CHAPTER XXII
THE RIDE
Crossjay darted up to her a nose ahead of the colonel.
"I say, Miss Middleton, we're to have the whole day to ourselves, aftermorning lessons. Will you come and fish with me and see mebird's-nest?"
"Not for the satisfaction of beholding another cracked crown, my son,"the colonel interposed: and bowing to Clara: "Miss Middleton is handedover to my exclusive charge for the day, with her consent?"
"I scarcely know," said she, consulting a sensation of languor thatseemed to contain some reminiscence. "If I am here. My father's plansare uncertain. I will speak to him. If I am here, perhaps Crossjaywould like a ride in the afternoon."
"Oh, yes," cried the boy; "out over Bournden, through Mewsey up toClosharn Beacon, and down on Aspenwell, where there's a common forracing. And ford the stream!"
"An inducement for you," De Craye said to her.
She smiled and squeezed the boy's hand.
"We won't go without you, Crossjay."
"You don't carry a comb, my man, when you bathe?"
At this remark of the colonel's young Crossjay conceived the appearanceof his matted locks in the eyes of his adorable lady. He gave her onedear look through his redness, and fled.
"I like that boy," said De Craye.
"I love him," said Clara.
Crossjay's troubled eyelids in his honest young face became a picturefor her.
"After all, Miss Middleton, Willoughby's notions about him are not sobad, if we consider that you will be in the place of a mother to him."
"I think them bad."
"You are disinclined to calculate the good fortune of the boy in havingmore of you on land than he would have in crown and anchor buttons!"
"You have talked of him with Willoughby."
"We had a talk last night."
Of how much? thought she.
"Willoughby returns?" she said.
"He dines here, I know; for he holds the key of the inner cellar, andDoctor Middleton does him the honour to applaud his wine. Willoughbywas good enough to tell me that he thought I might contribute to amuseyou."
She was brooding in stupefaction on her father and the wine as sherequested Colonel De Craye to persuade Willoughby to take the generalview of Crossjay's future and act on it.
"He seems fond of the boy, too," said De Craye, musingly.
"You speak in doubt?"
"Not at all. But is he not--men are queer fish!--make allowance forus--a trifle tyrannical, pleasantly, with those he is fond of?"
"If they look right and left?"
It was meant for an interrogation; it was not with the sound of onethat the words dropped. "My dear Crossjay!" she sighed. "I wouldwillingly pay for him out of my own purse, and I will do so rather thanhave him miss his chance. I have not mustered resolution to proposeit."
"I may be mistaken, Miss Middleton. He talked of the boy's fondness ofhim."
"He would."
"I suppose he is hardly peculiar in liking to play Pole-star."
"He may not be."
"For the rest, your influence should be all-powerful."
"It is not."
De Craye looked with a wandering eye at the heavens.
"We are having a spell of weather perfectly superb. And the odd thingis, that whenever we have splendid weather at home we're all forrushing abroad. I'm booked for a Mediterranean cruise--postponed togive place to your ceremony."
"That?" she could not control her accent.
"What worthier?"
She was guilty of a pause.
De Craye saved it from an awkward length. "I have written half an essayon Honeymoons, Miss Middleton."
"Is that the same as a half-written essay, Colonel De Craye?"
"Just the same, with the difference that it's a whole essay written allon one side."
"On which side?"
"The bachelor's."
"Why does he trouble himself with such topics?"
"To warm himself for being left out in the cold."
"Does he feel envy?"
"He has to confess it."
"He has liberty."
"A commodity he can't tell the value of if there's no one to buy."
"Why should he wish to sell?"
"He's bent on completing his essay."
"To make the reading dull."
"There we touch the key of the subject. For what is to rescue the pairfrom a monotony multiplied by two? And so a bachelor's recommendation,when each has discovered the right sort of person to be dull with,pushes them from the churchdoor on a round of adventures containing aspice of peril, if 'tis to be had. Let them be in danger of their livesthe first or second day. A bachelor's loneliness is a private affair ofhis own; he hasn't to look into a face to be ashamed of feeling it andinflicting it at the same time; 'tis his pillow; he can punch it an hepleases, and turn it over t'other side, if he's for a mighty variation;there's a dream in it. But our poor couple are staring wide awake. Alltheir dreaming's done. They've emptied their bottle of elixir, orbroken it; and she has a thirst for the use of the tongue, and he toyawn with a crony; and they may converse, they're not aware of it, morethan the desert that has drunk a shower. So as soon as possible she'saway to the ladies, and he puts on his Club. That's what your bachelorsees and would like to spare them; and if he didn't see something ofthe sort he'd be off with a noose round his neck, on his knees in thedew to the morning milkmaid."
