CHAPTER XIII.
There was, however, another point to be considered before Wednesday, andthat was the question of dress, which convulses a poor household whenunusual festivities are in progress. Mrs Drummond's black silk was, asMrs Dalton said, 'always nice.' It had lasted from Helen's prosperousdays till now; it had changed its form half-a-dozen times, and now,thanks to the beneficent fashion which prevailed, short walking dresseshad 'come out quite fresh,' as Norah declared in triumph. But Norah didnot possess that _toilette fraîche_ which is indispensable for a younglady at a picnic. Her gray frock was very pretty at home; but amid allthe shining garments of the great young ladies, their perfect ribbons,and hats, and boots, and gloves, all those wonderful accessories whichpoor people cannot hope for, how could she look anything but a poorlittle Cinderella? 'My dress would do, mamma--it is not the dress,'Norah said, looking at herself in dismay in the old-fashioned long glassin its ebony frame, as they discussed this matter; 'and all that I haveis well enough; good enough, you know, very nice for common wear. Shortdresses are a blessing, but then they show one's boots; and the cuffs,and the collars, and the ribbons! Perhaps we ought not to have said wewould go.'
'That is what I feared,' said Helen. 'It is hard you should not have alittle amusement when it comes in your way; and then there are otherthings to think of; but to live among people who are richer, much richerthan one is one's self----'
'What are the other things that have to be thought of?' said Norah, withthat sudden fantastic jealousy of ulterior motives which affects theyoung.
'My dear Norah, I am not mercenary. I would not sacrifice your happinessfor any worldly motive. I would not even suggest----But, my darling, youmust see people--you must have it in your power at least to meet thosewhom--you must go into the world.'
Norah gazed at her mother with dilated eyes. They had come down intothe drawing-room after their inspection of the poor boots and glovesthat suggested Cinderella. And the child was standing against the light,against the old brown-gray curtains, which threatened to crumble intodust any day, and yet held out miraculously. The round mirror made alittle picture of her standing there alone, like an old miniature in dimenamel. But Norah was not dim in herself at that moment--her brown eyeswere dilated and shining--her cheeks mantled with the overwhelming blushof mingled indignation and shame. 'To meet--people!--oh! mamma, mamma,how can you!--is it all true, then, what people say?'
'Yes,' said Helen, gravely, 'or at least it is half true. I am ashamed,and yet I should not be ashamed. I want you to meet those who canappreciate you, who may love you, Norah, and make your life happy. Whyshould you look at me so indignantly? it is my duty. But I do not wishto speak of it to you.'
'Then I am going--to be inspected--to be offered in the market--tobe--oh! mamma, I would rather die!'
'You are going for nothing of the kind. I shall have to put away mycompanion and friend who was such a comfort to me; and send you backinto the place of a silly, impatient child.'
'So I am,' said Norah, throwing herself at her mother's feet, and hidingher tears and burning cheeks in Helen's gown. 'So I am. Oh, mamma, can'tI work or do something? is there nothing, nothing in the world for agirl, but _that_?'
'Hush, my darling, hush!' said Helen, and it was upon this group thatsome one came in suddenly, whose indignation was prompt at the sight,and unhesitating. It was Dr Maurice, who had come down from London, ashe did periodically to see the child, whom he considered as his ward;and who instinctively, seeing tears, made up his mind that Norah hadbeen suffering cruelty, and that the mother was in fault.
'What is the matter?' he said. 'Norah crying! I have not seen her crybefore since she was a baby--there must be a good cause.'
'She is growing a woman,' said her mother, 'and learning something aboutlife, poor child; but fortunately this time the cause is not verygrave.'
Norah sprang to her feet and dried her tears. She had divined long erenow that her old friend loved her a great deal better than he loved hermother. And Norah was ready to take up arms for her mother, _àoutrance_, night or day.
'No, it was not very much,' she said, all glowing with tears, andblushes, and excitement; 'it was something you will laugh at--you willthink it so like a silly woman. You know you hate us all, Dr Maurice,and that is what you will say.'
'Yes, I hate you all,' said the doctor, looking at her with eyes thatsoftened and brightened unconsciously, and a voice that soundedcaressing in spite of himself.
'I know it,' said Norah. 'Well, then, Dr Maurice, this is what I wascrying about. We are going to a picnic with the Burtons, and theMarchioness of Upshire, and all kinds of fine people, and I was cryingbecause I have not got a pretty dress.'
Dr Maurice gave a short laugh, and then he turned away his head, and hiseyes glistened under their heavy brows. 'Poor child!' he said with atremble in his voice--if it had been any one else probably he would havesneered, as Norah said, at the frivolity of woman's nature; but becauseit was Norah his heart melted within him, and the water came to hiseyes.
'When is it going to come off?' he said.
