CHAPTER XXXIII.
MARTIN'S TACTICS.
It was necessary to the arrangement of Martin's plan that he should stayat home that day. Accordingly, he found no appetite for breakfast, andjust about school-time took a severe pain about his heart, whichrendered it advisable that, instead of setting out to the grammar schoolwith Mark, he should succeed to his father's arm-chair by the fireside,and also to his morning paper. This point being satisfactorily settled,and Mark being gone to Mr. Summer's class, and Matthew and Mr. Yorkewithdrawn to the counting-house, three other exploits--nay,four--remained to be achieved.
The first of these was to realize the breakfast he had not yet tasted,and with which his appetite of fifteen could ill afford to dispense; thesecond, third, fourth, to get his mother, Miss Moore, and Mrs. Horsfallsuccessfully out of the way before four o'clock that afternoon.
The first was, for the present, the most pressing, since the work beforehim demanded an amount of energy which the present empty condition ofhis youthful stomach did not seem likely to supply.
Martin knew the way to the larder, and knowing this way he took it. Theservants were in the kitchen, breakfasting solemnly with closed doors;his mother and Miss Moore were airing themselves on the lawn, anddiscussing the closed doors aforesaid. Martin, safe in the larder, madefastidious selection from its stores. His breakfast had been delayed; hewas determined it should be _recherche_. It appeared to him that avariety on his usual somewhat insipid fare of bread and milk was bothdesirable and advisable; the savoury and the salutary he thought mightbe combined. There was store of rosy apples laid in straw upon a shelf;he picked out three. There was pastry upon a dish; he selected anapricot puff and a damson tart. On the plain household bread his eyedid not dwell; but he surveyed with favour some currant tea-cakes, andcondescended to make choice of one. Thanks to his clasp-knife, he wasable to appropriate a wing of fowl and a slice of ham; a cantlet of coldcustard-pudding he thought would harmonize with these articles; andhaving made this final addition to his booty, he at length sallied forthinto the hall.
He was already half-way across--three steps more would have anchored himin the harbour of the back parlour--when the front door opened, andthere stood Matthew. Better far had it been the Old Gentleman, in fullequipage of horns, hoofs, and tail.
Matthew, sceptic and scoffer, had already failed to subscribe a promptbelief in that pain about the heart. He had muttered some words, amongstwhich the phrase "shamming Abraham" had been very distinctly audible,and the succession to the armchair and newspaper had appeared to affecthim with mental spasms. The spectacle now before him--the apples, thetarts, the tea-cakes, the fowl, ham, and pudding--offered evidence buttoo well calculated to inflate his opinion of his own sagacity.
Martin paused _interdit_ one minute, one instant; the next he knew hisground, and pronounced all well. With the true perspicacity _des ameselites_, he at once saw how this at first sight untoward event might beturned to excellent account. He saw how it might be so handled as tosecure the accomplishment of his second task--namely, the disposal ofhis mother. He knew that a collision between him and Matthew alwayssuggested to Mrs. Yorke the propriety of a fit of hysterics. He furtherknew that, on the principle of calm succeeding to storm, after a morningof hysterics his mother was sure to indulge in an afternoon of bed. Thiswould accommodate him perfectly.
The collision duly took place in the hall. A dry laugh, an insultingsneer, a contemptuous taunt, met by a nonchalant but most cutting reply,were the signals. They rushed at it. Martin, who usually made littlenoise on these occasions, made a great deal now. In flew the servants,Mrs. Yorke, Miss Moore. No female hand could separate them. Mr. Yorkewas summoned.
"Sons," said he, "one of you must leave my roof if this occurs again. Iwill have no Cain and Abel strife here."
Martin now allowed himself to be taken off. He had been hurt; he was theyoungest and slightest. He was quite cool, in no passion; he evensmiled, content that the most difficult part of the labour he had sethimself was over.
Once he seemed to flag in the course of the morning.
"It is not worth while to bother myself for that Caroline," he remarked.But a quarter of an hour afterwards he was again in the dining-room,looking at the head with dishevelled tresses, and eyes turbid withdespair.
"Yes," he said, "I made her sob, shudder, almost faint. I'll see hersmile before I've done with her; besides, I want to outwit all thesewomenites."
Directly after dinner Mrs. Yorke fulfilled her son's calculation bywithdrawing to her chamber. Now for Hortense.
