CHAPTER XI.
FAREWELL.
THE young lady was instantly grave, with even a little fiery gleam ofanger in her eyes, he thought. He could not help raising his also, nowquite gravely and even respectfully, looking on her.
"I think you know who we are," she said a little suddenly and haughtily.
"You are at present living at Malory, I believe," said he, with arespectful evasion.
"Yes; but I mean _who_ we are," said Margaret, very pale, very proud,and with her splendid hazel eyes fixed full upon him with theirresistible inspiration of truth.
"I _have_ heard--in part accidentally--something."
"Yes," said the girl; "you are Mr. Cleve Verney, and my name isFanshawe; and my father, Sir Booth Fanshawe, is at present living atMalory."
"My dear! are you _mad_?" gasped Miss Sheckleton aghast.
"Yes. We are the people who live at Malory, and my father had hoped thathe might have escaped there the observation of all but the very fewpersons who take a friendly interest in him. The place was looked outand taken for us by a person of whom we know nothing--a clergyman, Ibelieve. I have now, for the first time, learned from that gravestone towhom the place belongs. We know nothing of the townspeople or ofneighbours. We have lived to ourselves; and if he had known that Malorybelonged to the Verneys, I hope you believe he would neither have beenmad or mean enough to come here, to live in the house of his enemies."
"Oh, Margaret! Margaret! you have ruined your father," said poor MissSheckleton, pale as a ghost, and with her trembling fingers in the air.
"I assure you, Miss Fanshawe," said Cleve, "you do me a cruel injustice,when you class me with Sir Booth Fanshawe's _enemies_. There have beenthose miserable money matters, in which _I_ never had, nor _could_ havehad, any influence whatsoever. And there has been political hostility,in which I have been the victim rather than the aggressor. Of course,I've had to fight my battles as best I could; but I've never doneanything unfair or unmanly. You plainly think me a personal enemy of SirBooth's. It pains me that you do so. In the sense in which you seem tothink it, I never was, nor in any sense could I continue to be so, inhis present--his present--"
The young man hesitated for a word or a paraphrase to convey a painfulmeaning without offence.
"His present ruin, and his approaching exile," said the young lady.
"I'm sure, sir, what you say is exactly so," pleaded poor MissSheckleton, nervously. "It was, as you say, all about elections, andthat kind of thing, which, with him, you know, never can be again. So,I'm sure, the feeling is all over. _Is_n't it, Mr. Verney?"
"I don't think it matters much," said the young lady, in the same toneof haughty defiance. "_I_ don't--girls, I believe, never _do_ understandbusiness and politics. All I know is this--that my father has beenruined. My father has been ruined, and that, I hope, will satisfy hisenemies. I know _he_ thinks, and _other_ people think--people in no waymixed up in his affairs--people who are _impartial_--that it was thecruelty and oppression of Mr. Kiffyn Verney, your uncle, I think yousay--that drove him to ruin. Well, you now know that my father is atMalory."
"He does, darling. We may be overheard," said Miss Sheckleton in animploring tremor.
But the young lady continued in the same clear tone--
"I can't say what is considered fair and manly, as you say, in politicalenmity; but, seeing what it has done, I have no reason to believe itvery scrupulous or very merciful; therefore, with some diffidence, I askonly, whether you can promise that he shall not be molested for a fewdays, until some other refuge shall have been provided for us? And whenwe shall have left England for ever, you will have no more to fear frommy father, and can afford, I think, to forget his name."
There was a kind of contradiction here, or rather one of those discordswhich our sense of harmony requires, and mysteriously delights in--forwhile her language was toned with something of the anguish of pleading,her mien and look were those of a person dictating terms to thevanquished. Had she but known all, they might have been inspired by theworkings of his heart. Her colour had returned more brilliantly, herlarge eyes gleamed, and her beautiful eyebrow wore that _anguine_ curvewhich is the only approach to a scowl which painters accord to angels.Thus, though her tones were pathetic, she stood like a beautiful imageof Victory.
In the silence that followed, Cleve stood before her for a momentconfounded. Too many feelings were on a sudden set in motion by thisgirl's harangue, to find a distinct resultant in words. His pride wasstung--something of anger was stirred within him; his finer sympathies,too, were moved, and a deeper feeling still.
"I'm afraid you think me a very mean person, indeed," said Cleve. "To noone, not to my uncle, not to any living person, will I so much as hintthat I know anything of Sir Booth Fanshawe's present place of abode. Idon't think that we men are ever quite understood by _you_. I hope_that_ is it. I _hope_ it is not that you entertain a particularly illopinion of _me_. I haven't deserved it, you'll find I _never_ shall. Ihope you will employ me. I hope, Miss Sheckleton, _you_ will employ me,whenever, in _any_ way, you think I can be of use. Your having, althoughI know it is perfectly accidental, come to Malory, places me under akind of obligation, I wish you would allow me to think so, ofhospitality; there is no room for generosity here; it would be amisplaced phrase; but I wish, _very_ much, that you would put mygoodwill to the proof, and rely upon my fidelity; only give me a trial."