'Oh, to-day--at one o'clock they were to call for us. Dear doctor,'said Norah, looking up at him laughing, yet with the tears still on hereyelashes, 'won't you say that, after all, I look very nice in my grayfrock?'
'Go away, child,' he said, almost angrily, 'go and dress yourself andlet me look at you after. I want to speak to your mamma.'
When she heard this, Helen was afraid. She believed in Dr Mauricebecause he had been substantially kind, and because he was her husband'sfriend; but she did not like him, and she had that fear of him whichcame from the conviction that he disliked and distrusted her.
'Why is this?' he said, as Norah went away. 'Mrs Drummond, I thought youknew that I look upon Norah as if she was my own. She should not wantanything if you would let me know--I think you ought for Norah's sake toget over any feeling--and put pride aside.'
'It is not so easy,' said Helen, with a smile. 'Pride, if you call itso, sticks very close. You are very, very kind----'
'I am not kind--I don't mean to be; but I look upon Norah as if she weremy own.'
'She is not your own, Dr Maurice,' said Helen with spirit. 'I cannot puta feeling in the place of a right. Nothing in the world would make meappeal to a stranger for finery for my child. We can live with what wehave of our own.'
'Pride, pride!' said the doctor hastily. 'I don't mean to give offence;but I am not a stranger--I have known the child from her cradle. Whyshouldn't you be so yielding--so kind if you will--as to tell me whenshe wants a dress? My little Norah! she has been a delight to me all mylife. If I had my will, she should rustle with the best.'
Helen was angry, but she was moved. A man who loved her child couldscarcely shut her heart even by disliking herself. She put out her handto the surly critic who had never trusted her--'Thanks,' she said, 'manythanks. I accept your love for Norah; but I could not accept anythingelse. Why, you must know that! My child, Robert's child, appealing toyour charity! Dr Maurice, I am not ungrateful, but surely Cinderella'sfrock is better than that.'
The doctor was silent, he could not reply. 'Poor little Cinderella!' hesaid; but just then there appeared a vision at the door, which took awayhis breath. Men are poor creatures where a woman's dress is concerned.To Dr Maurice, who knew no better, Norah's pretty rose-coloured ribbons,the little end of rose-coloured feather, which relieved the black in herhat, and the fresh little pair of gray gloves, which she had indulgedin, made Cinderella at once, without more ado, into the fairy princess.'Why, good heavens, child, what would you have more?' he said, almostwith offence. He had been taken in, he thought, and betrayed into anunnecessary warmth of sympathy. It is true that, after a little, even DrMaurice saw points which might be improved: but he could not look uponNorah's toilette with the instructed eyes which Clara Burton and LadyFlorizel turned upon it; and it was the other girls, the Marchioness,the ladies who knew, not a mere man, ignorant as a baby, whom Norahfeared.
How
ever, it was grand to see the carriage glide up to the door, and theladies get into it. Mrs Ashurst and her niece were in it already, twohighly respectable persons with claims to belong to the county. TheRectory people were not asked, and Katie stood at the window and watchedwith somewhat wistful looks, waving her hand as they drove away. And DrMaurice put them into the carriage, and stood on the steps with his hatoff watching them too. There was a splendour about it certainly, whetherit was delightful or not. Norah thought of the donkey-chaise loaden withchildren, and for a moment sighed; she had worn brown holland in thosedays--but now brown holland all embroidered and decorated was a greatdeal too expensive--far more costly than her gray--and she had not caredwhat she wore then, which was far better; whilst now she felt that MissAshurst was looking at her, and saw that her cuffs were rather coarse intexture and her feather nothing but a tip. Neither was the drive verylively in the society of these respectable ladies, the younger of whomwas older than Norah's mother. But when the carriage approached the endof the pilgrimage, Norah's sky began to brighten. All the others hadalready arrived, and on a green knoll in front of the old tower theluncheon was being arranged. It was a prettier, gayer sight than the oldparties with the donkey chaise. Lady Florizel and her sister werestanding at one of the windows in the tower with Ned Burton, lookingdown; but among the trees near the gate Cyril Rivers was waiting on theoutskirts of a group, looking round with evident anxiety, waiting toopen the carriage door and hand the ladies out. 'I am so glad you havecome,' he whispered into Norah's ear. His very face brightened up at thesight of them. There is no girl living who could withstand such delicateflattery, and that not from any nobody, not from an old friend andfaithful slave like Ned Burton, but from the hero, the prince ofromance. Norah's heart grew light in spite of herself; she might beindifferently dressed, she might even look as she felt, a poor relation:but this distinction all the same was hers--the prince had foundCinderella out, and none of the others could get a word from him. Hetook them to Mrs Burton, who was doing the honours of the old tower tothe Marchioness, and who received them very graciously, giving thanks tosome heathenish deity of her own for the success of her plans; and thenhe found a shady spot for them where they could command everything. 'Isuppose you do not care to go over the tower,' he said. 'I know it aswell as my A B C,' said Norah; and then he placed them under the greatash-tree and took up his own position by Mrs Drummond's side.
