CHAPTER XI.
Ned Burton went to the post, as he had said. He had to pass theGatehouse on his way; and his business was not of so important adescription that he should make any haste about it, or tire himself withwalking. He loitered along, looking into the windows, sore at heart andwistful. There was no one, to be sure, at Mrs Drummond's end of theGatehouse. He tried to get a glimpse at the interior through the chinksof the little green Venetian blinds which veiled the lower panes; butthey were turned the wrong way, and he could not see anything. He hadmade up his mind he should be sure to see Norah, for no particularreason except that he wanted so much to see her. But no Norah wasvisible. At the other end of the house, however, Stephen Haldane'swindow was open as usual, and he himself sat within, looking almosteagerly for that interview with the outside world which his open windowpermitted. The summer was over, with all its delights, and soon thewindow would have to be closed, and Stephen's chair removed into winterquarters. What a deprivation this was to him no one knew;--but just atthe fall of the year, when the transparent lime-leaves had turned intoyellow silk instead of green, and littered the flags under the window,Stephen looked out more eagerly than he was wont for some one to talk tohim. It was his farewell, in a measure, to life. And Ned was but tooglad to stop and lean against the outer sill, keeping always an eye uponthe door, and Mrs Drummond's windows. He was not handsome. He had alarge nose--too large for the rest of his face--which his aunt, MrsEverest, sometimes comforted him by suggesting was a sign of characterand energy, but which Ned had been used to hear all his friends laughat. The young community at Dura had brought themselves up in all thefrankness of family relations, and were wont to laugh freely at Ned'snose, as they laughed at Katie's large teeth, and as, while they werechildren, they had laughed at Clara's red hair. On that last particularthey were undeceived now, and gloried in it, as fashion required; butKatie's teeth and Ned's nose were still amusing to everybody concerned.Poor boy! he had not any feature which was so good as to redeem thisimperfection. He had 'nice' eyes, a tolerable mouth, and was well-grownand strong; but nobody could say he was handsome. And then, though hewas a gentleman in thought and heart, he was a gentleman of twenty,whose real refinement had not yet had time to work out to the surface,and soften away the early asperities. This was why he looked boorish andloutish in the presence of Cyril Rivers, who had not only the easyconfidence which springs from good looks, but that inevitable surfacesuavity which can only be attained by intercourse with the world.
'You are not shooting to-day,' said Stephen, from within.
'No; we were all late this morning. I don't know why we should be suchmuffs,' said Ned. 'Merewether had to go off to town to get his leaveextended; and Rivers is too fine a gentleman, I suppose, to take muchtrouble. That's not fair, though. I did not mean it. He is a very goodshot.'
'Who is he?' said Stephen. 'I have been hearing a great deal about himthis morning.'
'Oh, have you?' Ned looked yellow as the lime leaves which came tumblingabout his head, and his nose was all that was visible under the hat,which somehow, in his agitation, he pulled over his brows. 'He is a manabout town, I suppose. He is member for somewhere or other--his father'sborough. He is an æsthetic sort of politician, diplomatist, whatever youlike to call it: a man who plays at setting all the world right.'
'But who does not please Ned Burton, I am afraid,' said Stephen, with asmile. 'I hear you all enjoyed yourselves very much last night.'
'Did we?' said Ned. 'The girls did. I suppose they don't think of muchelse. But as one grows older, one sees the absurdity of things. To thinkof a man, a rational being, putting his brains in his pocket, and givinghimself up to the cultivation of his legs! Oh, yes; we all did ourfetish worship, and adored the great god Society, and longed to offer upa few human sacrifices; though there are enough, I suppose, without anyexertion of ours,' said Ned, leaning both his arms on the window. Heheaved such a sigh, that the leaves fluttered and whirled before themighty breath. And Stephen Haldane suppressed a laugh, though he was notvery gay. It was hardly possible to help being amused by this juveniledespair. And yet, poor Stephen going back into those old memories,which looked a thousand years off, could not but recollect, with a smileand a sigh, similar hours and moments, in which he too had sounded thevery depths of tragedy and endured all the tortures of despair.
'My poor boy,' he said, with a tone which was half comic, half pathetic,'I feel for you. Did you ever hear of _ces beaux jours quand j'étais simalheureux_?
Ned looked up in a blaze of sudden resentment.
'I did not think I had said anything funny--though it is always pleasantto have amused you, Mr Haldane,' he said, with desperate politeness. 'Iam going to the post-office. I rather think I shall have to be postman,and carry out the bags to-day. Good morning. I ought not to have stoodso long keeping you from your book.'
