CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
A FEW BACKWARD STEPS.
A year slipped rapidly by after the return of Julia Vivian to her home.Her unhappy husband had not shown himself anywhere in the neighbourhood,nor had he sent her a single letter. She herself gradually recoveredher once lively spirits, and scattered much brightness round her. MissHuntingdon would have retired, and left her to take the management ofher father's household, but she implored her not to do so; and as MrHuntingdon himself evidently preferred that his sister should keep herusual position in the family, at any rate for the present, sheconsented, hoping that the united influence of Amos and herself might bethe means, under God, of bringing Julia and Walter to take a decidedstand on the Lord's side.
So far, Walter was manifestly anxious to do what was right and tosupport his elder brother in his endeavours to bring a holy peace intothe household. But his good intentions were often thwarted by hisnatural self-esteem. As for Julia, she was by no means prepared to seethings in the same light that Amos did. Naturally high-spirited andself-willed, her troubles had rather bent her down for a while than inany degree permanently improved her character,--for there never was atruer remark than that of an old writer when he says, "Circumstances donot _make_ us what we are, they rather _show_ what we are." And nowthat one of her heaviest burdens was gone, she was very reluctant tocurb her temper or give up her own will when to Amos it was her plainduty to do so. Self was none the less her idol because much of thegilding with which it had been adorned in happier days had been rudelyrasped from it. She wished to please Amos, but she wished to pleaseherself more. And whenever Amos's views and those of Walter did notquite coincide, she always took side with the younger brother. Amos sawthis, of course, but he was willing to bide his time. One part of hisgreat object had been accomplished,--his sister had been restored to herold home and to her father's heart.
Mr Huntingdon, of course, never alluded to the past, and took greatdelight in his grandchildren, who were left pretty much to the care andtraining of an excellent servant whom Amos had chosen for them by hisfather's desire, and also to the loving and wise instructions of MissHuntingdon; for their mother professed that she had not yet recoveredhealth and energy sufficient to enable her to look after them herself.Amos saw this with regret, and wished that his sister could take a rightview of her duty in the matter. At the same time he felt sure that theday had not yet come for making any attempt to bring his mother homeagain. He must defer this his cherished hope and purpose till hissister should have come to a different and better mind. For as sherecovered herself, which she soon did, from the effects of her late lifeof trial and privation, Julia Vivian gave herself up almost entirely toreading amusing books, fishing, riding, and making one in any littleparty of pleasure which could be got up for her. She saw her childrenjust for a few minutes night and morning, but evidently felt it rather adistasteful toil than a pleasure if anything obliged her now and then togive them a little extra attention. Indeed, she seemed to have got theidea firmly fixed in her mind that she was now to get all the enjoymentshe could to make up for past years of trouble, and that the mainbusiness of her two brothers was to provide for her comfort andentertainment. And very charming she could make herself when her owntastes and whims were gratified, but anything like thwarting oropposition produced in her at once gloom and irritation. For herfather's sake and the credit of the family she abstained from showingherself at large parties and entertainments where many of the guestswould know a good deal about her past history; but whenever she couldjoin in a bit of excitement without bringing herself into notice, shewas wild to avail herself of the opportunity, and would not let childrenor home be any hindrance if she could possibly help it.
Summer had arrived, when one morning the post brought Mr Huntingdon ahuge bill printed in letters of various shapes, colours, and sizes, fromwhich it appeared that "the wonderful acrobat, Signor Giovani Telitetti,of world-wide celebrity, would exhibit some marvellous feats, toconclude with a dance on the high rope." The entertainment was to begiven in a park situate in the next county, about ten miles distant fromFlixworth Manor.
"There," said the squire, tossing the bill from him, so that it floatedon to the loaf and settled there, "I suppose we shall none of us thinkit worth while to ride or drive ten miles to see this wonderfulperformer."
"Oh, I should so like to go!" cried Julia, when she had glanced throughthe bill.
"You, my child!" exclaimed her father in astonishment.
"Oh yes, father. Why not?"
"I should have thought," said her aunt, "that you--"
But here her niece interrupted her. "O auntie, there can be no possibleharm. No one will notice us; there will be thousands of people, and weshall be lost in the crowd. People are never so thoroughly alone aswhen they are in the middle of a great crowd."
"And who is to go with you?" asked Mr Huntingdon.
"Oh, of course I don't expect dear sober old Amos to go, he is quiteabove such things; but Walter might take me,--wouldn't you, dearWalter?--Now, may I go, dear father, if Walter takes me? It will besuch fun cantering there and back this delightful summer weather." Shelooked at Walter beseechingly, and her father hem'd and ha'd, not quiteknowing what to say. "It's settled," she cried, clapping her hands."Now, Walter, you can't say no."