Mrs Burton gave thanks to her gods for her success. She looked up andsaw Ned's eyes peering out of the window above as if he were about toswoop down upon her. 'What are you doing, Ned,' she said in momentaryalarm.
'Getting this for Lady Florizel,' he said, holding out a tuft of wildflowers from the old wall. And Mrs Burton thanked that fetish, whoeverhe was. But she did not see that between the line of Ned's hat and hisnose, were a pair of eyes glancing fiercely down upon the ash-tree. Iflightning could have come out of mortal eyes, that tree would haveshrivelled up and borne no more foliage. The spell was beginning towork. Perhaps Cyril Rivers would not have so committed himself had henot believed that the Burtons had made some scheme to detach him fromNorah's side, and to slight and scorn her. He thought they had attemptedto make him privy to a plot against her comfort and honour, and that shehad been asked here on purpose to be insulted by that impertinence ofsociety which women cannot struggle against. This was the conclusion hecame to, and all that was chivalrous and kind was stirred within him. Ifeverybody else neglected them, he at least would show that a man'sproper place was by the side of the weak. And then the weak who had tobe succoured was so pretty, so charming, so sweet! A man's generousimpulses are immensely strengthened in such cases. Miss Ashurst, who wasas well-born as anybody there, and as well dressed, was really neglectedby the whole company: but Mr Rivers did not feel himself impelled to herside by his desire to succour those who were in need.
'Look there, papa,' said Clara Burton, going to her father andthrusting her hand through his arm, 'only look there!'
'Rivers!' said Mr Burton, gazing through the branches, 'with that girlagain!'
'And whose fault is it? Mamma's! It is all mamma. I told you; sheactually sent him there--sent him to their house!'
'I will soon put a stop to all that; don't be disturbed, Clara,' saidher father, and he went off with great vehemence to where his wife wasstanding. He put his hand on her arm and drew her away from theMarchioness. 'One moment--a thousand pardons,' he said, bowing to thegreat lady, and then turned to his wife with the air of a suppressedvolcano. 'Clara, what on earth do you mean? there's Rivers with thoseDrummonds again!'
'He has been with them ever since they came, Mr Burton; probably he willdrive home with them. He seems to have made himself their attendant forthe day.'
'But, good Lord, Clara! what do you mean? Do you mean to drive yourdaughter out of her senses--don't you intend to interfere?'
'I am acting for the best,' said Mrs Burton, 'and it will be at yourperil if you meddle. Take it in hand if you please; but if the work isto be mine I must do it my own way.'
'But, Clara, for heaven's sake----'
'I have no time for any more, Mr Burton. I must be allowed to work, if Iwork at all, in my own way.'
And with this poor satisfaction Mr Burton had to be content. He wentaway fuming and secretly smarting with indignation, through the groupsof people who were his own guests, gathered together to make him merry.A mixture of rage and bewilderment filled his bosom. He could no morebear to have his Clara crossed than Mrs Drummond could bear to crossNorah; and his wife's silence was far beyond his comprehension. Claramet him as he came up, with a fluctuating colour, now pale, now crimson,and her white low forehead almost lost under the fringe of hair. Sheclasped his arm energetically with both hands. 'Tell me, papa! what hasshe got to say?'
'Well, Clary, we must not interfere. Your mother has her own way ofacting; she says it is all right. There are dozens more that would beglad of a look from you, Clary. For to-day we are not to interfere.'
Clara, who was not in the habit of disguising her feelings, tossed hisarm from her, pulling away her hands; she was half wild with injuredpride and self-will. She went up to the group under the tree with angerin her step and in her eye.
'Oh Norah!' she said, 'I did not know you were coming. Good morning, MrsDrummond. Mr Rivers, I thought you were altogether lost. You disappearedthe moment we set you down. I suppose you had something more agreeablein hand.'
'I had nothing in hand, Miss Burton, except like everybody else--toamuse myself, I suppose.'
'And you have found a charming way of doing that, I am sure,' said poorjealous, foolish Clara; her face was flushed, her voice slightlyelevated. She could not bear it; if it had been one of the LadiesMerewether, or even one of the Daltons from the Rectory--but Norah! Itwas more than she could put up with. Mrs Drummond, who was decorous, thevery soul of good order and propriety, rose up instinctively to coverthis little outbreak. 'Let us walk about a little,' she said. Let ushide this unwomanly self-betrayal, was what she meant.
Norah, too, was wounded and ashamed, though without feeling herselfinvolved. Clara was 'in a temper,' Norah thought. They all knew thatClara in a temper was to be avoided. She was sorry Mr Rivers should seeit. 'Oh Clara! isn't it strange to be here with everything sodifferent,' she said. 'Don't you remember our pranks on the grass whenwe were children? and your pony which we all envied so much? How odd itis in some ways to be grown up!'
