow for the mistress whom she +honestly loved.</p> + +<p>She had no idea that the revelation she was going to make +must necessarily lead to the cancelment of Madoline’s engagement. +Her notion was that if Sir Vernon were made acquainted +with the treachery that had been going on in his +family circle, he would turn his younger daughter out of doors, +and compel Gerald Goring to keep faith with his elder daughter. +She allowed nothing for those finer shades of feeling +which generally lead to the breaking of matrimonial engagements. +It seemed to her that if a man had got himself +engaged to a girl, and wanted to cry off, he must be taken by +the scruff off his neck, as it were, and made to fulfill his promise.</p> + +<p>When seven o’clock came and the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">table-d’hôte</i>, Daphne was +shut up in her own room with a bad headache; Mr. Goring +was missing; and there were only Aunt Rhoda, Madoline, and +Edgar to take their accustomed places near one end of the +long table. A little pencilled note from Daphne had been +brought to Madoline by one of the chambermaids, just before +dinner:</p> + +<p>‘I have been for a long, long walk, and the heat has given +me a dreadful headache. Please excuse my coming to dinner. +I will have some tea in my room.’</p> + +<p>‘That foolish girl has been walking too far for her strength, +no doubt,’ said Mrs. Ferrers. ‘She is always in extremes. But +what has become of Mr. Goring? Has he been overwalking +himself too?’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</span></p> + +<p>‘I think not,’ answered Lina, smiling; ‘we were dawdling +about together near the hotel till four o’clock, and I don’t suppose +he would start for a long ramble after that.’</p> + +<p>‘Then why is he not at dinner?’</p> + +<p>This question was unanswerable. They could only speculate +vaguely about the absent one. Nobody had seen him after +he parted from Madoline at the garden gate. Perhaps he had +walked to Vevey, perhaps to Montreux, miscalculating the distance, +and the time it would take him to go and return. There +was an uncomfortable feeling all through the slow protracted +dinner, Madoline’s eyes wandering to the door every now and +then, expecting to see Gerald enter; Edgar out of spirits because +Daphne was absent; Mrs. Ferrers overcome by the heat, +and beginning to perceive that Swiss scenery was a delight of +which one might become weary.</p> + +<p>‘I am so vexed with myself for falling asleep and letting +Daphne roam about alone,’ said Edgar, staring absently at a +savoury mess of veal and vegetable to which he had mechanically +helped himself.</p> + +<p>‘I don’t see why you should blame yourself for Daphne’s +want of common sense,’ answered Aunt Rhoda somewhat +snappishly. ‘It was an afternoon that would have sent anybody +to sleep. Even I, who am generally so wakeful, closed +my eyes for a few minutes over my book.’</p> + +<p>If Mrs. Ferrers had confessed that she had been snoring +vigorously for an hour and a half, she would have been nearer +the truth.</p> + +<p>Dinner came to its formal close in the shape of an unripe +dessert, and there was still no sign of Gerald. Edgar went up +to the corridor and knocked at Daphne’s door to inquire if her +head were better.</p> + +<p>She answered from within in a weary voice:</p> + +<p>‘Thanks; no! It is aching awfully. Please don’t trouble +yourself about me. Go for a nice walk with Lina.’</p> + +<p>‘Don’t you think if you were to come out and sit in the +garden the cool evening air would do you good?’</p> + +<p>‘I couldn’t lift my head from the pillow.’</p> + +<p>‘Then you will not be well enough to go back to Montreux +to-morrow morning? We had better put off the journey.’</p> + +<p>‘On no account. I shall be quite well to-morrow. It is +only a headache. Please go away and enjoy your evening.’</p> + +<p>‘As if I could enjoy life without you. Good-night, darling. +God bless you!’</p> + +<p>‘Good-night,’ replied the tired voice, and he went away +sorrowing.</p> + +<p>What was his life worth without her? Absolutely nothing. +He had chosen to make this one delight, this one love, the all-in-all +of existence.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</span></p> + +<p>He went down into the garden with a moody dejected air +and joined Lina, who was sitting in a spot where the view of +the valley below and the height above was loveliest; but Lina +was scarcely more cheerful than Edgar. She was beginning to +feel seriously uneasy at Gerald’s absence.</p> + +<p>‘You don’t think anything can have happened—any accident?’ +she asked falteringly.</p> + +<p>‘Do you mean that he can have tumbled off a precipice? +Hardly likely. A man who has climbed Mont Blanc and the +Jungfrau would scarcely come to grief hereabouts. I think the +worst that has befallen him is to have lost his dinner.’</p> + +<p>They sat in the garden till the valley and lake below were +folded in darkness, and the moon was climbing high above the +dark fir trees and the gray peak, and then Lina’s heart was +lightened by the sound of a sympathetic tenor voice, whose +every tone she knew, singing <em>La Donna e mobile</em>, in notes that +floated nearer and nearer as the singer came up the grassy slope +below the garden. She went to meet him.</p> + +<p>‘My dear Gerald, I have been miserable about you.’</p> + +<p>‘Because I didn’t appear at dinner? Forgive me, dearest. +The heat gave me a racking headache, and I thought a tremendous +walk was the only way to cure it. I have been down to +Montreux, and seen your father, who is pining for your return. +He looked quite scared when I dashed into the garden where he +was reading his paper on the terrace by the lake. I was not ten +minutes at Montreux altogether.’</p> + +<p>‘Dear father! It was very good of you to go and see him.’</p> + +<p>‘It was only a peep. I’m sorry you felt fidgety about me.’</p> + +<p>‘I am sorry you had a headache. It seems an epidemic. +Daphne was not able to appear at dinner for the same reason.’</p> + +<p>‘Poor little Daphne!’</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>They were to start upon their return journey early next +morning, so as to reach Montreux before the tropical heat of +afternoon. They all breakfasted together in Madoline’s sitting-room +between six and seven, Aunt Rhoda, who was a great +advocate of early rising, looking much the sleepiest of the party. +Daphne was pale and spiritless, but as she declared herself perfectly +well nobody could say anything to her.</p> + +<p>They started at seven o’clock. There were two carriages; a +roomy landau, and a vehicle of composite shape and long service +for Mowser and the luggage. Daphne at once declared her intention +of walking.</p> + +<p>‘The walk downhill through fields and orchards and vineyards’ +will be lovely,’ she said.</p> + +<p>‘Delicious,’ exclaimed Edgar; ‘but don’t you think it is +rather too far for a walk?’</p> + +<p>‘Are you too lazy to walk with me?’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</span></p> + +<p>‘I don’t think you need insult me by such a question.’ On +which Daphne set out without another word, waving her hand +lightly to Madoline as she vanished at a turn in the road.</p> + +<p>Gerald Goring handed the two ladies to their seats in the +landau, and took his place facing them. He had a listless worn-out +look, as if his pedestrianism last night had exhausted him.</p> + +<p>‘You are not looking well, Gerald,’ Lina said anxiously, disturbed +at seeing his haggard countenance in the clear morning +light.</p> + +<p>‘My dearest, who could possibly look well in such a languid +atmosphere as this? We are in a vaporous basin, shut in by a +circle of hills. Down at Montreux it is like being at the bottom +of a gigantic forcing-pit; here, though we fancy ourselves ever +so high, we are only on the side of the incline. The wall still +rises above us. At this season we ought to be at Davos or +Pontresina.’</p> + +<p>‘Those are the only places people go to nowadays,’ said Mrs. +Ferrers discontentedly. ‘I shall be almost ashamed to tell my +friends where I have been. All the people one meets in society +go to the Engadine.’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t think that idea need spoil our enjoyment of this +lovely scenery,’ said Madoline. ‘Look at Daphne and Mr. +Turchill, what a way they are below us!’</p> + +<p>She pointed with her sunshade to a glancing white figure +among the chestnut groves below. Edgar and Daphne had +descended by those steep straight paths which made so little of +the distance, while the horses were travelling quietly along the +gentle windings of the road. It was a lovely drive to Montreux, +the town and its adjacent villages looking like a child’s toys set +out upon a green table; the castle of Chillon distinctly seen at +every turn of the road; the hillsides shaded by Spanish chestnuts, +big and old; verdant slopes mounting up and up towards +a blue heaven. They passed the little post and telegraph office +at Glion, a wooden hut, baked through and through with the +sun, like an oven; the hotel where the children were at play in +the garden, and a few early-rising adults strolled about rather +listlessly, waiting for breakfast; and then down by the ever-winding +road, past many a trickling waterfall; sometimes a +mere cleft in the rock, sometimes a stony recess in a low wall, +fringed with ferns, where the water drops perpetually into the +basin below, and so by wooded slopes descending steeply to the +sapphire lake, past the parish church, picturesquely situated on +the hillside, and by many a public pump with a double spout, +and tanks where the women were washing linen or vegetables +under an open roof. Some kind of industry was going on at all +these public fountains; or at least there was a group of children +dabbling in the water.</p> + +<p>They were at Montreux before ten o’clock; Sir Vernon delighted<span class="pagenum" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</span> +to have his elder daughter back again, and even inquiring +civilly about Daphne, who had not yet arrived, despite the tremendous +spurt she and Edgar had begun with.</p> + +<p>‘That is just like Daphne,’ said her father, when he was told +how she had insisted on walking all the way. ‘She is always +beginning something tremendous and never finishing it. I daresay +we shall have Turchill down here presently in search of a +carriage to bring her the second half of the way.’</p> + +<p>‘Yesterday she gave herself a headache by roaming about +the hills,’ said Aunt Rhoda; ‘she has not a particle of discretion.’</p> + +<p>‘Do you expect her to be full of wisdom at eighteen, Auntie?’ +asked Madoline deprecatingly.</p> + +<p>‘I can only say, my dear, that at eighteen I was not a fool,’ +replied Mrs. Ferrers sourly; and Lina did not argue the question +further, knowing but too well how her aunt was affected towards +Daphne.</p> + +<p>The pedestrians made their appearance five minutes later, +none the worse for their long walk through fields and vineyards, +and across cottage-gardens and orchards, a walk full of interest +and diversity. Daphne, flushed with exercise, looked ever so +much better than she had looked at breakfast, where she had +been without appetite even for her beloved rolls and honey.</p> + +<p>‘I have a little business to arrange in Geneva,’ said Gerald, +while they were all sitting about the airy drawing-room in a +purposeless way, before settling down into their old quarters +and old habits. ‘I think I shall take the train, as the quicker +way, and then I can be back to dinner.’</p> + +<p>Madoline looked surprised.</p> + +<p>‘Have you anything very important to do in Geneva?’ she +asked; ‘you never said anything about it before.’</p> + +<p>‘No; it is a necessity which has arisen quite lately. I’ll tell +you all about it—afterwards. Good-bye till dinner-time. You +must be tired after your morning drive, and you won’t feel inclined +for much excursionising to-day.’</p> + +<p>‘I’m afraid we’ve seen everything there is to be seen within +a manageable distance,’ said Mrs. Ferrers, rather dolefully.</p> + +<p>Daphne was sitting near the door. She had dropped into a +low deep chair, and sat with her straw hat in her lap, full of +wild flowers which she had gathered on her way down. Gerald +stooped as he passed her, and took one of the half-withered +blossoms—things so fragile in their delicate beauty that they +faded as soon as plucked—and put it in his breast. The act was +so carelessly done that no one seeing it would have perceived +any significance in it, or could have guessed that the hand which +took the flower trembled with suppressed feeling, and that the +heart against which it lay beat loud with passion.