CHAPTER VIII.
GOLDEN DAYS.
O lovely earth! O lovely sky! I was in love with nature, I; And nature was in love with me; O lovely life--when I was free!
Felicia had been surprised, and not altogether pleased, at theunnecessary cordiality with which Maud had bade their visitor farewell.There was an excitement, an animation, an eagerness in her manner whichFelicia had not before perceived, and which she felt at once might bedifficult to manage. Desvoeux was exactly the person whom she did _not_want Maud to like, and the very possibility of her liking him broughtout in Felicia's mind a latent hostility of which, under an exterior ofpoliteness and even familiarity, she was always dimly conscious. She didnot mind talking to him herself; she was even amused by him; but then itwas always with a kind of protest; she knew exactly how far she meant togo and felt no temptation to go any further. But the notion of him inany other capacity but that of a remote member of society, whosefunction it was to say and do absurd things in an amusing way, wasstrange and altogether distasteful. Anything like intimacy was not to bethought of for an instant; the merest approach to close contact wouldbring out some discord, the jar of which, by a sort of instinctiveanticipation, Felicia seemed to feel already. So long as he moved inquite another plane and belonged to a different world, hiseccentricities might be smiled at for their comicality without theapplication of any rigid canon of taste or morals. But a person who wasat once irreligious and over-dressed, who constantly had to be 'putdown' for fear he should become offensive, and who was a stranger to allthe little Masonic signals by which ladies and gentlemen can find eachother out--the very idea of his presuming to cross the pale, and to formany other tie than those of the most indifferent acquaintance, filledFelicia with the strongest repugnance. It was provoking, therefore, thathe seemed to take Maud's fancy and impress her more than any other ofthe many men with whom she was now becoming acquainted. It was more thanprovoking that she should let her impressions come so lightly to thesurface, and be read in signs which Desvoeux's experienced eye would,Felicia knew, have not the least trouble in interpreting.
Suppose--but this was one of the disagreeable suppositions whichFelicia's mind put aside at once as too monstrous to beentertained--suppose he should come to stand in the way of the rightful,proper, destined lover? She thrust away the notion as absurd. All thesame, it made her uncomfortable, and no doubt justified her to herselfin pushing forward Sutton's interests with more eagerness than she mightotherwise have thought it right to employ about another person'sconcerns. When one feels a thing to be _the_ thing that ought to happen,and sees it in danger of being frustrated by some thoroughlyobjectionable interference, it is but natural to do something more thanmerely wish for a fortunate result. Felicia, at any rate, could boast ofno such passivity; and, if praising Sutton would have married him,Felicia's wishes on the subject would have been speedily realised.
The course of love, however, rarely flows exactly in the channels whichother people fashion for it, and Maud's inclinations required, hercousin felt, the most judicious handling. There could be no harm,however, in allowing Sutton's visits to go on with their accustomedfrequency; and since Maud must forthwith learn to ride and Suttonvolunteered to come in the mornings to teach her, no one could blameFelicia if, in the intervals of instruction, the pupil and teachershould become unconsciously proficient in any other art besides that ofequitation. Maud used to come in from these rides with such a brightglow on her cheek and in such rapturous spirits, that her cousin mightwell feel reassured.
Sutton had found for her the most perfect pony, whose silky coat, leanwell-chiselled head and generally aristocratic bearing, pronounced itthe inheritor of Arab blood. Maud speedily discovered that riding wasthe most enjoyable of all human occupations. Down by the river's side,or following long woodland paths, where the busy British rule hadplanted many an acre with the forests of the future, or out across thewide plains of corn stretching for miles, broken only by clumps of palmsor villages nestling each in a little grove under the wing of someancestral peepul-tree, the moon still shining overhead and the sun justabove the horizon, still shrouded in the mists of morning--how fresh,how picturesque, how exhilarating everything looked! How pleasant, too,to go through all these pretty scenes with a companion who seemedsomehow to know her tastes and wishes, and to have no thought but how toplease her! Sutton, though in public a man of few words andunsatisfactorily taciturn on the subject of his own exploits, had, Maudpresently discovered, plenty to tell her when they were alone. The powerof observation which made him so nice a judge of character extendeditself to all the scene about him and revealed a hundred touches ofinterest or beauty which, to coarser or less careful vision, would havelain obscure. Maud felt that she had never known how beautiful Naturewas till Sutton told her.