That lady was just comfortably settled to stocking-mending in the backparlour, when Martin--laying down a book which, stretched on the sofa(he was still indisposed, according to his own account), he had beenperusing in all the voluptuous ease of a yet callow pacha--lazilyintroduced some discourse about Sarah, the maid at the Hollow. In thecourse of much verbal meandering he insinuated information that thisdamsel was said to have three suitors--Frederic Murgatroyd, JeremiahPighills, and John-of-Mally's-of-Hannah's-of-Deb's; and that Miss Mannhad affirmed she knew for a fact that, now the girl was left in solecharge of the cottage, she often had her swains to meals, andentertained them with the best the house afforded.
It needed no more. Hortense could not have lived another hour withoutbetaking herself to the scene of these nefarious transactions, andinspecting the state of matters in person. Mrs. Horsfall remained.
Martin, master of the field now, extracted from his mother's work-basketa bunch of keys; with these he opened the sideboard cupboard, producedthence a black bottle and a small glass, placed them on the table,nimbly mounted the stairs, made for Mr. Moore's door, tapped; the nurseopened.
"If you please, ma'am, you are invited to step into the back parlour andtake some refreshment. You will not be disturbed; the family are out."
He watched her down; he watched her in; himself shut the door. He knewshe was safe.
The hard work was done; now for the pleasure. He snatched his cap, andaway for the wood.
It was yet but half-past three. It had been a fine morning, but the skylooked dark now. It was beginning to snow; the wind blew cold; the woodlooked dismal, the old tree grim. Yet Martin approved the shadow on hispath. He found a charm in the spectral aspect of the doddered oak.
He had to wait. To and fro he walked, while the flakes fell faster; andthe wind, which at first had but moaned, pitifully howled.
"She is long in coming," he muttered, as he glanced along the narrowtrack. "I wonder," he subjoined, "what I wish to see her so much for?She is not coming for me. But I have power over her, and I want her tocome that I may use that power."
He continued his walk.
"Now," he resumed, when a further period had elapsed, "if she fails tocome, I shall hate and scorn her."
It struck four. He heard the church clock far away. A step so quick, solight, that, but for the rustling of leaves, it would scarcely havesounded on the wood-walk, checked his impatience. The wind blew fiercelynow, and the thickening white storm waxed bewildering; but on she came,and not dismayed.
"Well, Martin," she said eagerly, "how is he?"
"It is queer how she thinks of _him_," reflected Martin. "The blindingsnow and bitter cold are nothing to her, I believe; yet she is but a'chitty-faced creature,' as my mother would say. I could find in myheart to wish I had a cloak to wrap her in."
Thus meditating to himself, he neglected to answer Miss Helstone.
"You have seen him?"
"No."
"Oh! you promised you would."
"I mean to do better by you than that. Didn't I say _I_ don't care tosee him?"
"But now it will be so long before I get to know any thing certain abouthim, and I am sick of waiting. Martin, _do_ see him, and give himCaroline Helstone's regards, and say she wished to know how he was, andif anything could be done for his comfort."
"I won't."
"You are changed. You were so friendly last night."
"Come, we mu
st not stand in this wood; it is too cold."
"But before I go promise me to come again to-morrow with news."
"No such thing. I am much too delicate to make and keep suchappointments in the winter season. If you knew what a pain I had in mychest this morning, and how I went without breakfast, and was knockeddown besides, you'd feel the impropriety of bringing me here in thesnow. Come, I say."
"Are you really delicate, Martin?"
"Don't I look so?"
"You have rosy cheeks."
"That's hectic. Will you come--or you won't?"
"Where?"
"With me. I was a fool not to bring a cloak. I would have made youcosy."
"You are going home; my nearest road lies in the opposite direction."
"Put your arm through mine; I'll take care of you."
"But the wall--the hedge--it is such hard work climbing, and you are tooslender and young to help me without hurting yourself."
"You shall go through the gate."
"But----"
"But, but--will you trust me or not?"
She looked into his face.
"I think I will. Anything rather than return as anxious as I came."
"I can't answer for that. This, however, I promise you: be ruled by me,and you shall see Moore yourself."
"See him myself?"
"Yourself."
"But, dear Martin, does he know?"
"Ah! I'm dear now. No, he doesn't know."
"And your mother and the others?"
"All is right."
Caroline fell into a long, silent fit of musing, but still she walked onwith her guide. They came in sight of Briarmains.
"Have you made up your mind?" he asked.
She was silent.
"Decide; we are just on the spot. I _won't_ see him--that I tellyou--except to announce your arrival."
"Martin, you are a strange boy, and this is a strange step; but all Ifeel _is_ and _has_ been, for a long time, strange. I will see him."
"Having said that, you will neither hesitate nor retract?"
"No."