</p> + +<p>‘I am going to make all arrangements for our marriage,’ he +said in a low voice.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</span></p> + +<p>‘Good-bye,’ she answered, looking straight up at him.</p> + +<p>He was gone. Her gaze followed him slowly to the door, +and lingered there; then she rose and gathered up her flowers.</p> + +<p>‘I think I’ll go to my room and lie down,’ she said to Madoline. +‘Please don’t let Edgar come worrying about me. Tell +him to amuse himself without my company for once in a +way.’</p> + +<p>‘My dearest, I don’t think he has any idea of amusing himself +without you in Switzerland. How tired you look, my poor +pet! Go and lie down and get a nice refreshing sleep after your +walk. You shall not be disturbed till I come myself to bring +you some tea. That will be better for you than coming down +to luncheon.’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t feel much inclined for sleep, though I confess to +being tired. I should like you to come and sit with me for a +little, Lina, soon after luncheon, if you don’t mind.’</p> + +<p>‘Mind! My darling, as if I were not always glad to be with +you.’</p> + +<p>Daphne went slowly up to her room, very slowly, with automatic +steps, as one who walks in his sleep. The dark gray eyes +looked straight into space, fixed and heavy with despair.</p> + +<p>‘He is mad, and I am mad,’ she said to herself. ‘How can +it end—except——’</p> + +<p>Her room was bright and pretty, gaily furnished in that +bright foreign style which studies scenic effect rather than solid +comfort; French windows opening upon a balcony, shaded with +a striped awning. The windows looked on to the lake, across +the bright blue water to the opposite shore, with its grand and +solitary hills, its villages few and far apart. Daphne stood for a +long while looking dreamily at the expanse of bright water, and +the bold and rugged shore beyond; at Chillon in its rocky +corner; at the deep dark gorge whence the yellow Rhone comes +rushing in, staining Lake Loman’s azure floor. How lovely it +all was—how lovely, and yet of how little account in the sum of +man’s destiny! All Nature’s loveliness was powerless to mend +one broken heart.</p> + +<p>‘What was it that he read on my hand that day at Fontainebleau?’ +she asked herself. ‘Was it this? was it this?’</p> + +<p>A steamer went by laden with people, a band playing a waltz +tune. The world seemed full of thoughtless souls, for whom life +meant only idle empty pleasures. Daphne turned away from +that sunlit scene sick at heart, wishing that she were lying +quietly in one of those green dells through which they had +passed to-day, a leafy hollow hidden in the hillside, and that life +were ebbing away without an effort.</p> + +<p>‘Seneca was a wise and learned man,’ she thought; ‘but +with all his wisdom he found it difficult to die. Cleopatra’s +death sounds easier—a basket of fruit and a little gliding snake<span class="pagenum" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</span> +a bright pretty creature that a child might have played with, +and been stung to death unawares.’</p> + +<p>She threw herself on the bed, not tired from her walk, which +seemed as nothing to the lithe active limbs, but weary of life +and its perplexities. Oh, how he loved her, and how she loved +him! And what a glorious godlike thing life would be in his +company! Glorious, but it must not be; godlike, but honour +barred the way.</p> + +<p>‘Oh God! let me never forget what she has been to me,’ she +prayed, with clasped hands, with all her soul in that prayer—‘sister, +mother, all the world of love, and protection, and comfort—teach +me to be true to her; teach me to be loyal.’</p> + +<p>For two long hours she lay, broad awake, in a blank tearless +despair; and then the door was gently opened, and Madoline +came softly into the room and seated herself by the bed. +Daphne was lying with her face to the wall. She did not turn +immediately, but stretched out her hand to her sister without a +word.</p> + +<p>‘Dearest, your hand is burning hot; you must be in a fever,’ +said Madoline.</p> + +<p>‘No; there is nothing the matter with me.’</p> + +<p>‘I’m afraid there is. I’m afraid that walk was too fatiguing. +I have ordered some tea for you.’ The maid brought it in as +she spoke; not Mowser; Mowser had kept herself aloof with an +air of settled gloom, ever since her return to Montreux. ‘I hope +you have had a nice long sleep.’</p> + +<p>‘I have not been able to sleep much,’ answered Daphne, turning +her languid head upon her pillow, and then sitting up on +the bed, a listless figure in a tumbled white gown, with loose +hair falling over shoulders; ‘I have not been able to sleep much, +but I have been resting. Don’t trouble about me, Lina dear. I +am very well. What delicious tea!’ she said, as she tasted the +cup which Madoline had just poured out for her. ‘How good +you are! I want to talk with you—to have a long serious talk—about +you and—Mr. Goring.’</p> + +<p>‘Indeed, dear. It is not often my lively sister has any inclination +for seriousness.’</p> + +<p>‘No; but I have been thinking deeply of late about long +engagements, and short engagements, and love before marriage, +and love after marriage—don’t you know.’ Her eyes were hidden +under their drooping lids, but her colour changed from pale +to rose and from rose to pale as she spoke.</p> + +<p>‘And what wise thoughts have you had upon the subject, +dearest?’ asked Lina lightly.</p> + +<p>‘I can hardly explain them; but I have been thinking—you +know that I am not desperately in love with—poor Edgar. +I have never pretended to be so; have I, dear?’</p> + +<p>‘You have always spoken lightly of him. But it is your<span class="pagenum" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</span> +way to speak lightly of everything; and I hope and believe that +he is much more dear to you than you say he is.’</p> + +<p>‘He is not. I respect him, because I know how good he +is; but that is all. And do you know, Lina, I have sometimes +fancied that your feeling for Mr. Goring is not much stronger +than mine for Edgar. You are attached to him; you have an +affection for him, which has grown out of long acquaintance +and habit—an almost sisterly affection; but you are not passionately +in love with him. If he were to die you would be +grieved, but you would not be heartbroken.’ She said this slowly, +deliberately, her eyes no longer downcast, but reading her sister’s +face.</p> + +<p>‘Daphne!’ cried Madoline, ‘how dare you? How can you +be so cruel? Not love him! Why, you know that I have loved +him ever since I was a child, with a love which every day of my +life has made stronger—a love which is so rooted in my heart +that I cannot imagine what life would be like without him. I +am not impulsive or demonstrative—I do not talk about those +things which are most dear and most sacred in my life, simply +because they are too sacred to be spoken about. If he were—to +die—if I were to lose him—no, I cannot think of that. It is +heartless of you to put such thoughts into my mind. My life +has been all sunshine—a calm happy life. God may be keeping +some great grief in store for my later days. If it were to come +I should bow beneath the rod; but my heart would break all +the same.’</p> + +<p>‘And if the grief took another shape—if he were to be false +to you?’ said Daphne, laying her hand, icy cold now, upon her +sister’s.</p> + +<p>‘That would be worse,’ answered Lina huskily; ‘it would +kill me.’</p> + +<p>Daphne said not a word more. Her hands were clasped, as +in prayer; the dark sorrowful eyes were lifted, and the lips +moved dumbly.</p> + +<p>‘I ought not to have talked of such things, dear,’ she said, +gently, after that voiceless prayer. ‘It was very foolish.’</p> + +<p>Lina was profoundly agitated. That calm and gentle nature +was capable of strongest feeling. The image of a terrible sorrow—a +sorrow which, however unlikely, was not impossible—once +evoked was not to be banished in a moment.</p> + +<p>‘Yes; it was foolish, Daphne,’ she answered tremulously. +‘No good can ever come of such thoughts. We are in God’s +hands. We can only be happy in this life with fear and trembling, +for our joy is so easily turned into sorrow. And now, +dear, if you are quite comfortable, and there is nothing more I +can do for you, I must go back to Aunt Rhoda. I promised to +go for a walk with her.’</p> + +<p>‘Isn’t it too warm for walking?’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</span></p> + +<p>‘Not for Aunt Rhoda’s idea of an afternoon walk, which is +generally to stroll down to the pier, and sit under the trees +watching the people land from the steamers.’</p> + +<p>‘Shall you be out long, do you think?’</p> + +<p>‘That will depend upon Aunt Rhoda. She said something +about wanting to go in the steamer to Vevey, if it could be done +comfortably before dinner.’</p> + +<p>‘Good-bye! Kiss me, Lina. Tell me you are not angry +with me for what I said just now. I wanted to sound the depths +of your love.’</p> + +<p>‘It was cruel, dear; but I am not angry,’ answered Lina, +kissing her tenderly.</p> + +<p>Daphne put her arms round her sister’s neck, just as she had +done years ago when she was a child.</p> + +<p>‘God bless you, and reward you for all you have been to me, +Lina!’ she faltered tearfully; and so, with a fervent embrace, +they parted.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII">CHAPTER XXXIII.<br> +<span class="fs70">‘IS THERE NO GRACE? IS THERE NO REMEDIE?’</span></h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">When</span> the door closed on Madoline, Daphne rose and +changed her crumpled muslin for a dressing-gown, and brushed +the bright silky hair and rolled it up in a loose knot at the back +of her head, and bathed her feverish face, and put on a fresh +gown, and made herself altogether a respectable young person. +Then she seated herself before a dressing-table, which was littered +all over with trinket-boxes and miscellaneous trifles more +or less indispensable to a young lady’s happiness.</p> + +<p>She had acquired a larger collection of jewellery than is +usually possessed by a girl of eighteen.</p> + +<p>There were all Madoline’s birthday and New Year gifts: +rings, lockets, bracelets, brooches, all in the simplest style, as +became her youth, but all valuable after their kind. And there +were Edgar’s presents: a broad gold bracelet, set with pearls, +to match her necklace; a locket with her own and her lover’s +initials interwoven in a diamond monogram; a diamond and +turquoise cross; and the engagement ring—a half-hoop of +magnificent opals.</p> + +<p>‘I wonder why he chose opals,’ mused Daphne, as she put +the ring into the purple-velvet case in which it had come from +the jeweller’s. ‘Most people think them unlucky; but it seems +as if my life was to be overshadowed with omens.’</p> + +<p>She put all her lover’s presents together, and packed them +neatly in a sheet of drawing-paper, the largest and strongest +kind of wrapper she could find. Then, when she had lighted<span class="pagenum" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</span> +her taper and carefully sealed this packet, she wrote upon it: +‘For Edgar, with Daphne’s love’—a curious way in which to +return a jilted lover’s gifts.</p> + +<p>Then she sat for some time with the rest of her treasures +opened out before her on the table where she wrote her letters, +and finally she wrapped up each trinket separately, and wrote +on each packet. On one: ‘For Madame Tolmache;’ on another: +‘For Miss Toby;’ on a third: ‘For Martha Dibb.’ On +a box containing her neatest brooch she wrote: ‘For dear old +Spicer.’ There were others inscribed with other names. She +forgot no one; and then at the last she sat looking dreamily at +a little ring, the first she had ever worn—best loved of all her +jewels, a single heart-shaped turquoise set in a slender circlet of +plain gold. Madoline had sent it to her on her thirteenth birthday. +The gold was worn and bent with long use, but the stone +had kept its colour.</p> + +<p>‘I should like him to have something that was mine,’ she +said to herself; and then she put the ring into a tiny cardboard +box, and sealed it in an envelope, on which she wrote: ‘For +Mr. Goring.’</p> + +<p>This was the last of her treasures, except the pearl necklace +which she always wore—her amulet, as she called it—and now +she put all the neat little packages carefully away in her desk, +and on the top of them she laid a slip of paper on which she +had written:</p> + +<p>‘If I should die suddenly, please let these parcels be given +as I have directed.’