"The bachelor is happily warned and on his guard," said Clara,diverted, as he wished her to be. "Sketch me a few of the adventuresyou propose."
"I have a friend who rowed his bride from the Houses of Parliament upthe Thames to the Severn on into North Wales. They shot some prettyweirs and rapids."
"That was nice."
"They had an infinity of adventures, and the best proof of the benefitthey derived is, that they forgot everything about them except that theadventures occurred."
"Those two must have returned bright enough to please you."
"They returned, and shone like a wrecker's beacon to the mariner. Yousee, Miss Middleton, there was the landscape, and the exercise, and theoccasional bit of danger. I think it's to be recommended. The scene isalways changing, and not too fast; and 'tis not too sublime, like bigmountains, to tire them of their everlasting big Ohs. There's thedifference between going into a howling wind and launching amongzephyrs. They have fresh air and movement, and not in a railwaycarriage; they can take in what they look on. And she has the steeringropes, and that's a wise commencement. And my lord is all day making anexhibition of his manly strength, bowing before her some sixty to theminute; and she, to help him, just inclines when she's in the mood. Andthey're face to face in the nature of things, and are not under theobligation of looking the unutterable, because, you see, there'sbusiness in hand; and the boat's just the right sort of third party,who never interferes, but must be attended to. And they feel they'relabouring together to get along, all in the proper proportion; andwhether he has to labour in life or not, he proves his ability. What doyou think of it, Miss Middleton?"
"I think you have only to propose it, Colonel De Craye."
"And if they capsize, why, 'tis a natural ducking!"
"You forgot the lady's dressing-bag."
"The stain on the metal for a constant reminder of his prowess insaving it! Well, and there's an alternative to that scheme, and afiner:--This, then: they read dramatic pieces during courtship, to stopthe saying of things over again till the drum of the car becomesnothing but a drum to the poor head, and a little before they affixtheir signatures to the fatal Registry-book of the vestry, they enterinto an engagement with a body of provincial actors to join the troopon the day of their nuptials, and away they go in their coach and four,and she is Lady Kitty Caper for a month, and he Sir Harry Highflyer.See the honeymoon spinning! The marvel to me is that none of the youngcouples do it. They could enjoy the world, see life, amuse the company,and come back fresh to their own characters, instead of givingthemselv
es a dose of Africa without a savage to diversify it: animpression they never get over, I'm told. Many a character of thehappiest auspices has irreparable mischief done it by the ordinaryhoneymoon. For my part, I rather lean to the second plan of campaign."
Clara was expected to reply, and she said: "Probably because you arefond of acting. It would require capacity on both sides."
"Miss Middleton, I would undertake to breathe the enthusiasm for thestage and the adventure."
"You are recommending it generally."
"Let my gentleman only have a fund of enthusiasm. The lady will kindle.She always does at a spark."
"If he has not any?"
"Then I'm afraid they must be mortally dull."
She allowed her silence to speak; she knew that it did so tooeloquently, and could not control the personal adumbration she gave tothe one point of light revealed in, "if he has not any". Her figureseemed immediately to wear a cap and cloak of dulness.
She was full of revolt and anger, she was burning with her situation;if sensible of shame now at anything that she did, it turned to wrathand threw the burden on the author of her desperate distress. The hourfor blaming herself had gone by, to be renewed ultimately perhaps in aseason of freedom. She was bereft of her insight within at present, soblind to herself that, while conscious of an accurate reading ofWilloughby's friend, she thanked him in her heart for seeking simply toamuse her and slightly succeeding. The afternoon's ride with him andCrossjay was an agreeable beguilement to her in prospect.
Laetitia came to divide her from Colonel De Craye. Dr. Middleton wasnot seen before his appearance at the breakfast-table, where a certainair of anxiety in his daughter's presence produced the semblance of araised map at intervals on his forehead. Few sights on earth are moredeserving of our sympathy than a good man who has a troubled consciencethrust on him.