"Here we are, then. Do not be afraid of passing the parlour window; noone will see you. My father and Matthew are at the mill, Mark is atschool, the servants are in the back kitchen, Miss Moore is at thecottage, my mother in her bed, and Mrs. Horsfall in paradise. Observe--Ineed not ring. I open the door; the hall is empty, the staircase quiet;so is the gallery. The whole house and all its inhabitants are under aspell, which I will not break till you are gone."
"Martin, I trust you."
"You never said a better word. Let me take your shawl. I will shake offthe snow and dry it for you. You are cold and wet. Never mind; there isa fire upstairs. Are you ready?"
"Yes."
"Follow me."
He left his shoes on the mat, mounted the stair unshod. Caroline stoleafter, with noiseless step. There was a gallery, and there was apassage; at the end of that passage Martin paused before a door andtapped. He had to tap twice--thrice. A voice, known to one listener, atlast said, "Come in."
The boy entered briskly.
"Mr. Moore, a lady called to inquire after you. None of the women wereabout. It is washing-day, and the maids are over the crown of the headin soap-suds in the back kitchen, so I asked her to step up."
"Up here, sir?"
"Up here, sir; but if you object, she shall go down again."
"Is this a place or am I a person to bring a lady to, you absurd lad?"
"No; so I'll take her off."
"Martin, you will stay here. Who is she?"
"Your grandmother from that chateau on the Scheldt Miss Moore talksabout."
"Martin," said the softest whisper at the door, "don't be foolish."
"Is she there?" inquired Moore hastily. He had caught an imperfectsound.
"She is there, fit to faint. She is standing on the mat, shocked at yourwant of filial affection."
"Martin, you are an evil cross between an imp and a page. What is shelike?"
"More like me than you; for she is young and beautiful."
"You are to show her forward. Do you hear?"
"Come, Miss Caroline."
"Miss Caroline!" repeated Moore.
And when Miss Caroline entered she was encountered in the middle of thechamber by a tall, thin, wasted figure, who took both her hands.
"I give you a quarter of an hour," said Martin, as he withdrew, "nomore. Say what you have to say in that time. Till it is past I will waitin the gallery; nothing shall approach; I'll see you safe away. Shouldyou persist in staying longer, I leave you to your fate."
He shut the door. In the gallery he was as elate as a king. He had neverbeen engaged in an adventure he liked so well, for no adventure had everinvested him with so much importance or inspired him with so muchinterest.
"You are come at last," said the meagre man, gazing on his visitresswith hollow eyes.
"Did you expect me before?"
"For a month, near two months, we have been very near; and I have beenin sad pain, and danger, and misery, Cary."
"I could not come."
"Couldn't you? But the rectory and Briarmains are very near--not twomiles apart."
There was pain and there was pleasure in the girl's face as she listenedto these implied reproaches. It was sweet, it was bitter to defendherself.
"When I say I could not come, I mean I could not see you; for I camewith mamma the very day we heard what had happened. Mr. MacTurk thentold us it was impossible to admit any stranger."
"But afterwards--every fine afternoon these many weeks past I havewaited and listened. Something here, Cary"--laying his hand on hisbreast--"told me it was impossible but that you should think of me. Notthat I merit thought; but we are old acquaintance--we are cousins."
"I came again, Robert; mamma and I came again."
"Did you? Come, that is worth hearing. Since you came again, we will sitdown and talk about it."
They sat down. Caroline drew her chair up to his. The air was now darkwith snow; an Iceland blast was driving it wildly. This pair neitherheard the long "wuthering" rush, nor saw the white burden it drifted.Each seemed conscious but of one thing--the presence of the other.
"So mamma and you came again?"
"And Mrs. Yorke did treat us strangely. We asked to see you. 'No,' saidshe, 'not in my house. I am at present responsible for his life; itshall not be forfeited for half an hour's idle gossip.' But I must nottell you all she said; it was very disagreeable. However, we came yetagain--mamma, Miss Keeldar, and I. This time we thought we shouldconquer, as we were three against one, and Shirley was on our side. ButMrs. Yorke opened such a battery."
Moore smiled. "What did she say?"
"Things that astonished us. Shirley laughed at last; I cried; mamma wasseriously annoyed. We were all three driven from the field. Since thattime I have only walked once a day past the house, just for thesatisfaction of looking up at your window, which I could distinguish bythe drawn curtains. I really dared not come in."
"I _have_ wished for you, Caroline."
"I did not know that; I never dreamt one instant that you thought of me.If I had but most distantly imagined such a possibility----"
"Mrs. Yorke would still have beaten you."
"She would not. Stratagem should have been tried, if persuasion failed.I would have come to the kitchen door; the servants should have let mein, and I would have walked straight upstairs. In fact, it was far morethe fear of intrusion--the fear of yourself--that baffled me than thefear of Mrs. Yorke."