"When is it to come off?" asked the squire.
"Next Wednesday," she replied. "Please don't trouble about it," sheadded; "it will be all right. I will be as grave as a duenna; and whenI come back Amos shall read me an essay on prudence, and I will listento every word and be so good."
No further opposition was attempted, and Walter considered himself boundto escort his sister.
On the following Wednesday, after luncheon, Walter and Julia set off forthe place of amusement in high spirits. Julia was looking speciallybright and attractive; and Walter, though he did not feel fullysatisfied in going, yet threw himself now into the excitement with allhis might, partly for his sister's sake, and partly to drown any murmursof conscience which he was not prepared to listen to. So with a merryringing laugh they set off, and arrived at the park on the best termswith themselves and with each other. Large numbers of people hadalready assembled, and the place was glowing with banners and glitteringdevices, and resounding with the vigorous music of a brass band. SignorTelitetti was to be the special attraction, but there were many otherobjects of interest and excitement forming part of the entertainment.Among these were a small theatre, and a tent in which were variousenticing-looking articles to be raffled for. The noble park, with itsgroups of trees of different species, its sloping sward, and a lake inthe centre well stocked with water-fowl of various kinds, gave ampleroom and amusement to the motley multitude which had gathered for theshow.
Walter and his sister, having left their horses at a neighbouringstable, paid their money at the gate, strolled into the park, and madetheir way amongst the crowds bent like themselves on getting as large adraught of excitement as the occasion would afford. As they came nearthe tent, they encountered Gregson and Saunders arm in arm. The youngmen took off their hats with an exaggerated show of politeness, andSaunders said half out loud as they passed on, "Not going in just atpresent for the raffle, I suppose." Walter coloured, but did not reply;but he began to feel a hearty dislike to the whole thing, and would havegladly beat a hasty retreat had he been alone. But now a more thanordinarily vehement flourish of music warned the spectators that SignorTelitetti was about to commence his athletic wonders. All crowded up tothe place of exhibition, which was a broad open space in the very midstof the park, where a wooden structure had been erected, representingsome grand palace or temple in Eastern style, and being gorgeously andprofusely painted and gilded. In front of this were various smallerwooden erections, set up for the purpose of exhibiting the powers of theacrobat; while from the highest part of the sham palace a stout rope wasled along at a considerable height from the ground to a neighbouringtree, from that tree to a second, and then down
to the ground by a rapidincline.
All eyes were on the signor as he took his stand in front of the woodenbuilding. Walter and his sister had pressed nearly to the edge of thecrowd, and gazed with the deepest interest on the performer, who washabited in the tight-fitting garment usually worn by persons of hiscalling, his head, however, being enveloped in a strangely made, many-coloured cap, which very much concealed his features; indeed it lookedas if he were wearing a sort of mask, and that his eyes alone wereunhidden. Had Walter or his sister seen him anywhere before? Walterwas not sure, and yet he had an impression that there was somethingabout the man familiar to him, but perhaps it was only the generalsimilarity to others dressed for exhibitions of the like kind. He wassurprised, however, and startled to find his sister, as she leaned herfull weight on his arm, trembling violently. It might have been merelyexcitement; but the announcement that the signor's feats were about tocommence prevented his asking his sister the cause of her agitation.And now all sorts of strange contortions, unnatural postures, andperverse displays of muscular eccentricity were gone through by theexhibitor, much to the satisfaction of the applauding crowd. As toWalter, somehow or other the whole thing seemed full of emptiness. Whywas it so? Surely because, to use the forcible language of Chalmers,"the expulsive power of a superior affection" had begun to make suchexhibitions distasteful to him. However, he had not much time forreflection. The acrobat was now coming to his performances on the rope.Hitherto his exertions and feats had been attended simply withdifficulty; now they were to be attended with danger, and were thereforelooked upon by the multitude with thrilling and breathless interest.Springing upon the rope, pole in hand, he made his way rapidly up thesloping cord, then from one tree to another, and then high in mid-air tothe summit of the wooden palace or temple. Vehement bursts of applauserewarded him for this feat accomplished. And now he came down from hisheight on his return journey, which he accomplished with perfect ease.Again he was in the act of ascending, when, looking round for a momenton the crowd below him, his eye fell on Walter and his sister. Then achange appeared to come over him,--he seemed to have lost his steadinessand self-possession. Nevertheless he continued his upward course. Butwhen he had gained the part of the rope which sloped upwards to thetemple, and was about to exhibit some daring feat of agility, twice didhe make the effort unsuccessfully, and then, in a third violent attempt,missed his foothold, and fell to the ground amongst the terror-strickenspectators.