The Rev. Doctor's perturbation was observed. The ladies Eleanor andIsabel, seeing his daughter to be the cause of it, blamed her, andwould have assisted him to escape, but Miss Dale, whom he courted withthat object, was of the opposite faction. She made way for Clara tolead her father out. He called to Vernon, who merely nodded whileleaving the room by the window with Crossjay.
Half an eye on Dr. Middleton's pathetic exit in captivity sufficed totell Colonel De Craye that parties divided the house. At first hethought how deplorable it would be to lose Miss Middleton for two daysor three: and it struck him that Vernon Whitford and Laetitia Dale wereacting oddly in seconding her, their aim not being discernible. For hewas of the order of gentlemen of the obscurely-clear in mind who have apredetermined acuteness in their watch upon the human play, and markmen and women as pieces of a bad game of chess, each pursuing aninterested course. His experience of a section of the world hadeducated him--as gallant, frank, and manly a comrade as one could wishfor--up to this point. But he soon abandoned speculations, which may becompared to a shaking anemometer that will not let the troubledindicator take station. Reposing on his perceptions and his instincts,he fixed his attention on the chief persons, only glancing at theothers to establish a postulate, that where there are parties in ahouse the most bewitching person present is the origin of them. It isever Helen's achievement. Miss Middleton appeared to him bewitchingbeyond mortal; sunny in her laughter, shadowy in her smiling; a younglady shaped for perfect music with a lover.
She was that, and no less, to every man's eye on earth. High breedingdid not freeze her lovely girlishness.--But Willoughby did. Thisreflection intervened to blot luxurious picturings of her, and madeitself acceptable by leading him back to several instances of anevident want of harmony of the pair.
And now (for purely undirected impulse all within us is not, though wemay be eye-bandaged agents under direction) it became necessary for anhonourable gentleman to cast vehement rebukes at the fellow who did notcomprehend the jewel he had won. How could Willoughby behave like socomplete a donkey! De Craye knew him to be in his interior stiff,strange, exacting: women had talked of him; he had been too much forone woman--the dashing Constantia: he had worn one woman, sacrificingfar more for him than Constantia, to death. Still, with such a prize asClara Middleton, Willoughby's behaviour was past calculating in itscontemptible absurdity. And during courtship! And courtship of thatgirl! It was the way of a man ten years after marriage.
The idea drew him to picture her doatingly in her young matronly bloomten years after marriage: without a touch of age, matronly wise,womanly sweet: perhaps with a couple of little ones to love, neverhaving known the love of a man.
To think of a girl like Clara Middleton never having atnine-and-twenty, and with two fair children! known the love of a man orthe loving of a man, possibly, became torture to the Colonel.
For a pacification he had to reconsider that she was as yet onlynineteen and unmarried.
But she was engaged, and she was unloved. One might swear to it, thatshe was unloved. And she was not a girl to be satisfied with a bighouse and a high-nosed husband.
There was a rapid alteration of the sad history of Clara the unlovedmatron solaced by two little ones. A childless Clara tragically lovingand beloved flashed across the dark glass of the future.
Either way her fate was cruel.
Some astonishment moved De Craye in the contemplation of the distancehe had stepped in this morass of fancy. He distinguished the choiceopen to him of forward or back, and he selected forward. But fancy wasdead: the poetry hovering about her grew invisible to him: he stood inthe morass; that was all he knew; and momently he plunged deeper; andhe was aware of an intense desire to see her face, that he might studyher features again: he understood no more.
It was the clouding of the brain by the man's heart, which had come tothe knowledge that it was caught.
A certain measure of astonishment moved him still. It had hitherto beenhis portion to do mischief to women and avoid the vengeance of the sex.What was there in Miss Middleton's face and air to ensnare a veteranhandsome man of society numbering six-and-thirty years, nearly as manyconquests? "Each bullet has got its commission." He was hit at last.That accident effected by Mr. Flitch had fired the shot. Clean throughthe heart, does not tell us of our misfortune, till the heart is askedto renew its natural beating. It fell into the condition of theporcelain vase over a thought of Miss Middleton standing above hisprostrate form on the road, and walking beside him to the Hall. Herwords? What have they been? She had not uttered words, she had shedmeanings. He did not for an instant conceive that he had charmed her:the charm she had cast on him was too thrilling for coxcombry to lift ahead; still she had enjoyed his prattle. In return for her touch uponthe Irish fountain in him, he had manifestly given her relief And couldnot one see that so sprightly a girl would soon be deadened by a manlike Willoughby? Deadened she was: she had not responded to acompliment on her approaching marriage. An allusion to it killed hersmiling. The case of Mr. Flitch, with the half wager about hisreinstation in the service of the Hall, was conclusive evidence of heropinion of Willoughby.