"Only last night I despaired of ever seeing you again. Weakness haswrought terrible depression in me--terrible depression."
"And you sit alone?"
"Worse than alone."
"But you must be getting better, since you can leave your bed?"
"I doubt whether I shall live. I see nothing for it, after suchexhaustion, but decline."
"You--you shall go home to the Hollow."
"Dreariness would accompany, nothing
cheerful come near me."
"I _will_ alter this. This _shall_ be altered, were there ten Mrs.Yorkes to do battle with."
"Cary, you make me smile."
"Do smile; smile again. Shall I tell you what I should like?"
"Tell me anything--only keep talking. I am Saul; but for music I shouldperish."
"I should like you to be brought to the rectory, and given to me andmamma."
"A precious gift! I have not laughed since they shot me till now."
"Do you suffer pain, Robert?"
"Not so much pain now; but I am hopelessly weak, and the state of mymind is inexpressible--dark, barren, impotent. Do you not read it all inmy face? I look a mere ghost."
"Altered; yet I should have known you anywhere. But I understand yourfeelings; I experienced something like it. Since we met, I too have beenvery ill."
"_Very_ ill?"
"I thought I should die. The tale of my life seemed told. Every night,just at midnight, I used to wake from awful dreams; and the book layopen before me at the last page, where was written 'Finis.' I hadstrange feelings."
"You speak my experience."
"I believed I should never see you again; and I grew so thin--as thin asyou are now. I could do nothing for myself--neither rise nor lie down;and I could not eat. Yet you see I am better."
"Comforter--sad as sweet. I am too feeble to say what I feel; but whileyou speak I _do_ feel."
"Here I am at your side, where I thought never more to be. Here I speakto you. I see you listen to me willingly--look at me kindly. Did I counton that? I despaired."
Moore sighed--a sigh so deep it was nearly a groan. He covered his eyeswith his hand.
"May I be spared to make some atonement."
Such was his prayer.
"And for what?"
"We will not touch on it now, Cary; unmanned as I am, I have not thepower to cope with such a topic. Was Mrs. Pryor with you during yourillness?"
"Yes"--Caroline smiled brightly--"you know she is mamma?"
"I have heard--Hortense told me; but that tale too I will receive fromyourself. Does she add to your happiness?"
"What! mamma? She is _dear_ to me; _how_ dear I cannot say. I wasaltogether weary, and she held me up."
"I deserve to hear that in a moment when I can scarce lift my hand to myhead. I deserve it."
"It is no reproach against you."
"It is a coal of fire heaped on my head; and so is every word youaddress to me, and every look that lights your sweet face. Come stillnearer, Lina; and give me your hand--if my thin fingers do not scareyou."
She took those thin fingers between her two little hands; she bent herhead _et les effleura de ses levres_. (I put that in French because theword _effleurer_ is an exquisite word.) Moore was much moved. A largetear or two coursed down his hollow cheek.
"I'll keep these things in my heart, Cary; that kiss I will put by, andyou shall hear of it again one day."
"Come out!" cried Martin, opening the door--"come away; you have hadtwenty minutes instead of a quarter of an hour."
"She will not stir yet, you hempseed."
"I dare not stay longer, Robert."
"Can you promise to return?"
"No, she can't," responded Martin. "The thing mustn't become customary.I can't be troubled. It's very well for once; I'll not have itrepeated."
"_You_'ll not have it repeated."
"Hush! don't vex him; we could not have met to-day but for him. But Iwill come again, if it is your wish that I should come."
"It _is_ my wish--my _one_ wish--almost the only wish I can feel."
"Come this minute. My mother has coughed, got up, set her feet on thefloor. Let her only catch you on the stairs, Miss Caroline. You're notto bid him good-bye"--stepping between her and Moore--"you are tomarch."
"My shawl, Martin."
"I have it. I'll put it on for you when you are in the hall."
He made them part. He would suffer no farewell but what could beexpressed in looks. He half carried Caroline down the stairs. In thehall he wrapped her shawl round her, and, but that his mother's treadthen creaked in the gallery, and but that a sentiment of diffidence--theproper, natural, therefore the noble impulse of his boy's heart--heldhim back, he would have claimed his reward; he would have said, "Now,Miss Caroline, for all this give me one kiss." But ere the words hadpassed his lips she was across the snowy road, rather skimming thanwading the drifts.
"She is my debtor, and I _will_ be paid."
He flattered himself that it was opportunity, not audacity, which hadfailed him. He misjudged the quality of his own nature, and held it forsomething lower than it was.