</p> + +<p>This task being accomplished at her leisure, and the desk +locked, she went once more to the open window, and looked out +at the lake. The atmosphere and expression of the scene had +changed since she looked at it last. The vivid dancing brightness +of morning was gone, and the mellow light of afternoon +touched all things with its pensive radiance. The joyousness +of the picture had fled. Its beauty was now more in harmony +with Daphne’s soul. While she was standing there in an idle +reverie, a peremptory tap came at the door.</p> + +<p>‘Come in,’ she answered mechanically, without turning her +head.</p> + +<p>It was Mowser, whose severe countenance appeared round +the half-open door.</p> + +<p>‘If you please, Miss Daphne, Sir Vernon wishes to speak to +you, immediate, in his study.’</p> + +<p>Seldom in Daphne’s life had such a message reached her. +Sir Vernon had not been in the habit of seeking private conferences +with his younger daughter. He had given her an occasional +lecture <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">en passant</i>, but however he might have disapproved +of the flightiness of her conduct, he had never summoned her to +his presence for a scolding in cold blood.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</span></p> + +<p>‘Is there anything wrong?’ she asked hurriedly; but Mowser +had disappeared.</p> + +<p>She went slowly down the broad shallow staircase, and to +the room which her father had made his private apartment. +It was one of the best rooms in the house, facing the lake, and +sheltered from the glare of the sun by a couple of magnificent +magnolia trees, which shaded the lawn in front of the windows. +It was a large room with a polished floor, and pretty Swiss furniture, +carved cabinets, and a carved chimney-piece, and a little +blue china clock set in a garland of carved flowers.</p> + +<p>Sir Vernon was seated at his writing-table, grim, stern-looking, +his open despatch-box before him in the usual official style. +A little way off sat Edgar Turchill, his folded arms resting on +the back of a high chair, his face hidden. It was the attitude +of profound despondency, or even of despair. One glance at +her father’s face, and then at that lowered head and clenched +hands, told Daphne what was coming.</p> + +<p>‘You sent for me,’ she faltered, standing in the middle of +the bare polished floor, and looking straight at her father, fearlessly, +for there is a desperate sorrow which knows not fear.</p> + +<p>‘Yes, madam,’ replied Sir Vernon in his severest voice. ‘I +sent for you to tell you, in the presence of the man who was to +have been your husband, that your abominable treachery has +been discovered.’</p> + +<p>‘I am not treacherous,’ she answered, ‘only miserable, the +most miserable girl that ever lived.’</p> + +<p>Edgar lifted up his face, and looked at her, with such a depth +of tender reproachfulness, with such ineffable pity as made his +homely countenance altogether beautiful.</p> + +<p>‘I hoped I should have made you happy,’ he said. ‘God +knows I have tried hard enough.’</p> + +<p>She neither answered nor looked at him. Her eyes were +fixed upon her father—solemn tearless eyes, a marble passionless +face—she stood motionless, as if awaiting judgment.</p> + +<p>‘You are the falsest and the vilest girl that ever lived,’ +retorted Sir Vernon. ‘Perhaps I ought hardly to be surprised +at that. Your mother was——’</p> + +<p>‘For God’s sake, spare her!’ cried Edgar huskily, stretching +out his arm as if to ward off a blow, and the word on Sir Vernon’s +lips remained unspoken. ‘That is no fault of hers. Let +her bear her own burden.’</p> + +<p>‘She ought to find it heavy enough, if she has a heart or a +conscience,’ cried Sir Vernon passionately. ‘But I don’t believe +she has either. If she had a shred of self-respect, or common +gratitude, or honour, or womanly feeling, she would not have +stolen her sister’s lover.’</p> + +<p>‘I did not steal him,’ answered Daphne resolutely. ‘His +heart came to me of its own accord. We both fought hard<span class="pagenum" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</span> +against Fate. And even now there is no harm done; it has +been only a foolish fancy of Mr. Goring’s; he will forget all +about it when I am—far away. I will never look in his face +again. I will go to the uttermost end of the earth, to my grave, +rather than stand between him and Madoline. Oh father, +father, you who have always been so hard with me, do you +remember that day at South Hill, directly after Mr. Goring +came home, when I begged you, on my knees, to send me back +to school, to France, or Germany, anywhere, so that I should be +far away from my happy home—and from him?’</p> + +<p>Her tears came at this bitter memory. Yes, she had fought +the good fight: but so vainly, to such little purpose!</p> + +<p>‘I knew that I was weak,’ she sobbed,’and I wanted to be +saved from myself. But I am not so wicked as you think. I +never tried to steal Mr. Goring’s heart. I have never imagined +the possibility of my being in any way the gainer by his inconstancy. +I have told myself always that his love for me was a +passing folly, of which he would be cured, as a man is cured of +a fever. I do not know what you have been told about him +and me, or who is your informant; but if you have been told +the truth you must know that I have been true to my sister—even +in my misery.’</p> + +<p>‘My informant saw you in Mr. Goring’s arms; my informant +heard his avowal of love, and your promise to run away with +him, and be married at Geneva.’</p> + +<p>‘It is false. I made no such promise. I never meant to +marry him. I would die a hundred deaths rather than injure +Madoline. I am glad you know the truth. And you, Edgar, I +have tried to love you, my poor dear; I have prayed that I might +become attached to you, and be a good wife to you in the days +to come. I have been honest, I have been loyal. Ask Mr. +Goring, by-and-by, if it is not so. He knows, and only he can +know, the truth. Father, Madoline need never be told that her +lover has wavered. She must not know. Do you understand? +She must not! It would break her heart, it would kill her. He +will forget me when I am far away—gone out of his sight for +ever. He will forgot me; and the old, holier, truer love will +return in all its strength and purity. All this pain and folly +will seem no more to him than a feverish dream. Pray do not +let her know.’</p> + +<p>‘Do you think I would do her so great a wrong as to let her +marry a traitor? a false-hearted scoundrel, who can smile in her +face, and make love to her sister behind her back. She is a +little too good to have your leavings foisted upon her.’</p> + +<p>‘If you tell her, you will break her heart.’</p> + +<p>‘That will lie at your door. I would rather see her in her +coffin than married to a villain.’</p> + +<p>Edgar rose slowly from his seat and moved towards the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</span> +door. He had nothing to do with this discussion. His mind +could hardly enter into the question of Gerald Goring’s treachery. +It was Daphne who had betrayed him; Daphne who had deceived +him, and mocked him with sweet words; Daphne whose liking +had seemed more precious to him than any other woman’s love, +because he believed that no other man had ever touched the +virginal unawakened heart. And now he was told that she +could love passionately, that she could give kiss for kiss, and +rain tears upon a lover’s breast, that from first to last he had +been her victim and her dupe!</p> + +<p>‘Good-bye, Daphne!’ he said, very quietly. ‘I am going +home as fast as train and boat can take me. I would have been +contented to accept something less than your love, believing that +I should win your heart in time, but not to take a wife whose +heart belonged to another man. You told me there was no one +else; you told me your heart was free.’</p> + +<p>‘I told you there was no one else who had ever cared for +me,’ faltered Daphne, remembering her equivocating answer +that evening at South Hill.</p> + +<p>‘I don’t want to reproach you, Daphne. I am very sorry for +you.’</p> + +<p>‘And I am very sorry that an honest man whom I respect +should have been fooled by a worthless girl,’ said Sir Vernon. +‘Give him back his engagement ring. Understand that all is over +between you and him,’ he added, turning to his daughter.</p> + +<p>‘I wish it to be so. I have put all your presents together in +a parcel, Edgar,’ answered Daphne. ‘You will receive them in +due course.’</p> + +<p>‘It is best to be off with the old love before we are on with +the new,’ quoted Sir Vernon scornfully; ‘and she says she did +not mean to run away with Goring, in spite of this deliberate +preparation.’</p> + +<p>Edgar was gone. Daphne and her father were alone, the +girl still standing on the very spot where she had stood when +she first came into the room.</p> + +<p>‘I have told you nothing but the truth,’ she said. ‘Why are +you so hard with me?’</p> + +<p>‘Hard with you!’ he echoed, getting up from before his desk +and looking at her with vindictive eyes as he moved slowly +towards the door. ‘How can I be hard enough to you? You +have broken my daughter’s heart.’</p> + +<p>‘Father!’ she cried, falling on her knees and clinging to him +in her despair. ‘Father, is she to have all your love? Have +you no tenderness, no pity left for me? Am I not your daughter +too?’</p> + +<p>‘Your mother was my wife,’ he answered curtly, pushing her +out of his way as he passed from the room.</p> + +<p>He was gone. She knelt where he had left her, a desolate<span class="pagenum" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</span> +figure in the spacious bright-looking room, the afternoon sun +making golden bars upon the brown floor, her yellow hair touched +here and there with glintings of yellow light.</p> + +<p>She remained in the same attitude for some minutes, her +heavy eyelids drooping over tearless eyes, her arms hanging listlessly, +her hands loosely clasped. Her mind for a little while +was a blank: and then there came into it unawares a verse, taken +at random, from a familiar hymn:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">‘The trials that beset you,</div> + <div class="verse indent4">The sorrows ye endure,</div> + <div class="verse indent1">The manifold temptations,</div> + <div class="verse indent4">That death alone can cure.’</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>‘That death alone can cure,’ she repeated slowly, pushing +back the loose hair from her eyes; and then she rose from her +knees and went out through an open window into the garden.</p> + +<p>It was about five o’clock. There was a look of exquisite +repose over all the scene, from the snow-bound summit of the +Dent du Midi yonder, down to the gardens that edged the lake, +like a garland of summer flowers encircling that peerless +blue. It was abright glad-looking world, and passing peaceful. +Far away beyond that grand range of hills lay the ice-fields +of Savoy, the everlasting glaciers, gliding with impalpable motion +in obedience to some mysterious law which is still one of +Nature’s secrets, the wilderness of snow-clad peaks and wild +moraines, the gulfs and caverns, the unfathomable abysses of +silence and of death. Daphne thought of those unseen regions +with a thrill of awe as she walked slowly down the slope of the +lawn.</p> + +<p>‘I have seen so little of Switzerland after all,’ she said to herself, +‘so little of this wide wonderful world.’</p> + +<p>She went to the toy <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">châlet</i>, the dainty opera-stage boat-house +where her boat was kept. There was no friendly Bink here to +launch the skiff for her, but the lower part of the boat-house +jutted out over the gable, and the boat was always bobbing +about in the limpid water. She had only to go down the +wooden steps, unmoor her boat, and row away over that wide +stretch of placid water which she had never seen disturbed by a +tempest.</p> + +<p>As she was stepping into the boat, the dog Monk came +bounding and leaping across the grass, and bounced into her +arms, putting his huge fore-feet on her shoulders, and swooping +an affectionate tongue over her pallid face. He had not seen +her since her return from the hills, and was wild with rapture +at the idea of reunion.</p> + +<p>‘No, Monk, not to-day,’ she said gently, as he tried to get +into the boat with her; ‘not to-day, dear faithful old Monk.’