I believe that every one who is speaking all in earnest, and, for themoment, quite from a good impulse, looks more beautiful in thatmomentary light of paradise, and certainly no handsomer young fellow, tomy mind, could have been imagined than Cleve Verney, as he stooduncovered before the beautiful stranger, and pleaded for her goodopinion.
The young lady was silent, and looked at Miss Sheckleton, as if deputingher to answer, and then looked away.
"You're very kind. I _know_ you won't deceive us, Mr. Verney," said MissSheckleton, with an imploring look, and laying her hand unconsciouslyupon his arm. "I am sure you won't disappoint us; but it is a greatdifficulty; you've no idea, for Sir Booth feels very strongly, and infact we don't mention the name of your family to him; and I'msure--indeed I _know_--if he were aware that Malory was Verney property,he would never have come here, and if I were to tell him, he would leaveit at once. It was a very old friend, Lord Hammerdon, who employed aclergyman, a Mr. Dixie, I think, a friend of his, to look out a suitableplace in a very quiet neighbourhood; and so, without making--without,indeed, the _power_ of making inquiry, we came down here, and have justmade the discovery--two discoveries, indeed--for not only does the placebelong to your family, but you, Mr. Verney are aware that Sir Booth ishere."
"Sir Booth will do me the justice to trust my word. I assure you--Iswear to you--no mortal shall learn the secret of his residence from me.I hope Miss Fanshawe believes me. I'm sure _you_ do, Miss Sheckleton,"said Cleve.
"We are _both very_ much obliged," said the old lady.
The girl's eyes were lowered. Cleve thought she made just a perceptibleinclination to intimate her acquiescence. It was clear, however, thather fears were satisfied. She raised her eyes, and they rested on himfor a moment with a grave and even melancholy gaze, in which--was thereconfidence? That momentary, almost unconscious glance, was averted, butCleve felt unaccountably happy and even proud.
"It is then understood," said he, "that I am not to charge myself withhaving caused, however unintentionally, any disturbance or embarrassmentof your plans. Do you think--it would give me so much pleasure--that Imight venture to call upon Sir Booth Fanshawe, to make him in personthat offer of my humble services, in any way in which he might pleaseto employ me, which I have already tendered to you?"
He saw the young lady turn an alarmed glance upon her companion, andpress her hand slightly on her arm, and the old lady said quickly--
"Not for the world! Nothing would vex him more. That is, I mean, it isbetter he should not think that he has been recognised; he is impetuous,and, as you _must_ know, a little fiery,
and just now is suffering, and,in fact, I should not venture, although I need not say, I quiteappreciate the feeling, and thank you very much."
A silence followed this little speech. The subject that had engrossedand excited the little party, was for the present exhausted, and no onewas ready at the moment to start another.
"We have detained you here, most unreasonably, Mr. Verney, I'm afraid,"said Miss Sheckleton, glancing towards the door. "The evenings havegrown so short, and our boatman said we should be longer returning; andI think we should have been on our way home before now."
"I only wish you would allow me to set you down at Malory, in my boat,but I know that would not do, so you must allow me to see you on boardyour own."
More time had passed, a great deal, during this odd scene, than it takesto read this note of it. When they stepped forth from the door of thetenebrous little church, the mellow light of sunset was streaming alongthe broken pavement and grass, and glowing on the gray walls and ivy ofthe old building.
Margaret Fanshawe was very silent all the way down to the little stonepier, at which the boat was moored. But the old lady had quite recoveredher garrulous good spirits and energy. There was something likeable andeven winning in Miss Anne Sheckleton, sixty years though she looked. Shedid not hide her gray locks; they were parted smoothly over herintelligent forehead, and in her clear, pleasant face you could see attimes a little gleam of waggery, and sometimes the tenderness ofsentiment. So that there remained with her that inextinguishable youthof spirit that attracts to the last.
Cleve was not one of those fellows who don't understand even so muchself-denial as is necessary to commend them to old ladies on occasion.He was wiser. He walked beside her slight figure and light firm step,talking agreeably, with now and then a stolen glance at the silent girl.Miss Sheckleton was an old woman such as I love. Such as remains youngat three score, and is active still with youthful interests, and a veinof benevolent romance.
And now they stood at the gunwale of the boat, and Miss Sheckletonsmiling a little anxiously, gave him her hand at parting.
"May I?" said he, in a tone respectful and even melancholy, at the sametime, extending his hand with hesitation toward the young lady besidehim.
There was a little motion in her hand, as if she would have shut orwithdrawn it, but she looked at him with grave eyes; was there doubt inthem, or was there confidence? and gave him her hand too, with a sadlook. There was one strong violent throb at his heart as he pressed thatslender gauge; and then it seemed to stand still for a moment; and heheard the evening breeze among the leaves, like a sigh along the shore.Was it an omen?
The next moment he was standing alone, with his hat in his hand, smilingand waving an adieu over the glittering waves to the receding boat.