But Stephen's laugh was very low and tender when the young fellow wenton, walking at the rate of six miles an hour. Poor Ned! There was not somuch to laugh at, for he had serious difficulties in hisway--difficulties of which he tried to remind himself as he turned upthe village street, by way of making himself a little more unhappy. Butthe attempt did not succeed. The fact was that his real troubles countedfor nothing in the mixture of misery and anger which filled hisyouthful bosom. The shadow which filled the air with blackness, and madelife intolerable, was--Norah. She had slighted him, wounded him,preferred some one else. In presence of this terrible sorrow, all thedoubts about his future career, the serious question about the business,the discussions of which he had been the subject, faded intoinsignificance. It seemed to Ned even that he would gladly consent to gointo the business at half an hour's notice if only that half hour wouldprocure him the chance of making himself more miserable still by aninterview with Norah. What a fool he was, poor boy! how wretched he was!and what poor creatures those people are who are never wretched andnever fools!
Ned Burton lounged about into half the shops in the village in hisunhappiness. He bought an ugly little mongrel from a lying porter at thestation, who swore to its purity of blood. Ned, in an ordinary way, knewa great deal more about this subject than the porter did, but it gainedhim a little time, and Norah might, for anything he knew, become visiblein the mean time. He went into Wigginton's and bought a rose-colouredribbon for his straw hat. It was quite unsuitable; but Norah worerose-coloured ribbons, and it was a forlorn profession of allegiance,though nobody would ever know it. He went to the confectioner's, andbought a bag of cakes, with which he fed half a dozen gaping childrenoutside. In short, he visited as many tradespeople as Mother Hubbarddid. But it was all in vain. No Norah passed by; no one like her wentinto any of the shops. When he passed the Gatehouse once more, thewindows were all vacant still. Then Ned took a desperate resolution, andwent and paid a visit at the Rectory. He sat with Mrs Dalton in thedrawing room, and then he strolled round the garden with the girls. Whenthings had come to this pass, Providence befriended him, and sent aspecial messenger, in the shape of Mr Nicholas, to take up Mary'sattention. As soon as he was alone with her sister, Ned seized theopportunity.
'Katie,' he said, breathless, 'you might do me such a favour.'
'Might I?' said friendly Katie; 'then of course I will, Ned.'
'You are always the nicest and the kindest! Katie, I have something tosay to Norah Drummond; something I--have to tell her--by herself. Ican't go to the house, for it is something--a kind of a secret.'
'I'll run and fetch her. I know what you have got to say to her,' saidKatie, laughing. 'Oh, how funny you are! Why didn't you say it rightout, you silly boy.'
'It is not what you mean at all,' said Ned, with great gravity.
But Katie laughed, and ran across the road.
And this was how the interview came about. Norah came over to theRectory in all innocence, fearing nothing. She said, 'Oh, Ned is heretoo!' as if nothing had happened. Indeed, she was not aware thatanything had happened--only that a game at croquet would be the best wayof spending the listl
ess afternoon after the dissipation of the previousnight. They sat down on a bench behind that clump of laurel which hid aportion of the lawn from the windows of the Rectory. Mary and MrNicholas were walking up and down, round and round. The red geraniumswere still bright in the borders, with all manner of asters, andsalvias, like scarlet velvet. The autumn leaves were dropping singly,now one, now another, without any sound; the air was very still andsoft, the sun shining through a pleasant haze. A sheaf of great,splendid, but dusty gladiolus, stood up against the dark green laurel.They were like Clara in her full and brilliant beauty--not like littleNorah in her gray frock, sitting quite still and happy, thinking ofnothing, on the warm bench in the sunshine, with her hands folded in herlap, waiting for Katie to come back with the croquet mallets, andaltogether unconscious of the dark looks Ned was casting upon her fromunder his hard brows.
'I suppose Katie will come when she is ready,' he said, in reply to somequestion. 'She is not always at your word and beck, like me.'
'Are you at my word and beck?' she said, looking round upon him withsome surprise. 'How funny you look, Ned! Is anything the matter? Areyou--going away?'
'I often think I had best go away,' said Ned, in Byronic melancholy.'That would be better than staying here and having every desire of myheart trampled on. It seems hard to leave you; and I am such a fool--Ialways stay on, thinking anything is better than banishment. But afterbeing crushed to the earth, and having all my wishes disregarded, andall my feelings trampled on----'
'Oh, Ned! what can you mean? Who has done it? Is it that dreadfulbusiness again?'