</p> + +<p>The huge creature could have upset the boat with one<span class="pagenum" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</span> +bound; and the little hand stretched out to push him back +must have been as a fluttering rose-leaf against his sinewy +breast; but there was a moral force in the blanched face and +the steady eye which dominated his brute power. He recoiled, +and lifted up his head with a plaintive howl as the boat shot +off, the twin sails, the white and scarlet awning, flashing in the +sun.</p> + +<p>A little way from the shore Daphne paused, resting on her +oars, and looking back at the bright garden, with its roses and +magnolias, and many-coloured flower-beds, the white villa gay +with its crimson-striped blinds; and then with one wide gaze +she looked round the lovely landscape, the long range of hills, +in all their infinite variety of light and shadow, verdant slopes +streaked with threads of glittering water, vineyards and low +gray walls, rising terrace above terrace, quaint Vevey, and gray +old Chillon, the black gorge that lets in the turbid Rhone; +churches with square towers and ivy-covered walls; and yonder +the inexorable mountains of Savoy. For a little while her eye +took in every detail of the scene: and then it all melted from +her troubled gaze, and she saw not that grand Alpine chain, +showing cloudlike amid the clouds, but the brown Avon and its +dipping willows, the low Warwickshire hills and village gables, +the distant spire of Stratford above the many-arched bridge, +the water-meadows at South Hill, and the long fringe of yellow +daffodils waving in the March wind.</p> + +<p>‘Oh for the reedy banks and shallow reaches of the Avon!’ +she thought, her heart yearning for home.</p> + +<p>Then with bowed head she bent over her oars, and the light +boat shot away across the wake of a passing steamer; it shot +away, far away to the middle of the lake; it vanished like a +feather blown by a summer breeze; and it never came back +again.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>The empty boat drifted ashore at Evian in the gray light of +morning, while Gerald Goring, with a couple of Swiss boatmen, +was rowing about the lake, stopping to make inquiries at every +landing-place, sending scouts in every direction, in quest of that +missing craft. No one ever knew, no one dared to guess, how it +had happened: but every one knew that in some dark spot below +that deep blue water Daphne was at rest. The dog had been +down by the boat-house all night, howling fitfully through the +dark silent hours. He had not left the spot since Daphne’s +boat glided away from the steps.</p> + +<p>It had been a night of anguish and terror for all that household +at Montreux—a night of agitation, of alternations of hope +and fear. Even Sir Vernon was profoundly moved by anxiety +about the daughter to whom he had given so little of his love. +He knew that he had been hard and merciless in that last interview.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</span> +He had thought only of Madoline; and the knowledge +that Madoline had been wronged—that the elder sister’s love +had been tempted to falsehood by the arts and coquetries of the +younger sister—had stung him to a frenzy of anger. Nothing +could be too bad for the ingrate who had sinned against the best +of sisters. He was too hard a man to give the sinner the benefit +of the doubt, and to believe that she had sinned unconsciously. +In his mind Daphne had wickedly and deliberately corrupted +the heart of her sister’s affianced husband. Angry as he had felt +with Gerald, his indignation against the weaker vessel was fiercer +than his wrath against the stronger.</p> + +<p>Mowser had told her story with truth as to the main facts; +but with such embellishments and heightened colouring as made +Daphne appear the boldest and most depraved of her sex. In +Mowser’s version of that scene in the pine-wood there was no +hint of temptation resisted, of a noble soul struggling with an +unworthy passion, of a tender heart trying to be faithful to +sisterly affection, while every impulse of a passionate love tugged +the other way. All Mowser could tell was that Miss Daphne +had sobbed in Mr. Goring’s arms, that he had kissed her, as she, +Mowser, had never been kissed, although she had kept company +and been on the brink of marriage with a builder’s foreman; +and that they had talked of being married at Geneva—leastways +Mr. Goring had asked Miss Daphne to run away with him for +that purpose, and she had not said no, but had only begged him +to give her twenty-four hours—naturally requiring that time to +pack her clothes and make all needful preparation for flight.</p> + +<p>Passionately attached to his elder daughter, and always +ready to think evil of Daphne, Sir Vernon needed no confirmation +of Mowser’s story. It was only the realisation of what he +always feared—the mother’s falsehood showing itself in the +daughter—hereditary baseness. It was the girl’s nature to betray. +She had all her mother’s outward graces and too fascinating +prettiness. How could he have hoped that she would have +any higher notions of truth and honour?</p> + +<p>Moved to deepest wrath at the wrong done to Madoline, Sir +Vernon’s first impulse had been to send for Gerald Goring, in +order to come to an immediate understanding with that offender. +He was told that Mr. Goring had gone to Geneva, and was not +expected home before eight o’clock. He then sent for Edgar, +and to that unhappy lover bluntly and almost brutally related +the story of Daphne’s baseness. Edgar was inclined to disbelieve, +nay, even to laugh Mowser’s slander to scorn; but Mowser, summoned +to a second interview, stuck resolutely to her text, and +was not to be shaken.</p> + +<p>‘I can’t believe it,’ faltered Edgar, stricken to the heart, +‘unless I hear it from her own lips.’</p> + +<p>‘Go and fetch her,’ said Sir Vernon to Mowser, and then<span class="pagenum" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</span> +had followed Daphne’s appearance, and those admissions of +hers which told Edgar only too clearly how he had been deceived.</p> + +<p>The two men, Gerald and Edgar, passed each other on the +railway between Lausanne and Geneva—Edgar on his way to +the city, Gerald going back to Montreux. Mr. Goring wondered +at seeing his friend’s pale face glide slowly by as the two +trains crossed at the junction.</p> + +<p>‘It looks as if she had given him his quietus already,’ he said +to himself. ‘My brave little Daphne!’</p> + +<p>He was going back to Montreux with his heart full of hope +and gladness. He had taken all the needful measures at Geneva +to make his marriage with Daphne an easy matter, would she +but consent to marry him. And he had no doubt of her consent. +Could a girl love as she loved, and obstinately withhold +herself from her lover?</p> + +<p>He forgot the pain he must inflict on one who had been so +dear; forgot the woman who had been the guiding star of his +boyhood and youth; forget everything except that one consummate +bliss which he longed for—the triumph of a passionate +love. That crown of life once snatched from reluctant +Fate, all other things would come right in time. Madoline’s +gentle nature would forgive a wrong which was the work of +destiny rather than of man’s falsehood. Sir Vernon would be +angry and unpleasant, no doubt; but Gerald Goring cared +very little about Sir Vernon. The world would wonder; but +Gerald cared nothing for the world. He only desired Daphne, +and Daphne’s love; having all other good things which life, +looked at from the worldling’s standpoint, could give.</p> + +<p>The sun was setting as he approached Montreux, and all +the lake was clothed in golden light. Rose-hued mountains, +golden water, smiled at him as if in welcome.</p> + +<p>‘What a lovely world it is!’ he said to himself; ‘and how +happy Daphne and I will be in it—in spite of Fate and metaphysical +aid. There I go, quoting the Inevitable, as usual!’</p> + +<p>He walked quickly from the station to the villa, eager to see +Daphne, to hear her voice, to touch the warm soft hand, and be +assured that there was such a being, and that he had not been +the dupe of some vision of intangible loveliness, as Shelley’s +Alastor was in the cavern. That last look of Daphne’s haunted +him—so direct, so solemn a gaze, so unlike the shy glance of conscious +love. Nay, it resembled rather the look of some departed +spirit, returning from Pluto’s drear abode to take its last fond +farewell of the living.</p> + +<p>The vestibule stood open to the road, an outer hall filled +with plants and flowers, an airy Italian-looking entrance. +Gerald walked straight in, and to the drawing-room. It was +striking eight as he entered.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</span></p> + +<p>‘I hope you won’t wait for me,’ he began, looking round for +Daphne; ‘I am a dusty object, and I don’t think I can make +myself presentable under twenty minutes. The train dawdled +abominably.’</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ferrers and Madoline were standing by the open +window, looking out. Lina turned, and at the first glimpse +of her pale face Gerald knew that there was something wrong. +There had been a scene, perhaps, between the sisters. Daphne +had betrayed herself and him. Well! The truth must be told +very soon now. It were best to precipitate matters.</p> + +<p>‘We are frightened about Daphne,’ said Lina; ‘she went +out in her boat a little before five—the gardener saw her leave—and +she has not come back yet.’</p> + +<p>Three hours. It was long, but she was fond of solitary excursions +on the lake.</p> + +<p>‘I don’t think there is much cause for alarm in that,’ he said, +trying to speak lightly, yet with a strange terror at his heart. +‘Shall I get a boat and go after her? I had better, perhaps; +she cannot be very far off—dawdling about by Chillon, I daresay. +Those dank stone walls have a fascination for her.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, I shall be glad, if you don’t mind going. My father +seems uneasy. It is so strange that she should stay away three +hours without leaving word where she was going. Edgar is out. +My aunt and I have not known what to do, and when I told my +father just now he looked dreadfully alarmed.’</p> + +<p>‘I will go this instant, and not come back till I have found +her,’ answered Gerald huskily.</p> + +<p>That last look of Daphne’s was in his mind. That never-to-be-forgotten +look from her dark eyes lifted fearlessly, with +sad and steady gaze.</p> + +<p>‘Oh God! did it mean farewell?’</p> + +<p>He was out on the lake all night, with two of the most +experienced boatmen in the district, and it was only in the gray +of morning that he heard of the empty boat blown ashore a +little below Evian—Evian, where they had landed so merrily +once from the same cockleshell boat, on a sunny morning, for +a pilgrimage to a drowsy village on the hills, a cluster of picturesque +homesteads sheltered by patriarchal walnut and chestnut +trees, where looking downward through the rich foliage they +saw the blue lake below.</p> + +<p>The evening had been calm. There had been no accident or +collision of any kind on the lake; the little boat showed no +sign of injury. It lay on the shingly shore, just as the fishermen +had pulled it in; an empty boat. That was all.</p> + +<p>Gerald stayed at Evian, and from Evian wrote briefly to +Madoline telling her all.</p> + +<p>‘My life for the last six months has been a tissue of lies,’ he +wrote; ‘and yet, God knows, I have tried to be true and honest,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</span> +just as she tried; but she with more purpose, yes, poor child! +with much more fidelity than mine. I wanted to tell you the +truth when we were at Fribourg, to make an end of all shams +and deceptions, but she would not let me. She meant to hold +to her bond with Edgar—to be true to you. She would have +persevered in this to the end, if I had let her. But I would +not, and she has died rather than do you a wrong; it is my +guilt—mine alone. The brand of Cain is on me: and, like +Cain, I shall be a wanderer till I die. I do not ask you to forgive +me, for I shall never forgive myself; or to pity me, for +mine is a grief which pity cannot touch. If I could hope that +you could ever forget me there would be comfort in the thought; +but I dare not hope for that. You might forget your false +lover, but how can you forget Daphne’s murderer?’