Clara took no notice of this conciliatory speech, but Mr Rivers did. 'Ihope it is not less pleasant,' he said.
'I don't know--we walk about now, instead of running races and playinggames. Do you remember, Clara----'
'I have not time to talk over all that old nonsense,' said Clara. 'TheMarchioness is calling me;' and she turned sharply off and joined hermother, who was with that great lady. She was quite pale with anger anddismay. She walked up to Mrs Burton and looked her in the face. It was_her_ doing! and then she drew back a step, and stood behind, doing allshe could to make her vexation
visible. She wanted to punish her mother.The others had all dispersed into groups; but Clara stood alone,determined to be unhappy. Mrs Burton, however, was not punished at all;her scheme had succeeded. Her daughter's temper could not last above anhour or two; and her son was safe. He was walking about with LadyFlorizel, 'paying her,' as Miss Ashurst said, 'every attention,' underher satisfied eyes.
The picnic ran its course like other picnics. It was very delightful tosome, and very wretched--a day to date from, as the unhappiest everknown--to others. Cyril Rivers did not, as Mrs Burton had predicted,leave the Drummonds all day. Had he suspected that this was the veryresult she aimed at, and that Ned's lowering brows and unhappy lookswere the very things the party had been given for, the chances are thathe would have resisted the temptation which was stealing over him; buthe did not know this, and he did not resist. He thought they were layingvulgar visible claim to him, before he had made up his mind one way oranother; and this was a thing his pride refused to allow; while at thesame time Norah was very sweet. She was a 'rosebud set about with wilfulthorns;' she would not agree with him, nor yield in argument; she wasnot a shadowless beauty all in broad blaze of sunshine and complacency,like Clara; there were clouds and shadows about her, and a veil of softmystery, spontaneous movements of fancy, wayward digression out of onething into another. Mrs Drummond, who was the spectator at the banquet,grew alarmed. She tried to separate them, to lead Norah away among theother people. But she was balked in that by every means. The otherpeople were chiefly county people, too grand for the Drummonds, who werecivil to the handsome mother and pretty daughter, but not anxious fortheir further acquaintance. Wherever they turned Mr Rivers met them. Hewas not cold, nor slow to see when Helen wanted to seat herself, whenshe wanted to move about. At last, when the afternoon was beginning towane, and the elder ladies to think of their shawls, some of the youngerones proposed a dance on the green. Mrs Drummond was left sitting byherself, while Norah went to dance with Mr Rivers, and it was then forthe first time that Mr Burton came up to her. She could not but supposethat he had been taking too much wine.
'Well, Helen,' he said, in his loud voice, 'this is an unusual sort ofscene for you--like it? I don't suppose you know many people, though;but that little girl of yours is going too fast; mind my word, she isgoing too fast.'
'I think, Mr Burton, you mistake----'
'No, I don't mistake;--going too fast--trying to lead Cyril Rivers offhis feet as she did my Ned. What am I talking of? No, not Ned; Ned hasmore sense--some other of the lads. But Cyril Rivers, mind you, ain'tsuch a fool as he looks.'
He went on, but Helen did not hear him. Suddenly the whole situationglanced upon her. If a flash of lightning had illuminated everything itcould not have been more clear. It was not a good light or a friendlythat blazed over that scene, which was confused by so many shades ofgood and evil feeling. Helen's whole spirit had been moved in her by thetone and words of her cousin in respect to her child. He had touched herdaughter--and a woman is as a tigress when a finger is laid upon hercub, people say.
I don't know if this was any excuse for her; but certainly, all in amoment, something appeared within her reach which made her heart beat.Revenge! Whatever his degree of guilt had been, this man had been herhusband's evil angel; he had put him in the way which had led him to hisdestruction--with how much or how little guilt who could say? And Helenlooked over the bright scene--the dancers on the grass, the groupsstanding round, the autumn trees dressed out in all their beauty, liketheir human brethren--and suddenly saw, or thought she saw, that she hadthe happiness of her adversary's home in her hand. Little Norah, allunaware of her tragic task, was the Nemesis who was to accomplish theiroverthrow. There was Ned, heart-broken, but defiant--Ned whom she hadseen watching all day, miserable as youth only is; and Clara, furious,making a show of herself in her passion. Was it the sin of the fatherthat was being visited on the children? Helen's heart gave one loud,angry throb; the time of her temptation had come. She did not use theword revenge; all that was brought before her in the sudden tumult ofher thoughts was punishment--retribution for sin.
While this terrible suggestion flashed into Helen's mind and took suddenpossession of it, another idea had begun to germinate in another bosom,which was to bear fruit also. Dr Maurice went to see the Haldanes, andhad a great deal of conversation with them. This conversation ranchiefly upon the one subject on which they were both so muchinterested--'the child.' From them he learnt that Norah had 'come out,'that she had made a great _succès_, that everybody (to wit the Daltons)were raving of her prettiness and sprightliness, and how much admiredshe was; and that since the ball Cyril Rivers had 'never been out of thehouse.'
