8. CHRISTOPHER'S LODGINGS--THE GROUNDS ABOUT ROOKINGTON
Meanwhile, in the distant town of Sandbourne, Christopher Julian hadrecovered from the weariness produced by his labours at the Wyndwayevening-party where Ethelberta had been a star. Instead of engaging hisenergies to clear encumbrances from the tangled way of his life, he nowset about reading the popular 'Metres by E.' with more interest andassiduity than ever; for though Julian was a thinker by instinct, he wasa worker by effort only; and the higher of these kinds being dependentupon the lower for its exhibition, there was often a lamentable lack ofevidence of his power in either. It is a provoking correlation, and hasconduced to the obscurity of many a genius.
'Kit,' said his sister, on reviving at the end of the bad headache whichhad followed the dance, 'those poems seem to have increased in value withyou. The lady, lofty as she appears to be, would be flattered if sheonly could know how much you study them. Have you decided to thank herfor them? Now let us talk it over--I like having a chat about such apretty new subject.'
'I would thank her in a moment if I were absolutely certain that she hadanything to do with sending them, or even writing them. I am not quitesure of that yet.'
'How strange that a woman could bring herself to write those verses!'
'Not at all strange--they are natural outpourings.'
Faith looked critically at the remoter caverns of the fire.
'Why strange?' continued Christopher. 'There is no harm in them.'
'O no--no harm. But I cannot explain to you--unless you see it partly ofyour own accord--that to write them she must be rather a fast lady--not abad fast lady; a nice fast lady, I mean, of course. There, I have saidit now, and I daresay you are vexed with me, for your interest in her hasdeepened to what it originally was, I think. I don't mean any absoluteharm by "fast," Kit.'
'Bold, forward, you mean, I suppose?'
Faith tried to hit upon a better definition which should meet all views;and, on failing to do so, looked concerned at her brother's somewhatgrieved appearance, and said, helplessly, 'Yes, I suppose I do.'
'My idea of her is quite the reverse. A poetess must intrinsically besensitive, or she could never feel: but then, frankness is a rhetoricalnecessity even with the most modest, if their inspirations are to do anygood in the world. You will, for certain, not be interested in somethingI was going to tell you, which I thought would have pleased youimmensely; but it is not worth mentioning now.'
'If you will not tell me, never mind. But don't be crabbed, Kit! Youknow how interested I am in all your affairs.'
'It is only that I have composed an air to one of the prettiest of hersongs, "When tapers tall"--but I am not sure about the power of it. Thisis how it begins--I threw it off in a few minutes, after you had gone tobed.'
He went to the piano and lightly touched over an air, the manuscript copyof which he placed in front of him, and listened to hear her opinion,having proved its value frequently; for it was not that of a womanmerely, but impersonally human. Though she was unknown to fame, this wasa great gift in Faith, since to have an unsexed judgment is as preciousas to be an unsexed being is deplorable.
'It is very fair indeed,' said the sister, scarcely moving her lips inher great attention. 'Now again, and again, and again. How could you doit in the time!'
Kit knew that she admired his performance: passive assent was her usualpraise, and she seldom insisted vigorously upon any view of hiscompositions unless for purposes of emendation.
'I was thinking that, as I cannot very well write to her, I may as wellsend her this,' said Christopher, with lightened spirits, voice tocorrespond, and eyes likewise; 'there can be no objection to it, for suchthings are done continually. Consider while I am gone, Faith. I shallbe out this evening for an hour or two.'
When Christopher left the house shortly after, instead of going into thetown on some errand, as was customary whenever he went from home afterdark, he ascended a back street, passed over the hills behind, and walkedat a brisk pace inland along the road to Rookington Park, where, as hehad learnt, Ethelberta and Lady Petherwin were staying for a time, theday or two which they spent at Wyndway having formed a short break in themiddle of this visit. The moon was shining to-night, and Christophersped onwards over the pallid high-road as readily as he could have doneat noonday. In three-quarters of an hour he reached the park gates; andentering now upon a tract which he had never before explored, he wentalong more cautiously and with some uncertainty as to the precisedirection that the road would take. A frosted expanse of even grass, onwhich the shadow of his head appeared with an opal halo round it, soonallowed the house to be discovered beyond, the other portions of the parkabounding with timber older and finer than that of any other spot in theneighbourhood. Christopher withdrew into the shade, and wheeled round tothe front of the building that contained his old love. Here he gazed andidled, as many a man has done before him--wondering which room the fairpoetess occupied, waiting till lights began to appear in the upperwindows--which they did as uncertainly as glow-worms blinking up ateventide--and warming with currents of revived feeling in perhaps thesweetest of all conditions. New love is brightest, and long love isgreatest; but revived love is the tenderest thing known upon earth.
Occupied thus, Christopher was greatly surprised to see, on casuallyglancing to one side, another man standing close to the shadowy trunk ofanother tree, in a similar attitude to his own, gazing, with arms folded,as blankly at the windows of the house as Christopher himself had beengazing. Not willing to be discovered, Christopher stuck closer to histree. While he waited thus, the stranger began murmuring words, in aslow soft voice. Christopher listened till he heard the following:--
'Pale was the day and rayless, love, That had an eve so dim.'