</p> + +<p>To this letter Madoline answered briefly: ‘You have broken +my sister’s heart and mine. A little honesty, a little truth, +would have spared us both. You might have been happy in +your own way, and I might have kept my sister. You are +right—I can neither forget nor forgive. I thought till this +trouble came upon me that I was a Christian; I know now, +God help me! how far I am away from Christian feeling. All +I can hope or pray about you is that we two may never see each +other’s face again. I send you Daphne’s legacy.’</p> + +<p>Enclosed in the letter was the little packet containing the +turquoise ring, with ‘For Mr. Goring’ written on the cover in +Daphne’s dashing penmanship. The hand had not trembled, +though the heart beat high, when that superscription was +penned.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Sir Vernon stayed at Montreux for more than a month after +that fatal summer day, though the very sight of lake and mountain +in their inexorable beauty, so remote from all human trouble +or human pity, was terrible to him. Madoline urged him to +stay. There were hours in which, after many tears and many +prayers, faint gleams of hope visited her sorrowful soul. Daphne +might not be dead. She might have landed unnoticed at one of +those quiet villages, and made her way to some distant place +where she could live hidden and unknown. Those farewell +gifts left in her desk must needs mean a deliberate departure: +but they need not mean death. She might be hiding somewhere, +little knowing the agony she was inflicting on those who +had loved her, fearing only to be found and taken home. Madoline +could fancy her sister self-sacrificing enough to live apart +from home and kindred all her days, to earn her bread in a +stranger’s house. Oh, if it were thus only, and not that other +and awful fate—a young life flung away in its flower, a young +soul going forth unbidden to meet God’s judgment, burdened +with the deadly sin of self-murder!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</span></p> + +<p>‘Let us stay a few days longer, father,’ she pleaded. ‘We +may hear something. There may be some good news.’</p> + +<p>‘God grant that it may be so,’ answered Sir Vernon, without +a ray of hope.</p> + +<p>What of his remorse whose hardness had pressed so heavily +upon his child in that last hour of her brief life, whose bitter +words had perhaps confirmed the sinner in her desperate resolve, +making it very clear to her that this earth held no +peaceful haven, that for her there was no fatherly breast on +which she could pour out the story of her weakness and her +struggle—no friend with the father’s sacred name from whom +she could ask counsel or seek protection? Alone in her misery, +she had sought the one refuge which remained for her—death; +believing that by that fatal deed she would secure her sister’s +peace.</p> + +<p>‘His heart will return to its truer nobler love when I am +gone,’ she said to herself. Poor shallow soul, unsustained by +any deep sense of religion, or by any firm principle; tender +heart, strong in unquestioning fidelity. It was easy to follow +out the train of false reasoning which made her believe that +death would be best; that in throwing away her fair young life +she was making a sacrifice to love and honour.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>They remained at Montreux till the beginning of October, +till autumnal tints were stealing over the landscape, and the +happy vintage-time had begun, making all those gentle slopes +alive with picturesque figures, every turn in the road a scene +for a painter. It was a dreary time for Madoline and her +father. Edgar was with them; called back from Geneva by +a telegram on the night of Daphne’s disappearance. He, like +his rival, had been unweary in his endeavour to obtain some +knowledge of Daphne’s fate. He had been from village to +village, had made his inquiries at every landing-place along +the lake—had availed himself of every local intelligence; but +all to no purpose. One of the Vevey boatmen had seen Daphne’s +light skiff as she rowed swiftly towards the middle of the lake. +He saw the little boat dancing in the wake of a steamer, watched +it and its girl-owner till it floated into smooth water, and then +saw the boat never more.</p> + +<p>There had been no reason for an accident upon that particular +afternoon; no sudden gust of wind; no mysterious +rising of the lake; nothing. In a sultry calm the little boat +had last been seen gliding smoothly over the smooth blue +water.</p> + +<p>Had she rowed to the end of the lake, where the tumultuous +Rhone rushes in from rocky St. Maurice, and been +swamped by those turbid waters? Who could tell? The +stranded boat bore no sign of having been under water.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</span></p> + +<p>The time came when they must go back, when to remain any +longer by the lake seemed mere foolishness, a persistent brooding +upon sorrow; more especially as Sir Vernon’s health had +become much worse since this calamity had fallen upon him, +and a change of some kind was imperative.</p> + +<p>Aunt Rhoda had gone home a week after the fatal day, +though to the last expressing herself willing to remain and +comfort Madoline.</p> + +<p>‘You are very kind, Aunt, but you could not comfort me. +You did not care for her,’ Lina answered, with a touch of +bitterness.</p> + +<p>So Mrs. Ferrers, aggrieved at this rebuff, had gone back +to her Rector, whom she found more painfully affected by +Daphne’s evil fate than she thought consistent with his clerical +character.</p> + +<p>‘I shall never look at the garden in summer-time without +thinking of that bright face and girlish figure flitting about +among the roses, as I have seen her in the days that are gone,’ +he said; ‘a man of my age is uncomfortably reminded of his +shortening lease of life when the young are taken before +him.’</p> + +<p>And now that bitter day came upon which Madoline was +obliged to leave the banks of the fatal lake, and turn her sad +face homewards, to South Hill. South Hill without Daphne, +without Gerald—those two familiar figures gone out of her life +for ever; the house empty of laughter and gladness for evermore! +All the sweetest things of life proved false, every hope +crushed, every possibility of future happiness gone from her for +ever! She could imagine no new hopes, no fresh beginning of +life. To do her duty to an invalid father; to use her ample +fortune for the comfort and advantage of the friendless and the +needy, was all that remained to her; a narrow round of daily +tasks not less monotonous than the humblest char’s, because she +wore a silk gown and lived in a fine house. So far her prayer +had been granted. She and Gerald Goring had never met since +Daphne’s death. He had been heard of at Evian and then at +Vevey; but none of the South Hill people had seen him.</p> + +<p>Edgar went back with them, a man so changed by grief that +it would be hard for the mother, who had seen him go forth in +the strength and gladness of happy youth, to recognise the haggard +hopeless countenance of the son who returned to her. He +had borne his trouble bravely, asking comfort from no one, +anxious to console others whenever consolation seemed possible. +He had tried his best to persuade Madoline that Daphne’s boat +had been overturned by the current, that the sweet young life +had been lost by accident. Those carefully-sealed packets in the +desk hinted at a darker doom; yet it might be that they had +been prepared by Daphne under some vague idea of leaving<span class="pagenum" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</span> +home, in order to escape the difficulties of her position; an +intention to be carried out at some indefinite time.</p> + +<p>Hawksyard in the autumn, with white vapours stealing +over the low meadows at sunrise and sunset, with the large +leaves of the walnut-trees drifting heavily down, seemed a fitting +place for a man to nurse his grief and meditate upon the +greatness of his loss. Edgar roamed about the gardens and +the fields like an unquiet spirit, or rode for long hours in the +lonely lanes, keeping as much as possible aloof from all who +knew him. Even the approach of the hunting season gave him +no pleasure.</p> + +<p>‘I shall not hunt this year,’ he told his mother. ‘Indeed +I doubt if I shall ever follow the hounds again.’</p> + +<p>‘Don’t say that, Edgar,’ cried Mrs. Turchill plaintively. +‘Wretched as I am every day you are out with the hounds, I +should be still more miserable if you were to deprive yourself of +your favourite amusement. But you will think differently next +October, I hope, dear. It isn’t natural for young people to go +on grieving for ever.’</p> + +<p>‘Isn’t it, mother?’ asked her son bitterly. ‘Isn’t it natural +for a watch to stop when its mainspring is broken?’</p> + +<p>The application of this inquiry was beyond Mrs. Turchill, so +she made no attempt to answer it.</p> + +<p>She had been very good to her son since his sorrowful home-coming, +not tormenting him with futile consolations, but offering +him that silent sympathy which has always healing in it. +Of Daphne’s fate she knew no more than that the girl had gone +out on the lake one sunny afternoon and had never come back +again. The announcement in <cite>The Times</cite> had said: ‘Accidentally +drowned in the Lake of Geneva,’ and Mrs. Turchill had +never thought of seeking to know more. But she was much +exercised in her mind as the autumn wore into winter at the +prolonged absence of Gerald Goring.</p> + +<p>‘Why does not Mr. Goring come back?’ she inquired of +Edgar. ‘I should think poor Miss Lawford must need his +society now more than ever. It is natural that the wedding +should be postponed for a few months; but Mr. Goring ought +not to be away.’</p> + +<p>‘That engagement is broken off, mother,’ her son answered +briefly.</p> + +<p>‘Broken off! But why?’</p> + +<p>‘I can’t tell you. That concerns no one but Miss Lawford +and Mr. Goring. Don’t trouble about it, mother.’</p> + +<p>At any other time Mrs. Turchill would have troubled very +much about such a piece of intelligence, would have insisted +upon knowing the rights and wrongs of the matter, and of expatiating +upon it at her leisure. But her respect for Edgar’s grief +made her very discreet; and seeing that the subject was painful<span class="pagenum" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</span> +to him, she said no more about it No more to him, that is to +say, but very much more to Deborah, to whom she discoursed +freely upon the extraordinary fact, delicately suggesting that as +Deborah was on intimate terms with the upper servants at South +Hill, she would no doubt hear all the ins and outs of the story +in due time.</p> + +<p>‘I should be the last person to encourage gossip,’ remarked +the matron with dignity, ‘but there are some things which people +cannot help talking about, especially where a young lady is as +much beloved and respected as Miss Lawford.’</p> + +<p>Deborah went to South Hill on her next Sunday out, and +drank tea in the housekeeper’s room, where Mrs. Spicer, though +unable to speak with dry eyes of Miss Daphne, was nevertheless +much interested in the fit and fashion of her black gown, the +quality of which Deborah both appraised and admired. But +Mrs. Spicer only knew that Miss Lawford’s engagement was +broken off. She knew nothing as to the why and the wherefore, +but she surmised, somewhat vaguely, that Miss Lawford had +turned against Mr. Goring after her sister’s death.</p> + +<p>Only one of the South Hill servants could have explained the +cause of that cancelled engagement, and she had been dismissed +with a handsome pension, and had gone to live in the outskirts +of Birmingham, with her own kith and kin. Sir Vernon could +never endure the presence of the faithful Mowser after Daphne’s +death. ‘You did your duty, according to your lights, I have no +doubt,’ he said, when he sent her away; ‘but I can never look +at you without regretting that you did not hold your tongue. +You have told Miss Lawford nothing—about—that scene in the +pine-wood, I hope?’</p> + +<p>Mowser protested that she would have had her tongue cut +out rather than speak one such word to her mistress.</p> + +<p>‘I am glad of that. She knows too much already—enough +to make her life miserable. We must spare her what pain we +can.’</p> + +<p>Mowser assented, with a convulsion of her elderly throat, +which looked like a repressed sob. The pension promised was +liberal; but it was a hard thing to be dismissed, to be told that +life at South Hill could be carried on without her.