'Find out what sort of fellow he is, Maurice,' said Stephen Haldane; 'itwould be hard to see our little Norah throw herself away. I thought itwould have been Ned.'
'Ned! Ned? Burton's son--a mere City fellow! Good heavens! has it cometo that?' said Dr Maurice.
He left the Gatehouse, and walked slowly to the station, and went homejust about the time when the dance began on the green. 'The child wantssome one to take care of her,' he said over and over again to himself.When he got home he went over all his house, and looked at it with ahalf comic, half puzzled look. The idea perhaps had gleamed across hismind before; it was an idea he did not half like. It would be a troubleto him--more trouble than anybody could imagine. But still if such asacrifice should be necessary--for Norah's sake.
CHAPTER XIV.
The thought of revenge which had thus entered Helen's mind might havedied out of it naturally, or it might have been overcome by betterthoughts. All the passion and conflict of her life had died intostillness; six years had come and gone since the great storm had passedover her, which had changed her existence, and though that had not cometo any satisfactory conclusion, but only raged itself out, leaving germsthat might grow into tumultuous life again--so long an interval of quiethad buried these germs very deep. She had grown tranquil in spite ofherself; the calm routine of her life had taken hold upon her, and shehad made that change which is so imperceptible while in progress, soreal and all-influencing when once accomplished--the change which stealsaway the individuality of existence, and introduces that life by proxy,to which we all--or at least to which, all women--must come.Insensibly, without knowing it, Helen had grafted herself into herchild. She had lived for Norah, and now she lived in Norah, regardingthe events of the world and the days as they passed solely in referenceto the new creature who had a new career to weave out of them. Thischange has a wonderful effect upon the mind and being. Her sphere ofinterests was altered, her hopes and wishes were altered, her very modesof thought. The gravity of her nature gave way before this potentinfluence. Had she been in the way of it, Helen, who had lived throughher own youth with a certain serious dignity, accepting her pleasures asa necessity rather than entering into them with enthusiasm, would haveacquired for herself, no doubt, the character of a frivolous woman, fondof balls and gaiety, all because of the gayer temper of her child. Shefelt with Norah that thrill of wonder about Cyril Rivers; her own heartbegan to beat a little quicker when she heard him coming; a reflectionof Norah's blush passed over her. She had to make an effort now and thennot to be altogether carried away by this strange entry she had madeinto another nature; for Norah was not like her mother in nature;training and constant association had made them alike, and it was quitepossible that Norah in later life might become Helen, as Helen for themoment had become Norah. But this wondrous double life that ebbs andflows from one heart to another as from one vessel to another--the sameblood, the same soul--is not very explicable in words. It was only whenHelen sat, as she did at the moment we are now describing, all byherself over her little fire, and felt the silence round her, andrealized her own individuality separate from the rest of the world, thatthe old strain of her thoughts came back to her, and for half an hour ata time she became herself once more.
It was a month after the day of the picnic. The guests at Dura haddeparted, or rather
had been succeeded by new ones, of whom theDrummonds knew nothing. A breach had been made between the great houseand the village--a breach which the Daltons murmured and wondered at,but which no one attributed distinctly to its true cause. That cause,Mrs Drummond knew very well, was Norah. They had been invited once moreto Dura after the picnic, and Mr Rivers once more had constitutedhimself their attendant. By this time all other motives except one hadceased to influence the young man. He had ceased to think of theBurtons' claims or of Clara's fury--things which, no doubt, had at firstmade the pursuit of Norah piquant and attractive to him. What he thoughtof now was Norah herself. He had no intention of committing himself--nothought of compromising his future by a foolish match; but he fell inlove--he could not help it. It is a thing which men of the bestprinciples, men incapable of ruining themselves by an absurd marriage,will nevertheless do from time to time. How he should get out of it hedid not know, and when he ventured to think at all, he was very sorryfor himself for the fatality which made Norah impossible. But impossibleor not, this was what had happened to him; he had fallen in love. Thesensation itself was sweet; and Clara's perpetual angry pout, her flashof wrath when he approached Norah, her impatient exclamation at thesound of her name, amused him immensely, and at the same time flatteredhis vanity. So did Ned's lowering brows and unhappy looks. Mr Rivers wastickled with his own position, flattered and amused by the effect hiserratic proceedings had produced. And he had fallen in love. I am sorryto say that Mrs Drummond encouraged him on that evening which she andher daughter spent at Dura after the picnic. She waved him, as it were,in the faces of the Burtons like a flag of triumph. She took pleasure inNed's misery, though she liked Ned--and in Clara's wrath. They hadscorned her child; but her child was able to turn all their plans toconfusion, and break up their most skilful combinations. Norah was thequeen of the moment, and the others were crushed under her little foot.She was able to make Ned's life a burden to him and destroy Clara'sprospects. I am very sorry to have to say this of Helen; but I havenever set her up as possessing the highest type of character, and it wastrue.