'There,' he would say, 'I brought you round this wood that we might notmiss that pretty bend of the river, with Humayoun's Tomb and the palmsbeyond. See what a beautiful blue background the sky makes to the reddome and that nice old bit of crumbling wall. The bright Indianatmospheres have their own beauty, have they not? And see that littlewreath of smoke hanging over the village. This is my pet morninglandscape.'
'And those peach-groves,' cried Maud, 'all ablaze with blossom, andthose delicious shady mulberries and the great stretch of green beyond.It is quite enchanting: a sort of dream of peace.'
'We had a fine gallop across here once,' Sutton said, 'when first wetook the Sandy Tracts.' And then Maud learnt that they were riding overa battle-field, and that for a long summer's afternoon men had foughtand fallen all along the path where now they stood, and that a batteryof artillery had been posted at the very corner of the village to whichher guide had brought her. 'I remember when they knocked that hole inthe old wall yonder and how all the fellows behind it took to theirheels. Then, afterwards we stormed the Tomb and had to finish ourfighting by moonlight.'
'Was that when you got your Victoria Cross?' asked Maud, who waspossessed by a spirit of insatiable curiosity about Sutton's badges,which he was slow to gratify.
'Oh no,' said Sutton, laughing; 'I got nothing then but a bullet throughmy shoulder and a knock on the head from a musket-stock which verynearly ended my soldiering then and there. Look now how quickly thescene changes as the sun gets up--half its beauty is gone already! Letus have a good canter over this soft ground and get home before it growstoo hot.'
Maud, who had never thought of a battle except as one of the afflictingdetails that had to be remembered at an historical class, and ifpossible to be hooked on to its proper site and date, felt a deliciousthrill in actually realising with her own eyes the place where one ofthe troublesome events took place, and in talking to a person who hadactually taken part in it. 'And what became of the bullet in yourshoulder?' she asked.
'It was a very troublesome bullet,' said Sutton, 'and a great dealharder to dislodge than the people from the Tomb. But I was unlucky whenI was a lad and never came out of action without a _souvenir_ of somesort or other.'
When Maud got home she asked Felicia about this storming of the Tomb,and learnt that Sutton's account was not as truthful as it might havebeen. He and half-a-dozen others had, Felicia told her, volunteered forthe storming-party, had made a rush for the walls through a shower ofbullets; and Sutton and two companions, getting separated from theothers, had been left for some seconds to hold their own as best theycould against the angry, frightened mob within. No one, perhaps scarcelySutton himself, knew exactly what had happened. The rest of the party,however, when they made their way in, found him standing at bay over adead comrade's body, and his antagonists too completely taken aback athis audacity to venture, at any odds, within reach of his sword. In thescuffle which ensued Sutton received the wounds of which Maud had beeninformed; but his exploits on that day were for ever after quoted by hisfollowers as a proof that there is nothing which a man may not do, ifonly he have pluck and will enough to do it.
Maud felt all this very impressive and Sutton's society
more and moredelightful. Her enjoyment of it, however--by this time by no meanssmall--began to be seriously qualified by an anxiety, increasinglypresent to her mind, as to her fitness for the dignified companionshipthus thrust upon her. She felt passionately anxious to please Sutton,and more and more distrustful of her power to do so. He was good, noble,chivalrous, everything that Felicia had said, and how hopelessly aboveherself! What must he think of one who was, as Miss Goodenough had oftentold her, a mere congeries of defects? True, he never seemed shocked orannoyed at anything she said, and professed to like the rides as much asshe did; but might not this be from mere good-nature, or the charm ofnovelty, or the wish to oblige Felicia, or any transitory or accidentalcause? Terrifying thought, if some day he should find her wanting, andbanish her from his regards! Meanwhile, happy, happy mornings, andsweet, bright world, in which such pleasure can be found, even ifhaunted by a doubt as to whether it is really ours or not!