</p> + +<p>‘I don’t know what Miss Lawford will do when I’m gone,’ +she faltered tearfully; ‘I’m used to her ways, and she’s used to +mine. A strange maid will seem like an antelope to her.’</p> + +<p>Sir Vernon stared, but did not deign to discuss the probabilities +as to his daughter’s feelings. He ordered Jinman—who +on the strength of knowing two or three dozen substantives in +French and Italian, considered himself an accomplished linguist—to +conduct Mrs. Mowser to Geneva, and to book her through, +so far as it were possible, to her native shores. He felt that he +could breathe more freely when that evil presence was out of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_373">[Pg 373]</span> +the house. ‘She provoked me to torture that poor child in her +last hour upon earth,’ he thought. ‘She maddened me with the +idea that Lina’s lover had been stolen from her.’</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV">CHAPTER XXXIV.<br> +<span class="fs70">‘SENS LOVE HATH BROUGHT US TO THIS PITEOUS END.’</span></h2> +</div> + +<p class="center no-indent fs80">FROM THE REV. JULIAN TEMPLE TO MISS AYLMER.</p> + + +<p class="right fs80"> +‘Schaffhausen, September 11th, 187—.</p> + +<p class="no-indent">‘<span class="smcap">My dear Flora</span>,</p> + +<p>‘You ask me for a detailed account of the melancholy +accident on the Matterhorn, of which I had the misfortune to +be an eye-witness, and the memory of which will haunt me for +years to come—yes, even in that blessed time when I shall be +quietly settled down in domestic life with my dear girl, and +must needs have a thousand reasons for being completely happy.</p> + +<p>‘I kept you so well posted in my movements, until the +occurrence of this unhappy event made it painful to me to +write about our Alpine experiences, that you no doubt remember +how Trevor and I, after our successful attempt upon the +Finsteraarhorn, made our way quietly down to Zermatt, by +way of Thun and Vispach. Never shall I forget the calm +delight of the last day’s walk between Vispach and Zermatt. +The distance is only thirty miles, we were in high spirits and +in excellent condition for the tramp, and we had a cart for our +mountaineering gear, and our knapsacks, so were able to take +things easily.</p> + +<p>‘We started at six o’clock, breakfasted at St. Nicolas, and +reached Zermatt early in the evening. Our road—a mule-path +for the greater part of the way—led us through scenes of +infinite variety, and opened to us views of surpassing grandeur +and beauty. Amidst all the wildness of a mountainous landscape +we were struck with the profusion of flowers which gave +life and colour to the foreground, and the wild fruits which +rivalled the flowers in their vivid beauty; beds of Alpine strawberries, +thickets of raspberries and barberries, bordered the +path, and every village we entered lay sheltered amidst patriarchal +walnut or chestnut trees.</p> + +<p>‘How can I describe to you the glory of the Matterhorn, +as that mighty monolith reveals itself for the first time to the +eve of the traveller?—an obelisk of dazzling whiteness cleaving +the blue sky, blanking out earth and heaven with its gigantic +form, the one mountain-peak which reigns supreme in a kingly +solitude, not lifting his proud head from a group of brother<span class="pagenum" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</span> +peaks, not buttressed by inferior hills, but solitary as the Prince +of Darkness, a being apart and alone. Mont Blanc overawes +by massive grandeur, but I should choose the Matterhorn for +the monarch of mountains.</p> + +<p>‘The sun was setting as we crossed the Visp for the last +time before entering Zermatt. Trevor and I had been in the +gayest spirits throughout our journey. We had rested two +hours at St. Nicolas, and had taken a leisurely luncheon at +Randa. We were full of talk about the day after to-morrow, +which date we had chosen for our attempt on the Matterhorn, +thinking it wise to give ourselves a day’s rest, or at least partial +rest, after our thirty miles’ walk, and to leave time for engaging +guides and making all necessary preparations in a leisurely +manner.</p> + +<p>‘Trevor was a stranger to the district, but he had done +much good work on Mont Blanc, and he had behaved so well +on the Finsteraarhorn that I had no doubt of his mettle. I had +familiarised myself with the Monte Rosa group three years +before, and I knew the Zermatt guides and their ways and +manners. We interviewed some of these gentry after our +dinner, and I picked two of the sturdiest and trustiest, made +my bargain with them, and told them to examine our ropes and +other gear carefully by daylight next morning.</p> + +<p>‘We had a pleasant evening, sauntering about the quiet +little town in the light of a glorious full moon, smoking our +cigars, talking of our future prospects, of the Church, and of +you. Yes, dear love, Trevor is just one of those faithful souls +with whom a man can talk about his sweetheart.</p> + +<p>‘Next morning we breakfasted at daybreak and started +luxuriously on a brace of mules for the Riffelberg, to reconnoitre +our mountain. How grand and beautiful was the circle +of snow-clad peaks which we beheld from that dark hillside: +Monte Rosa on the south-east, on the south-west the Matterhorn, +on the east, the Cima de Jassi, to the west the Dent +Blanche, to the north-eastward the Dom, and westward the +Weisshorn—gigantic crags and domes and solitary peaks, all +bathed in sunshine, and as dazzling in their glorified whiteness +as the sun himself! We spent some hours in quiet contemplation +of that sublime and awful scene gazing at that circle +of Titanic peaks, which had a sphinx-like and mysterious air as +they looked back at us in their dumb unapproachable majesty.</p> + +<p>‘“Is it not a kind of blasphemy to pollute them with our +footsteps, to be always trying to get nearer and nearer to them, +into Nature’s Holy of Holies?”’ I asked, carried away by the +grandeur of the scene.</p> + +<p>‘But Trevor’s manner of look at the question was practical +rather than imaginative.</p> + +<p>‘“I shouldn’t like to go back without having done the Matterhorn,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</span> +he said, “though the terrible accident a few years +ago makes one inclined to be cautious.”</p> + +<p>‘We had a rough-and-ready luncheon on the Rothe Kumm, +and took our time about the descent. It was nearly dark when +we got back to Zermatt. The <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">table-d’hôte</i> dinner was over, and +we dined together at a small table in a corner of the coffee-room, +a table near a window, that stood open to a verandah. +As we took our seats we noticed that there was a gentleman +sitting smoking a little way from the window. I sat facing +him, and as we began dinner he asked politely whether his +cigar annoyed us. This broke the ice, and he began to talk of +our intended ascent, which he had heard of from the guides.</p> + +<p>‘“I should very much like to join you,” he said. “We +could take another guide if you think it advisable. I am used +to Alpine climbing. I came here on purpose to ascend the +Matterhorn, and I shall do it in any case; but it would be +pleasant to have congenial company,” he added, with a light +laugh.</p> + +<p>‘“Pleasant for us as well as for you,” I replied, for there +was something particularly winning in his manner; “but you +must not consider me impertinent if I say that you hardly seem +in strong enough health for mountain climbing. You look as if +you had not long recovered from a severe illness.”</p> + +<p>‘“Do I?” he asked, in the same light tone; “I was always +a sallow individual. No, I have not been ill; and I am sinewy +and wiry enough for pretty hard work in the climbing way, +though I have no superfluous flesh. I don’t think you’ll find +me an encumbrance to you; but if you have any doubt upon +the subject you can ask your chief guide, Peter Hirsch, for my +character, He and I have done same pretty rapid ascents together +in past years.”</p> + +<p>‘He handed me his card. “Mr. Goring, Goring Abbey, +Warwickshire.”</p> + +<p>‘There was nothing of the braggart about him, and I had no +doubt as to his Alpine experience, but I could not dispossess +myself of the idea that he was in weak health, and out of condition +for a fatiguing ascent; for though the approach to +the Matterhorn has been made much easier than it was in ’65, +when it was ascended for the first time by Mr. Whymper and +three other gentlemen, with most lamentable results, it is still +a toughish piece of work.</p> + +<p>‘I heard a good deal of Mr. Goring later from our landlord; +he was well known in the district, and known as an experienced +mountaineer. He was a man of large wealth, very generous, +very good to the poor. He had been living in Switzerland for +the past year, shifting from town to town along the banks of +Lake Leman, but never leaving the shores of the lake, until a +few weeks ago, when he set out on a walking expedition to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</span> +Italy. He had stopped at Zermatt on his way southward; had +idled away his days in a listless purposeless way; now doing a +little climbing, now spending whole days lying about in the +woods, with his books and his sketching materials. He kept +himself as much aloof from the tourists as it was possible for +him to do, occupying his own rooms, and never dining at the +<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">table-d’hôte</i>; and the landlord was surprised that he should +wish to join our party. His story was at once romantic and +tragical. He had come to Montreux with the family of the +young lady to whom he was engaged. This young lady was +accidentally drowned in the lake last summer, and Mr. Goring +had never left the scene of her untimely death till he came to +Zermatt.</p> + +<p>‘I asked the landlord if there was any fear of his mind being +affected by this trouble, and he assured me that there was not +the slightest ground for such an idea. Mr. Goring kept himself +to himself; but he was as rational and as clever a man to talk to +as any gentleman the landlord had ever known.</p> + +<p>‘This settled the matter. To make assurance doubly sure I +engaged a third guide, and a young man to help in carrying +tents, ropes, etc., and we set out, a little party of seven, gaily +enough, in the early morning. We meant to take things quietly, +and to spend the first night in the tent, or in blanket-bags, if +the weather were as mild as it promised to be. We carried provisions +enough to last for three days, in case the ascent should +take even longer than we anticipated. We took sketching +materials, a tin box for any botanical or entomological specimens +we might collect, and two or three well-worn volumes of +poetry which had accompanied us in all our excursions, but had +not been largely read. The great and varied book of Nature +had generally proved all-sufficient.</p> + +<p>‘We left Zermatt soon after five, the Lac Noir between +eight and nine, and a little before noon we had chosen our spot +for a camping-place, eleven thousand feet high, and the men +set to work making a platform for the tent, while we took our +ease on the mountain, basking in the sunshine, sketching, collecting +a little, and talking a great deal. We found Mr. Goring +a delightful companion. He was a man of considerable culture; +had travelled much and read much. There was a dash of nineteenth-century +cynicism in his talk, and it was but too easy to +see that his view of this life and the world beyond it was of that +sombre hue which so deeply overshadows modern thought. Still +he was a most agreeable companion; and Trevor told me more +than once, in a confidential aside, that our new acquaintance +was a decided acquisition.</p> + +<p>‘In all our conversation, which was perfectly unreserved on +all sides, it was noticeable that Mr. Goring talked very little of +himself or of his own affairs. He spoke vaguely of an idea of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</span> +going on to Italy, and wintering at Naples, but rather as an +intention he had entertained and abandoned, than as one which +he meant to carry out.</p> + +<p>‘I ventured to say that I should have thought that, for a +man of his culture, Paris or Berlin would have been a pleasanter +wintering-place; but he shrugged his shoulders and declared +that he detested both these cities, and the society to be found +in them. “French charlatanism or German pedantry,” he said, +“God knows which is worse.”