'Business!' said Ned, with what he would have described as the hollowlaugh of despair. 'That seemed bad enough when I had nothing worse tobear. But now I would embrace business; I would clasp it in my arms.Business! No! That affected only my inclinations; but this goes to myheart.'
'Ned,' said Norah, growing pale, 'you must be over-tired. That is it.You shoot all day--and then the ball last night. Poor boy! you aretaking fancies in your head. You don't know what you are saying. Youhave been over-tired.'
Upon which Ned shook his head, and laughed again, this time 'wildly.' Hewas very miserable, poor fellow, and yet it cannot be said that he wasquite indifferent to the effect he produced. It gave him a certainsatisfaction in the midst of his despair.
'If you were to ask yourself, Norah, what is the matter, instead ofsuggesting so far less than the reality--so much less----' he began.
Then Norah took courage.
'Is that all!' she said. 'Oh, what a fright you gave me! Is it onlysomething I have done without knowing it? You ridiculous, silly boy! Whycan't you tell me plainly what it is, without all this nonsense? Youknow it is nonsense,' Norah continued, warming as she went on. 'What canI have done? Besides, however disagreeable I might have been, whatright have you to mind? Nobody else minds. I am not a slave, never to beallowed to make myself unpleasant. There! I will be disagreeable if Ilike! I am not to be always bound to do what is pleasant to you.'
'If you take me up in this spirit, Norah----'
'Yes, I mean to take you up in this spirit. You have no right to feeleverything like a ridiculous sensitive plant. Why should you? If I werea sensitive plant I might have some cause. I am little, I am friendless,I am very poor; I have nothing in the world but mamma. But for you toset up to have feelings, Ned! you, a boy! that can go where you like,and do what you like, and have heaps of money, and everybody bowing downbefore you! It is because you have nothing really to vex you, that youare obliged to invent things. Oh, you wicked, ungrateful boy, to pretendthat you are unhappy! Look at Mr Stephen, and look at mamma!'
'But, Norah,' said Ned hurriedly; 'Norah dear! listen to me only onemoment.'
'You ought to be ashamed of yourself,' she said. 'I won't listen to you.I have plenty of things to bother me, and you have nothing. You neverhad to think whether you could spend this or that--whether you couldhave a new coat, or go a journey, or anything; and you go and maketroubles because you have not got any.' Here she made a pause, turningher head away, so that poor Ned was more miserable than ever. And thenall at once she turned and looked up kindly at him. 'What was it I did,Ned?'
This sudden revolution overwhelmed him altogether. He felt the waterleap to his eyes. He was so young. And then he laughed unsteadily.
'What a girl you are, Norah!' he said.
'Was I cross last night? What did I do? I didn't mean it, I am sure. Icame over quite innocently, never thinking Katie was bringing me to bescolded. It was not friendly of Katie. She ought to have told me. But,Ned, what was it? Tell me what I did.'
'Norah, things must not go on like this. I cannot do it. It may be asmuch as my life is worth,' said the youth. 'Look at those two overthere; they may quarrel sometimes----'
'They quarrel every day of their lives,' said Norah, breathless, in aparenthesis.
'But they know that they belong to each other,' said Ned; 'they knowthat right or wrong nobody will part them. But, Norah, think howdifferent I am. You may not mind, but it kills me. Once you said youloved me--a little.'
'I love--everybody; we, all of us, love each other,' said Norah, in asubdued voice.
'But that is not what I want. I love you very differently from that,Norah; you know I do. I want you to belong to me as Mary belongs toNicholas. Next year I will be of age, and something must be settled forme, Norah. How do you think I can face all this talking and all thisadvising if I don't know what you are going to do? Give me your hand,Norah; give it me into mine; it is not the first time. Now, am I to keepit always? Tell me yes or no.'
'Oh! you hurt me--a little, Ned!'
'I cannot help it,' he said; 'not so much, not half so much, as you hurtme. Oh, Norah, put yourself in my place! Think, only think, how I canbear to see you talking to other people, smiling at them, looking up asyou look at me. Is it possible, Norah? And perhaps I may have to go awayto fight with the world, and make my own career. And would you send meaway all in the dark without knowing? Oh, Norah, it would be cruel; itwould not be like you.'
'Please, please, Ned! Mary and Mr Nicholas are coming. Let go my hand.'
'Not until you give me some sort of answer,' said Ned. 'I have loved yousince ever I remember--since I was a boy, frightened to speak to you.You have always laughed and gibed; but I never minded. I love you morethan all the world, Norah! I can't help thinking it would be so easy foryou to love me, if you only would try. You have known me since we werechildren. You have always had me to order about, to do whatever youliked with.'