Two well-known lines from one of Ethelberta's poems.
Jealousy is a familiar kind of heat which disfigures, licks playfully,clouds, blackens, and boils a man as a fire does a pot; and onrecognizing these pilferings from what he had grown to regard as his owntreasury, Christopher's fingers began to nestle with great vigour in thepalms of his hands. Three or four minutes passed, when the unknown rivalgave a last glance at the windows, and walked away. Christopher did notlike the look of that walk at all--there was grace enough in it tosuggest that his antagonist had no mean chance of finding favour in awoman's eyes. A sigh, too, seemed to proceed from the stranger's breast;but as their distance apart was too great for any such sound to be heardby any possibility, Christopher set down that to imagination, or to thebrushing of the wind over the trees.
The lighted windows went out one by one, and all the house was indarkness. Julian then walked off himself, with a vigour that wasspasmodic only, and with much less brightness of mind than he hadexperienced on his journey hither. The stranger had gone another way,and Christopher saw no more of him. When he reached Sandbourne, Faithwas still sitting up.
'But I told you I was going to take a long walk,' he said.
'No, Christopher: really you did not. How tired and sad you dolook--though I always know beforehand when you are in that state: one ofyour feet has a drag about it as you pass along the pavement outside thewindow.'
'Yes, I forgot that I did not tell you.'
He could not begin to describe his pilgrimage: it was too silly a thingeven for her to hear of.
'It does not matter at all about my staying up,' said Faith assuringly;'that is, if exercise benefits you. Walking up and down the lane, Isuppose?'
'No; not walking up and down the lane.'
'The turnpike-road to Rookington is pleasant.'
'Faith, that is really where I have been. How came you to know?'
'I only guessed. Verses and an accidental meeting produce a specialjourney.'
'Ethelberta is a fine woman, physically and mentally, both. I wonderpeople do not talk about her twice as much as they do.'
'Then surely you are getting attached to her again. You think youdiscover in her more
than anybody else does; and love begins with a senseof superior discernment.'
'No, no. That is only nonsense,' he said hurriedly. 'However, love heror love her not, I can keep a corner of my heart for you, Faith. Thereis another brute after her too, it seems.'
'Of course there is: I expect there are many. Her position in society isabove ours, so that it is an unwise course to go troubling yourself moreabout her.'
'No. If a needy man must be so foolish as to fall in love, it is best todo so where he cannot double his foolishness by marrying the woman.'
'I don't like to hear you talk so slightingly of what poor father did.'
Christopher fixed his attention on the supper. That night, late as itwas, when Faith was in bed and sleeping, he sat before a sheet of music-paper, neatly copying his composition upon it. The manuscript wasintended as an offering to Ethelberta at the first convenientopportunity.
* * * * *
'Well, after all my trouble to find out about Ethelberta, here comes theclue unasked for,' said the musician to his sister a few days later.
She turned and saw that he was reading the Wessex Reflector.
'What is it?' asked Faith.
'The secret of the true authorship of the book is out at last, and it isEthelberta of course. I am so glad to have it proved hers.'
'But can we believe--?'
'O yes. Just hear what "Our London Correspondent" says. It is one ofthe nicest bits of gossip that he has furnished us with for a long time.'
'Yes: now read it, do.'
'"The author of 'Metres by E.'"' Christopher began, '"a book of which somuch has been said and conjectured, and one, in fact, that has been thechief talk for several weeks past of the literary circles to which Ibelong, is a young lady who was a widow before she reached the age ofeighteen, and is now not far beyond her fourth lustrum. I wasadditionally informed by a friend whom I met yesterday on his way to theHouse of Lords, that her name is Mrs. Petherwin--Christian nameEthelberta; and that she resides with her mother-in-law at their house inExonbury Crescent. She is, moreover, the daughter of the late Bishop ofSilchester (if report may be believed), whose active benevolence, as yourreaders know, left his family in comparatively straitened circumstancesat his death. The marriage was a secret one, and much against the wishof her husband's friends, who are wealthy people on all sides. The deathof the bridegroom two or three weeks after the wedding led to areconciliation; and the young poetess was taken to the home which shestill occupies, devoted to the composition of such brilliant effusions asthose the world has lately been favoured with from her pen."'
'If you want to send her your music, you can do so now,' said Faith.
'I might have sent it before, but I wanted to deliver it personally.However, it is all the same now, I suppose, whether I send it or not. Ialways knew that our destinies would lie apart, though she was oncetemporarily under a cloud. Her momentary inspiration to write that"Cancelled Words" was the worst possible omen for me. It showed that,thinking me no longer useful as a practical chance, she would make meornamental as a poetical regret. But I'll send the manuscript of thesong.'
'In the way of business, as a composer only; and you must say toyourself, "Ethelberta, as thou art but woman, I dare; but as widow I fearthee."'
Notwithstanding Christopher's affected carelessness, that evening saw agreat deal of nicety bestowed upon the operation of wrapping up andsending off the song. He dropped it into the box and heard it fall, andwith the curious power which he possessed of setting his wisdom to watchany particular folly in himself that it could not hinder, speculated ashe walked on the result of this first tangible step of return to his oldposition as Ethelberta's lover.