She was heartily sorry for it afterwards, however, it must be added.When she got home she felt ashamed, but rather for having done somethingthat did not come up to her own ideal of womanly or lady-like behaviour,than for the pain she had helped to inflict. Even while she was sorryfor having 'encouraged' (women are so conscious of all that word means)Mr Rivers, she was not sorry for Ned's despair, which rather amusedher--nor for Clara's fury, which made her so angry that she would haveliked to whip Clara. She was only ashamed of the deed; she did notdislike the results. Norah, as so often happens, did not know half, nornearly half, of what it all meant. She was flattered by Mr Rivers'sattention; she admired him, she liked him. He was the hero, and he hadtaken her for his heroine. The thought entranced her girlish fancy, andseduced her into a thousand dreams. She wondered would he 'speak' toher, and what should she answer him? She framed pictures to herself ofhow he should be brought to the very verge of that 'speaking,' and thenby chance prevented and sent away, and longing and anxious, while Norahherself would get a respite. She imagined the most touching scenes--howsomebody unknown would be found to watch over her, to bring wonderfulgood fortune to her, to be at hand when she was in any danger, to saveher life, and perform all kinds of wonders; and how at last, suddenlyturning upon this anonymous guardian angel, she should find that it washe. Everything that a true knight had ever done for his lady she dreamtof having done for her, and a sweet exultation, a grateful sense of herown humility and yet grandeur would fill her foolish little mind. Butstill, even in her fancy, Norah held as far off as possible theinevitable response. No lady, of course, could accept such devotionwithout sooner or later bestowing the reward; but the devotion, and notthe reward, was the thing it pleased her to contemplate. It surroundedwith a halo of glory not only herself, the recipient, but even in ahigher degree the man who was capable of bestowing such exquisite, anddelicate, and generous service. Such are the fantastic fancies of a girlwhen she finds herself wafted into the land of old romance by theastounding, delicious, incomprehensible discovery that some one hasfallen in love with her. She was not in the very least in love with him.
All this is a long way from the November evening when Helen sat over herfire, and became for the periodical half-hour herself, and not simplyNorah's mother. Thinking it all over, she blushed a little over her ownconduct. Mr Rivers had left Dura, but he kept writing to her on oneabsurd pretext after another. Mrs Drummond had answered very briefly oneof these notes, and she was taking herself to task for it now. Was sheright to 'encourage' Cyril Rivers? It had punished the Burtons, and shewas not sorry for that. But was such a mode of revenge permissible? Wasit consistent with her own dignity, or such a thing as ought to be?Susan had not yet brought in the lamp, and she was sitting in the ruddydarkness, scarcely illuminated, yet made rosy by the brilliantnot-flaming redness of the fire. Norah even now would have beenfrightened to sit so in that haunted room; but it was not haunted toHelen. It was a clear, moonlight evening out of doors, and the thin longlines of window at the other end of the room let in each a strip of darkwintry blue between the brown-gray curtains. This cold light, and theruddy, suppressed glow of the fire, balanced each other, holding eachtheir own half of the room like two armies, of which the red one madecontinual sorties upon the realm of the other, and the blue one stoodfast without a movement. It was a curious little interior, but Helen didnot see it. She sat, as thoughtful people so often sit, with her eyesfixed upon the red glow of the embers. In a variation of the sameattitude, half visible as the light rose and fell, like a spell-boundwoman, her image shone in the round mirror.
Norah was at the Rectory spending the evening, and Norah's mother hadchanged into Helen herself, and not another. How many old thoughts cameand went through her mind it is needless to say; but they resolvedthemselves into this, that she had sacrificed her own dignity, that whatshe was doing was not the thing she ought to do. What was the punishmentof the Burtons to her? Why should she like to give a heart-ache to a boyand girl who had done her no harm? It was to get at their father, andgive him a stab through their means; but was that a kind of warfare fora woman--a lady? Helen started in the dark, though no one could see her.She had a high, almost fantastic, sense of honour and generosity, yet inthis she was sacrificing both.
I do not know what impulse it was which made her, when the fire began toburn low and wanted refreshment, go to the window and look out--noreason in particular--because it was a beautiful night. She stoodlooking out on the moonlight, on the silent country road, and the livelylights which shone in the Rectory windows opposite. She had rung for thelamp; she was going to have her woman's meal, her cup of tea, in thesolitude which was not grievous, for to be sure it would last but anhour or two. On the table there was a basket full of work, somedress-making for Norah, and a novel, for still Helen loved the novelswhich took her into other lives. All these placid details gave an air ofprofoundest peace to the scene, and the white, clear moonlight shoneoutside, and the stars, sharpened and brightened by frost, fluttered, asif they had wings or a heart that throbbed, out of the blue of the sky;when suddenly the place became clamorous, the silence fled, the echoescarried circles of sound all over the unseen country. Mr Burton wascoming home. A slight smile came upon Helen's face. All this ostentationand noise of wealth did not irritate her as it used to do. The phaetoncame dashing along, and paused a moment at the corner, where Williams'sshop threw out a stream of illumination. Some one else sat by MrBurton's side--some one who suddenly, as they passed, turned his facefull into the light.