'Wait till they have passed,' said Norah in a whisper, drawing her handout of his.
And then the elder pair, who were engaged, and had a right to walk abouttogether, and hold long private conferences, and quarrel and makefriends, passed slowly, suspending their talk also out of regard for theothers.
'Are you waiting for Katie?' Mary said. 'She is so tiresome; alwaysfinding something unexpected to do.'
'Oh, I am talking to Ned. We are in no hurry,' Norah replied.
And then those full-grown lovers, the pair who had developed intoactuality, whom Ned envied, and who had been having a very sharp littlequarrel, passed on.
Ned was very much in earnest, poor fellow. His face was quite worn andfull of lines. There was a strain and tremulous tension about him whichshowed how high his excitement was.
'It isn't as if this was new to you, Norah,' he cried piteously. 'Youhave known it ever so long. And I cannot help thinking you might love meso easily, if you would, Norah, you are so used to me--if you onlywould!'
Norah was very sympathetic, and his emotion moved her much. She castdown her eyes; she could not bear to look at him, and she nearly cried.
'Oh, Ned,' she said, 'I do love you. I am very fond of you; but how canI tell if it is in that way? How can you tell? We are just like brotherand sister. We have never known anybody else all our lives.'
'I have,' said Ned, 'I have known hundreds. And there is no girl in allthe world but one, and that is you. Oh, Norah, that is
you!'
'But I have never seen any one,' said Norah again. She spoke so verysoftly that he could scarcely hear. 'I have never seen any one,' sherepeated, heaving a gentle sigh--a sigh which was half regret for Nedand half for herself. 'Dear Ned, I do love you. But how could I telluntil I saw----?'
'Ah!' he cried, and let her hand drop in his youthful impatience andmortification. 'If that is all your answer, Norah, the best thing for meis to rush away. Why should I stay here any longer? There will benothing to live for, nothing to hope for!'
'Oh, don't talk nonsense, Ned!'
'It is not nonsense,' said Ned, rising up. 'Norah, if you hear I am goneyou will know why it is. If you hear of anything happening to me, I hopeyou will be sorry. Oh, Norah, Norah!' he cried, the tears forcingthemselves to his eyes, 'is it all to end like this?'
He was so young. His despair was real, though it might be too tragicalin its outward form. He was capable of going away, as he said, andmaking himself hugely uncomfortable, and for a time intensely unhappy;and yet perhaps being all the better for it in the end. But Norah, whowas not much wiser than himself, was driven to her wit's end by thisadjuration, and did not know what to say.
'Ned, don't be so sorry,' she said, taking his hand in her turn. 'Oh,dear Ned, I do love you; but your people would be very angry, and we areso young. We must not think of such things yet. Oh, I am sure I did notmean to make you unhappy. Don't cry. I could not bear to see youcrying, Ned!'
'I am not crying,' he said roughly. He had to be rough, he had been sonear it. And just at this moment Katie came smiling up with the malletsover her shoulders. He could not come down from that elevation offeeling into this. 'I am afraid I must go now,' he said, almost turninghis back upon them. 'I am going to the--to the station now. Merewetheris coming by this train.'
'Oh, Ned, how unkind of you, when everything is ready for a game!' criedKatie. But Norah said nothing as he strode away, giving a nod at themover his shoulder. He had not been boorish while he was pleading his owncause; but he had not the heart to be civil when it was over. Cæsars oftwenty do not pull their cloaks gracefully about them when they aregoing to die.
Then Norah suddenly turned upon her companion, and metaphorically gaggedand bound her.
'How tiresome it was of you to be so long!' she cried. 'Here we havebeen waiting and waiting, till Ned's time was up; and so is mine. I mustgo back to mamma.'
'Why, I have not been gone ten minutes!' cried indignant Katie.
But Norah, too, waved her hand, and moved majestically away. She couldscarcely keep from crying. Her heart was full, something was quiveringin her throat. It was not so much her own emotion as the reflection ofhis. Poor Ned! how hard it was that he should be so miserable! Shewanted to get safely to her own room, that she might think it over! Shewalked across the road as if she had been in a dream. She did not hearMr Stephen call to her in her abstraction. She went in enveloped, as itwere, in a cloud of sad and curious fancies, wondering--Was it all over?Would he never say any more about it? Would he go away, and never beheard of more? Would it--and the very thought of this thrilled throughNorah's veins, and chilled her heart--would it do him harm? Would hedie?