</p> + +<p>‘There was a magnificent sunset. Never shall I forget the +awful beauty of the sky and mountains as we watched the +decline of that ineffable glory—watched in silence, subdued to +gravity by the unspeakable grandeur of that mighty panorama, +in the midst of which our own littleness was brought painfully +home to our minds.</p> + +<p>‘The night was singularly mild, and we preferred sleeping +in our blanket-bags to the stuffy atmosphere of a tent.</p> + +<p>‘We were up before daybreak next morning, and breakfasted +merrily enough by the light of the stars, which were dropping +out of the purple sky, like lamps burned out, as the colder light +of day crept slowly along the edges of the eastward snow-peaks—such +a livid ghastly light. I remember wondering at Mr. +Goring’s good spirits, which seemed by no means to accord with +the landlord’s account of him. Had there been anything forced +or hysterical about his gaiety I should have taken alarm: but +nothing could be easier or more natural than his manner; and +I was pleased to think that, however deeply he might regret the +poor girl whom he had lost by so sad a fate, he had his hours of +forgetfulness and tranquillity.</p> + +<p>‘We made the ascent slowly but easily, our guides seeing no +risk from any quarter; and between one and two o’clock we +stood on the top of that peak which of all others had most +impressed me by its grand air of solitude and inaccessibility. +Throughout the ascent Mr. Goring had shown himself a skilful +and experienced mountaineer; and there was no thought +further from my mind than the apprehension of hazard to him +more than to anyone of us in the descent, or of recklessness on +his part.</p> + +<p>‘We stayed on the summit a little over an hour, and then +prepared ourselves for the descent. There were some difficult +bits to be passed in going down, and it was suggested by the +most experienced of the guides that we should be all roped together +with the stoutest of our Alpine-Club ropes. But this +Mr. Goring negatived. “Where there is only one rope, a false +step for one means death to all,” he said. “It was that which +caused the calamity in Mr. Whymper’s descent; if the rope had +not broken there would not have been a man left to tell the +story of that fatal day.” At his urgent request we formed ourselves<span class="pagenum" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</span> +into three parties, each of the guides being roped to one of +us. He chose the least experienced of the three men, and he, +with this youngest of the guides, went first.</p> + +<p>‘“You need not be afraid about me,” he said cheerily. “I +am as sure-footed as the best guide in Zermatt.”</p> + +<p>‘The two men who were with us assented heartily to this, and +my own observation went far to assure me that Mr. Goring’s +assertion was no idle boast.</p> + +<p>‘Those were the last words I ever heard him speak. We +were all intent upon the descent, the guides cutting footsteps +now and then in the ice. There was neither inclination nor +opportunity for much talk of any kind. Mr. Goring and his +companion moved more quickly than we did; and I began to +fear, as I saw the two dark figures ever so far below us amidst +the dazzling whiteness, that there was a dash of recklessness in +him after all.</p> + +<p>‘This made me feel uneasy, and I found my attention +wandering from my own position, which was not without peril, +to those two in advance of us. Suddenly, to my surprise, I saw +Goring change places with the guide, who until this moment +had been foremost. I saw also in the same instant that the rope +which had been hanging somewhat loosely between them a +minute or so before—always a source of danger—was now +tightly braced. It seemed to me that Goring stood still for a +moment or two, looking down the sheer precipice that yawned +on one side of him, as if admiring the awful grandeur of the +abyss, then I saw a sharp sudden movement of his right arm; +there was a cry from the guide, and in the next moment a dark +figure slid with a fearful velocity along the smooth whiteness of +the frozen snow, and then shot over the edge, and dropped from +precipice to precipice to the Matterhorn glacier below, a distance +of nearly four thousand feet. How the guide contrived to maintain +his footing in that awful moment I know not. He never +could have done it had the rope been slack before it broke—or +was severed. In those last words lies the saddest part of the +story. It is the guide’s opinion, and mine, that the rope was +deliberately cut by Mr. Goring. He could scarcely have done +this all at once by one movement of his knife; but the guide +believes that he had contrived to cut it three parts through, unobserved +by him, in the course of the descent. I asked how it +came about that he and the guide changed places, and the young +man told me that it was at Mr. Goring’s desire, a desire so calmly +and naturally expressed that it had occasioned neither wonder +nor alarm.</p> + +<p>‘His body has not been found, though the people of Zermatt +have been diligent in their search. He lies locked in his frozen +tomb in some crevasse of the glacier.</p> + +<p>‘A very beautiful marble cross has been erected to his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</span> +memory in the little churchyard at Zermatt. I am told that it +exactly resembles one that was placed last year in the churchyard +at Montreux, in memory of the young lady who was +drowned in the lake near that town.</p> + +<p>‘It may interest you to know that Mr. Goring’s will bequeaths +the whole of his enormous fortune to the elder sister of +this unfortunate lady, the testator being assured that she will +make a much more noble use of that fortune than he could ever +have done.</p> + +<p>‘Those are the words of the legacy.’</p> +<br> +<br> + +<p class="center no-indent fs80">THE END.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</span></p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="center no-indent fs80"> +LONDON:<br> +PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,<br> +STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.<br> +</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="center no-indent fs150 wsp">MISS BRADDON’S NEW NOVEL.</p> +</div> + +<hr class="r5"> + +<p class="center no-indent wsp fs200">MOUNT ROYAL</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 9%"> +<img src="images/005_deco.jpg" alt=""> +</div> + +<p class="center no-indent fs120 wsp">Opinions of the Press.</p> + +<hr class="r5"> + +<p>‘“Mount Royal” is a very readable book, and the interest is sustained +by the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">dénouement</i> being left in doubt to the very end of the penultimate +chapter.’—<cite>Times.</cite></p> + +<p>‘Miss Braddon’s numerous admirers can hardly fail to have been +struck by the remarkable advance shown by her most recent novels, not +only in point of style, but in the natural delineation of those phases of +modern society which no living writer of fiction treats more agreeably or +with more sustained power. The most striking instance of this may, +perhaps, be found in “Vixen;” and if the present work is not superior to +that charming tale—which would involve excellence of an unexceptionally +high order—it will, at least, not suffer from comparison with its predecessor. +The plot will be preferred by many, as dealing with the more +tragic side of life, and with more serious issues; but, granting that such +preference must be a matter of taste, all will admit the touch of a master-hand +in development of the action and the carefully artistic treatment +which renders each of the <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">dramatis personæ</i>, estimable or otherwise, a +living sentient being, with human idiosyncrasies and distinct personality.... +The scene, by the bye, in which this episode occurs is unquestionably +one of the finest and most dramatic that even Miss Braddon has +ever written, and is only to be surpassed in point of intensity by the two +still finer interviews between Leonard and his wife, and the remorseful +woman and her intended tool, the adventurer De Cazalet.... We may +say, without hesitation, that Miss Braddon has never employed her great +talents to better purpose than in “Mount Royal.” It is the worthy work +of a thorough artist.’—<cite>Morning Post.</cite></p> + +<p>‘Miss Braddon’s ever-active and ever-fascinating pen has just completed +a new work of fiction, entitled “Mount Royal.” If it does not +appeal as immediately and powerfully to the feelings as “Lady Audley’s +Secret,” or “Lucius Davoren,” or some of the gifted authoress’s more +recent novels, such as “Vixen,” it is replete with all the freshness and +charm which she has taught the public to expect from her, which makes +the book one that will attract by its power as well as charm by its style.’—<cite>Daily +Telegraph.</cite></p> + +<p>‘Miss Braddon has never, in our opinion, written a novel at once more +clever and more true than this.’—<cite>Morning Advertiser.</cite></p> + +<p>‘The interest is unmistakable, and the way in which this is sustained +from first to last proves that its author’s command of the art of storytelling +has in no wise diminished.’—<cite>Observer.</cite></p> + +<p>‘“Mount Royal” is entitled to rank high among our modern works of +fiction.’—<cite>Society.</cite></p> + +<p>‘Miss Braddon has maintained in “Mount Royal” the standard of her +later period.’—<cite>Athenæum.</cite></p> + +<p>‘The story is clearly developed and vigorously written.’—<cite>Pall Mall +Gazette.</cite></p> + +<p>‘“Mount Royal” will not only be found a pleasant sea-side companion +during the coming season, but a friend in need during many a solitary +hour in the country. It is not only one of the best ever written by the +author of “Lady Audley’s Secret,” but one of the most original likewise.’—<cite>Court +Journal.</cite></p> + +<p>‘To return for a last word to “Mount Royal,” the more we have of +Miss Braddon, and the less of Miss Rhoda Dendron and Weeder, the +better, in our opinion, for all novel-readers, old and young.’—<cite>Punch.</cite></p> + +<p>‘As a novelist, she is almost without a rival in the art of plot-weaving; +so delicate are her meshes, and so subtle her discrimination, that the +inherent interest of her books carries us along with her. She is the high +priest of a school which, since she inaugurated it, has had many more or +less feeble imitators.... Painfully and terribly true to life, and rightly +understood, “Mount Royal” is capable of making us appreciate truth and +purity more heartily than ever.’—<cite>Evening News.</cite></p> + +<p>‘The great body of novel-readers who have for so many years found +recreation and delight in the brilliant works of imagination which have +come from the pen of Miss Braddon, will need no inducement to turn to a +new story by this accomplished authoress.... As is always the case in +Miss Braddon’s stories, the characters are powerfully drawn. They are +not merely people of whom we read, but seem to enjoy an actual existence +during the time that their movements are being followed with such rapt +attention. The lives of these inhabitants of the old Cornish manor-house, +known as Mount Royal, are not free from the cares and excitement +which the world calls sensational, albeit the stronger element is made +subordinate to gentler and more subtle influences. Judged relatively to +other works, “Mount Royal” must be awarded a place midway between +the early impulsiveness of “Lady Audley” and the charming fancy displayed +in “Vixen,” the novel in which Miss Braddon’s maturer style +reached its highest excellence.... Readers will find in “Mount Royal,” +in its pathetic views of life and love, echoes of their own experience that +are sure to command absorbing interest. Miss Braddon’s romantic spirit +has been in no way quenched; but in this last novel its brighter rays +are tempered by experience and the saddening influence of earth’s sorrows +and troubles.’—<cite>Daily Chronicle.</cite></p> + +<p>‘An interesting and clever story. The excitement and expectation +are well sustained throughout; the incidents are original, and the characters +are neatly drawn. Miss Braddon has written some delightful +pictures of scenery in Cornwall.’—<cite>Sunday Times.</cite></p> + +<p>‘That Miss Braddon’s hand has not lost its cunning is evidenced by +the excellent work which she has given us in “Mount Royal.” The same +skill in construction, the same charm of description as marked her earlier +efforts, are all here in this present work, matured and mellowed, it may +be, by experience, but not one whit dulled or destroyed by lapse of time. +We welcome “Mount Royal.” Miss Braddon has given us a story which, +while it adds to her fame as an authoress, increases our indebtedness to +her: the healthy tone of “Mount Royal” is not one of its least charms.’