It became again necessary that he should abuse Willoughby for hisfolly. Why was the man worrying her? In some way he was worrying her.
What if Willoughby as well as Miss Middleton wished to be quit of theengagement? . . .
For just a second, the handsome, woman-flattered officer proved hisman's heart more whole than he supposed it. That great organ, insteadof leaping at the thought, suffered a check.
Bear in mind that his heart was not merely man's, it was a conqueror's.He was of the race of amorous heroes who glory in pursuing, overtaking,subduing: wresting the prize from a rival, having her ripe fromexquisitely feminine inward conflicts, plucking her out of resistancein good old primitive fashion. You win the creature in her deliciousflutterings. He liked her thus, in cooler blood, because of society'sadmiration of the capturer, and somewhat because of the strife, whichalways enhances the value of a prize, and refreshes our vanity inrecollection.
Moreover, he had been matched against Willoughby: the circumstance hadoccurred two o
r three times. He could name a lady he had won, a lady hehad lost. Willoughby's large fortune and grandeur of style had givenhim advantages at the start. But the start often means the race--withwomen, and a bit of luck.
The gentle check upon the galloping heart of Colonel De Craye enduredno longer than a second--a simple side-glance in a headlong pace.Clara's enchantingness for a temperament like his, which is to say, forhim specially, in part through the testimony her conquest of himselfpresented as to her power of sway over the universal heart known asman's, assured him she was worth winning even from a hand that droppedher.
He had now a double reason for exclaiming at the folly of Willoughby.Willoughby's treatment of her showed either temper or weariness. Vanityand judgement led De Craye to guess the former. Regarding hersentiments for Willoughby, he had come to his own conclusion. Thecertainty of it caused him to assume that he possessed an absoluteknowledge of her character: she was an angel, born supple; she was aheavenly soul, with half a dozen of the tricks of earth. Skittish fillywas among his phrases; but she had a bearing and a gaze that forbadethe dip in the common gutter for wherewithal to paint the creature shewas.
Now, then, to see whether he was wrong for the first time in his life!If not wrong, he had a chance.
There could be nothing dishonourable in rescuing a girl from anengagement she detested. An attempt to think it a service to Willoughbyfaded midway. De Craye dismissed that chicanery. It would be a serviceto Willoughby in the end, without question. There was that to soothehis manly honour. Meanwhile he had to face the thought of Willoughby asan antagonist, and the world looking heavy on his honour as a friend.
Such considerations drew him tenderly close to Miss Middleton. It must,however, be confessed that the mental ardour of Colonel De Craye hadbeen a little sobered by his glance at the possibility of both of thecouple being of one mind on the subject of their betrothal. Desirableas it was that they should be united in disagreeing, it reduced theromance to platitude, and the third person in the drama to theappearance of a stick. No man likes to play that part. Memoirs of thefavourites of Goddesses, if we had them, would confirm it of men'stastes in this respect, though the divinest be the prize. We beholdwhat part they played.
De Craye chanced to be crossing the hall from the laboratory to thestables when Clara shut the library-door behind her. He said somethingwhimsical, and did not stop, nor did he look twice at the face he hadbeen longing for.
What he had seen made him fear there would be no ride out with her thatday. Their next meeting reassured him; she was dressed in herriding-habit, and wore a countenance resolutely cheerful. He gavehimself the word of command to take his tone from her.
He was of a nature as quick as Clara's. Experience pushed him fartherthan she could go in fancy; but experience laid a sobering finger onhis practical steps, and bade them hang upon her initiative. She talkedlittle. Young Crossjay cantering ahead was her favourite subject. Shewas very much changed since the early morning: his liveliness, essayedby him at a hazard, was unsuccessful; grave English pleased her best.The descent from that was naturally to melancholy. She mentioned aregret she had that the Veil was interdicted to women in Protestantcountries. De Craye was fortunately silent; he could think of no otherveil than the Moslem, and when her meaning struck his witless head, headmitted to himself that devout attendance on a young lady's mindstupefies man's intelligence. Half an hour later, he was as foolish insupposing it a confidence. He was again saved by silence.