In a moment Helen's heart had begun to beat like an engine suddenly setin motion; the blood mounted up into her ears, to her heart, like itsmoving wheels and piston. She clenched her hand, and a sudden demonseemed to wake up and come into existence all in a moment. It was theman whom she believed to be her husband's murderer--the destroyer of herown happiness and of Robert's good name. She stood as if spell-boundwhile they drove pa
st the window, laughing and talking. Nay, there waseven a half pause, and Mr Burton made some explanation, and pointed tothe Gatehouse, not seeing the secret spectator. She heard the sound oftheir voices--the laugh; and clenched her hands tighter, and through hermind there passed words which a woman should not say.
It was then that Susan came into the room with the lamp. When she hadset it down on the table, and turned round to close the window, itstartled her to see where Helen was standing. Susan uttered anexclamation; it gave her 'a turn;' and she had a still greater turn whenshe perceived the change in Mrs Drummond's face. But for the moment shedid not say anything. It was only when she had arranged the tea and puteverything ready that she ventured to look again, and encounteredHelen's eyes, which were fixed, and did not see her.
'Lord bless us!' said Susan, 'if something has happened, 'm, don't lookdreadful like that, but say it out.'
Helen woke up at the sound of her voice. She tried to smile and clearher countenance.
'Nothing has happened,' she said; and it startled her to find how hoarseshe was. 'I was thinking only about old times.'
'That comes o' Miss Norah being out to tea,' said Susan. 'I'd think ofold times fast enough if I could do any good. But what's the use?Thinking and thinking only moiders a body's brain. I've give it up formy part.'
'It is the wisest way,' said Helen, trying to smile.
'Shall I ask Miss Jane to come and stay with you a bit? or shall I runfor Miss Norah?' asked Susan, who was practical-minded, and felt thatsomething ought to be done.
'Never mind, Susan. It is very kind of you to think of me. It will passover directly,' said Helen; and she was so decided and imperative thatSusan was forced to yield.
When she was gone, Mrs Drummond rose and walked about the room withhasty, tremulous steps. She was not sick nor sorry, as the womanthought, but burning with wild indignation, sudden rage. Her betterfeelings were overwhelmed by the tide of passion that rushed into hermind. 'Golden and Burton! Golden and Burton!' When she had last repeatedthese words she had felt herself powerless, helpless, unable to inflictany punishment upon them, compelled to subside into silence, knowingthat neither her voice nor anything she could do would reach them. Itwas different now, she said to herself, with fierce satisfaction. Nowshe had indeed something in her power; now she could indeed reach thevery heart of one of them. Her cheek glowed, her eyes blazed in hersolitude. She would do it. She would abstract Mr Rivers from themutterly, and she would break the heart of their boy. She seemed to holdit in her hand, and crush it, as she pursued these thoughts. This wasthe horrible effect produced upon a reasonable woman by the appearanceof a man who had wronged her. It is not easy to bear the seemingprosperity of the wicked. He had taken from Helen all, except Norah,that made life worth having, and he himself had appeared to her full ofjovial talk and laughter, going to visit at Dura, evidently a favouredguest. The difficulty was one which David felt even more deeply, and hasargued with himself upon in many a strain which religion has madefamiliar to us as the air we breathe. In the Psalms it is never saidthat it is wrong to chafe at the prosperity of evil-doers, but only thatthat prosperity is short-lived, and that ruin is coming. When Helensuddenly saw her enemy, the wicked man _par excellence_, the incarnationof wrong and cruelty, flourishing like the green bay-tree, gay andconfident as he had always been, it was not wonderful if she took theOld Testament rather than the New for her guide. The only strange thingwas, that with the curious inconsistency of human nature, she graspedthe weapon that she had suddenly found at her side, to strike, not him,but his companion. Golden and Burton! Once more they had become one toher; her enemies--the incarnation of murder, slander, and wrong!
'Mamma, Ned has walked across with me,' said Norah, running in all freshfrom the outer air, with a red hood over her brown hair. 'May I ask himto come in? He looks so unhappy, mamma.'
'I don't see that we have anything to do with his unhappiness,' saidHelen; but already he was standing at the door, looking in verywistfully. Norah was rather wistful too; her heart was relenting overher old vassal; and now there was no Mr Rivers in the way to takepossession of her, and come between her and the looks of others.