—<cite>Pictorial +World.</cite></p> + +<p>‘For one “who has been long in city pent” the pictures of Cornish +scenery, drawn by the free bold hand of the authoress, are delightful; no +landscape-painter could produce a more vivid impression.... We anticipate +that this powerful tragic story will enhance the high reputation of +its authoress.’—<cite>Echo.</cite></p> + +<p>‘The situations are worked out with so much skill, and the probability +of details is so well managed, that the story can be followed with the +keenest interest.’—<cite>St. James’s Gazette.</cite></p> + +<p>‘There is much effective writing in the course of the novel, and we +must add that the minor characters are individualised with all the accustomed +power of the authoress.’—<cite>News of the World.</cite></p> + +<p>‘Miss Braddon never disappoints her readers. Whoever takes up +“Mount Royal” will be prepared for an interesting story, excellently +well told, and that they will get. Her scenes never fall flat, nor does +her weapon ever miss fire. The incidents of her stories are always marshalled +with very great skill, so as to produce the best effect which is to +be got from them. In fewer words, Miss Braddon is, as our readers +know without our telling them, a story-teller of consummate ability. To +be able to conceive a thrilling plot is one thing; to be able to work it out +in a story is another. Miss Braddon has from the beginning shown that +she possesses both these gifts. Her fertility in plot-making is nothing +short of marvellous; and when we find that her conceptions are always +worked out by the aid of characters of flesh and blood, who stand prominently +forth from the canvas, and look at you with living eyes, we are +lost in wonder at a fancy, a power, so inexhaustible. Scarcely ever is +there a trace of any strain, any fatigue. We might say that she appears +to be telling a story for the first time, did not the ease and skill displayed +in the process betray to the close observer a vast amount of practice added +to natural talents of a high order. Her descriptive power and her +dramatic instinct are never weakened. She never fails to bring before +the reader the objects of persons she is describing. Moreover, she can +describe indirectly as well as directly.’—<cite>Lloyd’s Weekly London Newspaper.</cite></p> + +<p>‘Many of the descriptions of the scenery of Cornwall are well worth +reading; while London fashionable circles are hit off in a vein of satire +occasionally, but with a considerable resemblance, we should imagine, to +what really takes place. The scene where Christabel meets Psyche in her +own dwelling is full of womanly tenderness, and suggests to the poor victim +the existence of a world of compassion of which she had never dreamed. +The marshalling and management also of the characters as a whole reveal, +it must be admitted, the possession of high artistic powers, as well as a +wide observation of men and things. Major Broe is drawn to the life. +Mrs. Tregonell senior, with her mother’s fondness for the roving Leonard, +is also as true to nature as can well be imagined.’—<cite>Liverpool Mercury.</cite></p> + +<p>‘Miss Braddon, if not the most industrious of modern novelists, is +certainly unrivalled in this respect among those whose works are in great +demand at the circulating libraries. Let the reader once become really +interested in the fortunes of the lovely, but unhappy, Mrs. Tregonell, and +he will not willingly put down the book until the end of the third volume.’—<cite>Manchester +Examiner and Times.</cite></p> + +<p>‘We have followed the plot out with considerable interest, and no +fault is to be found in the novel in the way of dulness.’—<cite>John Bull.</cite></p> + +<p>‘The scene in which her new novel is chiefly laid is to the full as enchanting +as it is painted by her skilful hand. That there is plenty to +interest and something to excite in any book from the pen of Miss Braddon +may be taken for granted. The ingenuity of the plot is worthy of +the author.’—<cite>London Figaro.</cite></p> + +<p>‘A most attractive and interesting novel. The genius of Miss Braddon +evolves a number of most ingenious plots, and the reader’s interest is +kept engaged through the development of them with absorbing power. +Miss Braddon deals with persons and places that are familiar to us, and her +descriptions of the scenery of the north coast, of Tintagel, Boscastle, and +all the neighboring shores, are photographed with great clearness in +beautiful language and with perfect knowledge. Miss Braddon’s works +are always interesting, and these volumes will add to her well-established +reputation. There are many phases of life described in them which we +know exist; but there are few who have the power of placing either the +people or their surroundings so completely before us. She hits off admirably +the follies and fashions of the hour as they prevail in fashionable +life. So great was the demand for Miss Braddon’s new novel, “Mount +Royal,” the other day, that the circulating libraries subscribed for the +whole of the first edition, and the publisher had to go to press immediately +with a new impression.’—<cite>Plymouth Western Daily Mercury.</cite></p> + +<p>‘In “Mount Royal” Miss Braddon appears to us not only to have +surpassed her own previous performances, numerous and successful as +they have been, but even to have distanced all her competitors in that +class of literature. We know of no recent novel which we would place +before “Mount Royal” in its power of exciting the emotions.’—<cite>Sheffield +Post.</cite></p> + +<p>‘“Mount Royal” is an addition to the Braddon library that will be +heartily welcomed by all who can appreciate a sound, healthy, and +thoroughly interesting novel.’—<cite>Belfast News Letter.</cite></p> + +<p>‘Taking the novel altogether, “Mount Royal” will compare favourably +with any that have preceded it from the same pen. In point of character +delineation and skilfulness of construction, its merits are very +considerable.’—<cite>Bradford Observer.</cite></p> + +<p>‘“Mount Royal” is well written, as all Miss Braddon’s books are. It is +bright, and catches with great accuracy the precise tone of the people +whose lives are being sketched. A good novel.’—<cite>Scotsman.</cite></p> + +<p>‘“Mount Royal” is powerful and artistic—a finished bit of workmanship.’—<cite>Edinburgh +Daily Review.</cite></p> + +<p>‘We may fairly say of it that it contains many sparkling passages and +many happy thoughts. It shows that the writer has an extensive acquaintance +with the best English authors, and it shows that she is an +adept in word-painting.’—<cite>Sheffield Daily Telegraph.</cite></p> + +<p>‘Miss Braddon’s last production is as engrossing, as dramatic, and as +fresh as if it were only her second or third. There is not a dull page in +the three volumes.’—<cite>Brighton Fashionable Visitors’ List.</cite></p> + +<p>‘“Mount Royal” is an exceptionally favorable specimen. The story +is told with singular neatness, and grace almost equally unusual in works +of this kind. The novel is, without doubt, a good and a bright one, +with plenty of incidents and plenty of character.’—<cite>Manchester Courier.</cite></p> + +<p>‘The story, as a whole, is extremely interesting. It is emphatically +a novel of the present day, and we predict for it an extensive demand.’—<cite>York +Herald.</cite></p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="chapter transnote"> +<h2 class="bold fs150"> +Transcriber’s Notes<br> +</h2> + +<table class="autotable lh"> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">pg 49 Changed:</td> +<td class="tdl">Miss Dibb made the acqaintance of a strange man</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">to:</td> +<td class="tdl">Miss Dibb made the acquaintance of a strange man</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">pg 92 Changed:</td> +<td class="tdl">there is a South Pole, too, isn’t here, dear</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">to:</td> +<td class="tdl">there is a South Pole, too, isn’t there, dear</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">pg 109 Changed:</td> +<td class="tdl">She folded the soft wollen wrap</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">to:</td> +<td class="tdl">She folded the soft woollen wrap</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">pg 110 Changed:</td> +<td class="tdl">she was still digging and and scraping</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">to:</td> +<td class="tdl">she was still digging and scraping</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">pg 112 Changed:</td> +<td class="tdl">the Maltese terrior Fluff in her lap</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">to:</td> +<td class="tdl">the Maltese terrier Fluff in her lap</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">pg 138 Changed:</td> +<td class="tdl">There was not even a shrubberry</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">to:</td> +<td class="tdl">There was not even a shrubbery</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">pg 188 Changed:</td> +<td class="tdl">see that this luxurions home-education</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">to:</td> +<td class="tdl">see that this luxurious home-education</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">pg 220 Changed:</td> +<td class="tdl">and faithful, pious, self-sacricing</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">to:</td> +<td class="tdl">and faithful, pious, self-sacrificing</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">pg 235 Changed:</td> +<td class="tdl">the perfact outline of the throat</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">to:</td> +<td class="tdl">the perfect outline of the throat</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">pg 235 Changed:</td> +<td class="tdl">hand that lay inhert upon Fluff</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">to:</td> +<td class="tdl">hand that lay inert upon Fluff</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">pg 243 Changed:</td> +<td class="tdl">deferred boyond luncheon time</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">to:</td> +<td class="tdl">deferred beyond luncheon time</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">pg 255 Changed:</td> +<td class="tdl">toboggining at the Falls of Montmorenci</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">to:</td> +<td class="tdl">tobogganing at the Falls of Montmorenci</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">pg 261 Changed:</td> +<td class="tdl">Daphne had never been beyond Fontainbleau</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">to:</td> +<td class="tdl">Daphne had never been beyond Fontainebleau</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">pg 270 Changed:</td> +<td class="tdl">surprised if Miss Dapne Lawford</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">to:</td> +<td class="tdl">surprised if Miss Daphne Lawford</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">pg 282 Changed:</td> +<td class="tdl">furniture, delf, and china</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">to:</td> +<td class="tdl">furniture, delft, and china</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">pg 302 Changed:</td> +<td class="tdl">It was not a grandoise or thrilling ceremonial</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">to:</td> +<td class="tdl">It was not a grandiose or thrilling ceremonial</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">pg 321 Changed:</td> +<td class="tdl">That is remakably clever</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">to:</td> +<td class="tdl">That is remarkably clever</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">pg 372 Changed:</td> +<td class="tdl">to whom she dicoursed freely upon</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">to:</td> +<td class="tdl">to whom she discoursed freely upon</td> +</tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75506 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/75506-h/images/005_deco.jpg b/75506-h/images/005_deco.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2b5f51c --- /dev/null +++ b/75506-h/images/005_deco.jpg diff --git a/75506-h/images/cover.jpg b/75506-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a26614f --- /dev/null +++ b/75506-h/images/cover.jpg |