Frightful then were the excitement and the cries of the horrifiedmultitude. Some rushed to raise the poor fallen man, while the policestruggled to keep back the surging crowd. Drawn on by a strange andterrible fascination, Walter and his sister pressed forward to where theunhappy acrobat lay bleeding and insensible. His features were now moreplainly visible,--there could be no mistake about him. Signor Telitettiwas none other than Orlando Vivian.
"We must take him to the hospital, poor fellow, as quickly as possible,"said one of the policemen. A stretcher was accordingly brought, and thepoor shattered player was carried speedily forth from the scene of histransitory triumphs.
"And what shall _we_ do?" asked Walter in a disturbed whisper to hissister.
"Oh, take me home! take me home!" she cried; "I can't bear it."
"But ought we not to go and look after him?" asked her brother.
"Take me home! take me home!" was all her cry, and the horses were soonbrought and mounted; while the vast crowd melted gradually away,subdued, and exchanging half-whispered words of surprise and dismay.
Sadly and slowly did the brother and sister make their way home toFlixworth Manor, neither venturing a word for some miles. At lastJulia, drawing as close to her brother as possible, said in a voice ofagitated entreaty, "Walter, dear Walter, you _must_ promise me onething."
"What is that?" he asked gloomily.
She noticed his manner, and cried, "O Walter, you must; indeed youmust."
"Must what?" he asked.
"Oh, you must promise me not to breathe to any one at home--not to myfather, not to my aunt, not to any one at all, and least of all toAmos--who it was that--that met with this sad accident to-day. Will youpromise me?" Walter was silent for a minute or more. "Oh!" sheexclaimed passionately, "you will, you must; I shall be miserable if youdo not."
"But," said her brother, "will this be right? ought you not to go toyour poor wretched husband? Perhaps he is dying. I am sure Amos wouldsay that you ought."
"Never mind what Amos would say," she exclaimed angrily; "I have notgiven up my conscience into his keeping. It's of no use; I havesuffered enough for _him_ (you know who I mean) and from him already.He can't be better cared for than he will be at the hospital. If I wereto go to him he would only swear at me."
"But it will be sure to come out and be generally known who he is,sooner or later," her brother replied; "and what good can be done byconcealing it now?"
"Only the good of doing your poor sister a kindness," she said bitterlyand pettishly. "But I don't see why it need come out; and it will betime for it to be known at home when it does come out."
"Well," said Walter reluctantly, "I promise--"
"There's a dear, good brother," she said; "you have taken a load off mymind. And as for him, we can get to hear from the hospital people howhe is going on, and I can but go to him if they give a very bad report."
Her brother made no further reply, and the rest of the journey wascompleted almost in silence.
Every one at the Manor was of course deeply interested in the storywhich Walter had to tell, and shocked at the dreadful termination of theexhibition in the park. That Julia looked scared and ill was naturallyno matter of wonder to anybody; to have witnessed such an accident wasenough to upset the strongest nerves. In a day or two, however, she hadpretty nearly recovered her former spirits, for the newspaper account ofthe terrible catastrophe finished by stating that Signor Telitetti wasgoing on well; an arm and two or three ribs had been broken, and thebody generally much bruised and shaken, but the hospital surgeons didnot anticipate fatal results,--it was expected that in a few weeks thesignor would be able to go about again. But though this news had comeas a relief to Julia Vivian, and raised her spirits, there was by nomeans unclouded sunshine in her face or words. Conscience _would_speak, and it spoke in low but distinct utterances of condemnation. Shecould see, too, that Walter was not altogether feeling towards her as hehad done before the accident. She had sunk in his esteem; he clearlydid not take the same pleasure in consulting her wishes and getting upschemes for her amusement as formerly. To her aunt and Amos she rarelyspoke, except when compelled to do so; and her father would often lookat her anxiously, fearing that her health was giving way.
Amos wondered a little, and asked his brother if he could account forthe change in their sister; for though at times she was hurried along bya perfect gale of boisterous spirits, at others she was swallowed up bythe profoundest gloom. Walter's answer was evasive, and left animpression on his brother's mind that there was something amiss whichhad been kept back from him. He made several loving attempts to drawhis sister out of herself, and to lead her to confide her sorrows ordifficulties to him, but all in vain: and when he attempted gently toguide her thoughts to Him who alone could give her true peace, she wouldturn from him with a vexed expression of countenance and an air ofalmost disdain. Poor Amos! how grievously was he disappointed to findthe sister for whom he had done and suffered so much getting, now thatshe was restored to her old home, more and more out of sympathy with himin what was highest and best, and giving herself up to reckless andunmitigated selfishness. But he did not, he would not despair. Muchhad been accomplished already, and, though things were looking black,and heavy clouds were gathering, he would still wait and work in faithand patience, remembering that when the night is darkest the dawn isnearest.