Ned came in with very doubtful step, not knowing whether to befrightened or glad. He was not afraid of Mrs Drummond; she had neverbeen unkind to him, and there seemed a possibility now that his miserymight be over, and that Norah might relent. But it was a shock to Ned tofind that she did not offer him her hand, but only bowed stiffly, andbegan to speak to her daughter.
'You are early to-night,' she said. 'I did not expect you so soon.'
'Oh, mamma, soon! Why, it is eleven; and you have the tea-things stillon the table. Mamma, I shall never be able to go anywhere, if you behaveso. You have not had any tea.'
'I have not wanted it. I did not observe that it was there,' said Helen,seating herself on her former seat by the fire. In doing this, sheturned her back upon Ned, who, startled and wounded, did not know whatto do. Norah was alarmed too. She made a sign to him to sit down, andthen went to her mother, taking her hand,
'Mamma, you are not well,' she said.
'I am quite well. I fear, however, I shall not be good company for--MrBurton to-night.'
'Mamma! Why it is only Ned!'
'He is Mr Burton's son,' said Helen, trembling with emotion. 'Norah, doyou remember the man who murdered your father, and tried to disgracehim--Golden--_that_ man? Well, I have just seen him drive up with MrBurton to Dura. They paused, and pointed out this house to eachother--the place where their victims were living. You may understand whyI am not fit company for--Mr Burton to-night.'
'Oh, my poor, dear mother! have you had this to bear, with no one tosupport you? I will never go out and leave you again.'
'The sight of his face is like a curse to me,' said Helen, scarcelyknowing what she said. 'I have had as much as I can bear for onenight.'
'Yes, dear mamma, so you have,' said soothing Norah. And then behind hermother's back she made an imperative sign to poor Ned, whispering, 'Goaway; go away!'
He stumbled up to his feet, poor fellow! so dreadfully disappointed thathe could scarcely find voice enough to speak. But yet his instinct wasto strike one blow in self-defence.
'Mrs Drummond,' he said, clearing his voice, 'I don't know much about MrGolden; but if he is such a man as you say, my father must be deceived;and I have nothing at all to do with it. Is it fair to punish me?'
'Oh, your father!' said Helen, facing suddenly round upon him, with aflush on her face, and the tremulous movement of passion in all herframe. If she had not been so agitated, she would not have spoken so,let us hope, to the man's son. 'Your father is not deceived. I don't sayyou know. But you are his son.'
'Good evening, Norah!' said Ned; he crushed his hat between his hands,and went straight out without another word. What a change from thehopeful spirit in which he had crossed the threshold two minutes before!But like many a man who makes an abrupt retreat, Ned found he fared theworse for his impetuosity when he had got outside. He might have stayedand asked some questions about it, fathomed it somehow, tried todiscover what was the meaning of it. He walked up the avenue, upon whichthe moon was shining bright, so confused and troubled that he could nottell certainly which was the cloud floating along at a break-neck pacebefore the wind and which the true shadows, themselves immovable, whichhis rapid progress made almost as wildly fugitive. He thought he hadbeen on the eve of renewed happiness, and lo! now he found himselfpushed further off than ever; repulsed, he could not tell how. A tide ofwild fancy rushed through his mind, carrying a hundred thoughts upon itas the wind carried the cloud. Sometimes it was the image of MrsDrummond which was uppermost, sometimes a wondering puzzled questionabout his father, sometimes the name of Golden. He remembered dimly thetrial and the comments upon the latter, and how his own young mind hadglowed half with indignation, half with sympathy. He was better able tojudge now; but Helen's language sounded violent and exaggerated to him.'The man who murdered your father'--'the sight of
his face is like acurse.' What language was this for any one in their senses to use?
A stormy night with a full moon is perhaps the most dramatic spectaclein nature. The world was flooded with light as Ned, a dark speck in allthat whiteness, came out into the open lawns amid which his father'shouse stood. The wind was driving the clouds across the clear blue atsuch a desperate pace as might become the pursued and terrifiedstragglers of a great army; and the army itself, piled up in darkconfused masses in the north, loomed behind the house of Dura, which wasinundated by the white radiance. These angry forces were turning to bay,heaping themselves in a threatening mass, glooming in silent oppositionto all the splendour and glory of the light. Ned's heart was so sick andsore that he gazed at this sight with unusual force of fancy, wonderingif it could mean anything? The moon and the wind were doing all theycould to disperse these vapours; they were driven back upon each other,heaped up in masses, pursued off the face of the sky, which over Ned'shead was blue and clear as a summer noon. But yet the clouds gathered,held together, stood, as it were, at bay. Did it mean anything? Wasthat storm about to burst over the house, which stood so tranquilly,whitened over by the moon, below. This was what Ned asked himself(though he was not usually imaginative) as he went in with an ache inhis heart to his father's house.
END OF VOL. II.
JOHN CHILDS AND SON, PRINTERS.
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