In Aspenwell village she drew a letter from her bosom and called toCrossjay to post it. The boy sang out, "Miss Lucy Darleton! What anice name!"
Clara did not show that the name betrayed anything.
She said to De Craye. "It proves he should not be here thinking of nicenames."
Her companion replied, "You may be right." He added, to avoid feelingtoo subservient: "Boys will."
"Not if they have stern masters to teach them their daily lessons, andsome of the lessons of existence."
"Vernon Whitford is not stern enough?"
"Mr. Whitford has to contend with other influences here."
"With Willoughby?"
"Not with Willoughby."
He understood her. She touched the delicate indication firmly. Theman's, heart respected her for it; not many girls could be sothoughtful or dare to be so direct; he saw that she had become deeplyserious, and he felt her love of the boy to be maternal, past maidensentiment.
By this light of her seriousness, the posting of her letter in adistant village, not entrusting it to the Hall post-box, might haveimport; not that she would apprehend the violation of her privatecorrespondence, but we like to see our letter of weighty meaning passinto the mouth of the public box.
Consequently this letter was important. It was to suppose a sequency inthe conduct of a variable damsel. Coupled with her remark about theVeil, and with other things, not words, breathing from her (which werethe breath of her condition), it was not unreasonably to be supposed.She might even be a very consistent person. If one only had the key ofher!
She spoke once of an immediate visit to London, supposing that shecould induce her father to go. De Craye remembered the occurrence inthe Hall at night, and her aspect of distress.
They raced along Aspenwell Common to the ford; shallow, to the chagrinof young Crossjay, between whom and themselves they left a fittingspace for his rapture in leading his pony to splash up and down, lordof the stream.
Swiftness of motion so strikes the blood on the brain that our thoughtsare lightnings, the heart is master of them.
De Craye was heated by his gallop to venture on the angling question:"Am I to hear the names of the bridesmaids?"
The pace had nerved Clara to speak to it sharply: "There is no need."
"Have I no claim?"
She was mute.
"Miss Lucy Darleton, for instance; whose name I am almost as much inlove with as Crossjay."
"She will not be bridesmaid to me."
"She declines? Add my petition, I beg."
"To all? or to her?"
"Do all the bridesmaids decline?"
"The scene is too ghastly."
"A marriage?"
"Girls have grown sick of it."
"Of weddings? We'll overcome the sickness."
"With some."
"Not with Miss Darleton? You tempt my eloquence."
"You wish it?"
"To win her consent? Certainly."
"The scene?"
"Do I wish that?"
"Marriage!" exclaimed Clara, dashing into the ford, fearful of herungovernable wildness and of what it might have kindled.--You, father!you have driven me to unmaidenliness!--She forgot Willoughby, in herfather, who would not quit a comfortable house for her all butprostrate beseeching; would not bend his mind to her explanations,answered her with the horrid iteration of such deaf misunderstanding asmay be associated with a tolling bell.
De Craye allowed her to catch Crossjay by herself. They entered a narrowlane, mysterious with possible birds' eggs in the May-green hedges. Asthere was not room for three abreast, the colonel made up therear-guard, and was consoled by having Miss Middleton's figure tocontemplate; but the readiness of her joining in Crossjay's pastime ofthe nest-hunt was not so pleasing to a man that she had wound to apitch of excitement. Her scornful accent on "Marriage" rang throughhim. Apparently she was beginning to do with him just as she liked,herself entirely unconcerned.
She kept Crossjay beside her till she dismounted, and the colonel wasleft to the procession of elephantine ideas in his head, whoseponderousness he took for natural weight. We do not with impunityabandon the initiative. Men who have yielded it are like cavalry put onthe defensive; a very small force with an ictus will scatter them.
Anxiety to recover lost ground reduced the dimensions of his ideas to apractical standard.
Two ideas were opposed like duellists bent on the slaughter of oneanother. Either she amazed him by confirming the suspicions he hadgathered of her sentiments
for Willoughby in the moments of hisintroduction to her; or she amazed him as a model for coquettes--themarried and the widow might apply to her for lessons.
These combatants exchanged shots, but remained standing; the encounterwas undecided. Whatever the result, no person so seductive as ClaraMiddleton had he ever met. Her cry of loathing, "Marriage!" coming froma girl, rang faintly clear of an ancient virginal aspiration of the sexto escape from their coil, and bespoke a pure, cold, savage pride thattransplanted his thirst for her to higher fields.