CHAPTER XIX.
CLEVE VERNEY TAKES A BOLD STEP.
WHEN we seek danger he is sometimes--like death--hard to find. Clevewould not have disliked an encounter with Sir Booth Fanshawe; who couldtell what might come of such a meeting? It was palpably so much theinterest of that ruined gentleman to promote his wishes, that, if hewould only command his temper and listen to reason, he had little doubtof enlisting him zealously in his favour. It was his own uncle whoalways appeared to him the really formidable obstacle.
Therefore, next night, Cleve fearlessly walked down to Malory. It wasseven o'clock, and dark. It was a still, soft night. The moon not upyet, and all within the gate, dark as Erebus--silent, also, except forthe fall of a dry leaf now and then, rustling sadly through the boughs.
At the gate for a moment he hesitated, and then with a sudden decision,pushed it open, entered, and the darkness received him. A littleconfused were his thoughts and feelings as he strode through thatdarkness and silence toward the old house. So dark it was, that todirect his steps, he had to look up for a streak of sky between thenearly meeting branches of the trees.
This trespass was not a premeditated outrage. It was a suddeninspiration of despair. He had thought of writing to Sir Booth. But towhat mischief might not that fierce and impracticable old man apply hisovert act? Suppose he were to send his letter on to the Hon. KiffynFulke Verney? In that case Mr. Cleve Verney might moralise with anincome of precisely two hundred a year, for the rest of his days, uponthe transitory nature of all human greatness. At the next election hewould say a compulsory farewell to the House. He owed too much money toremain pleasantly in England, his incensed uncle would be quite certainto marry, and with Cleve Verney--ex-M.P., and quondam man of promise,and presumptive Earl of Verney--_conclamatum foret_.
He had therefore come to the gate of Malory in the hope of some suchhappy chance as befel the night before. And now disappointed, he brokethrough all considerations, and was walking in a sort of desperation,right into the lion's mouth.
He slackened his pace, however, and bethought him. Of course, he couldnot ask at this hour to see Miss Anne Sheckleton. Should he go and pay avisit to old Rebecca Mervyn? Hour and circumstances considered, wouldnot that, also, be a liberty and an outrage? What would they think ofit? What would _he_ say of it in another fellow's case? Was he thengoing at this hour to pay his respects to Sir Booth Fanshawe, whom hehad last seen and heard in the thunder and dust of the hustings, hurlinglanguage and grammar that were awful, at his head.
Cleve Verney was glad that he had pulled up before he stood upon thedoor steps; and he felt like an awakened somnambulist.
"I _can't_ do this. It's _impossible_. What a brute I am growing,"thought Cleve, awaking to realities. "There's nothing for it, I believe,but patience. If I were now to press for an answer, she would say 'No;'and were I to ask admission at the house at this hour, what wouldshe--what would Miss Sheckleton, even, think of me? If I had nerve to goaway and forget her, I should be happier--quite happy and quitegood-for-nothing, and perfectly at my uncle's disposal. As it is, I'm_miserable_--a miserable _fool_. Everything against it--even the girl,I believe; and I here--partly in a vision of paradise, partly in thetorments of the damned, wasting my life in the dream of an opium-eater,and without power to break from it, and see the world as it is."
He was leaning with folded arms, like the melancholy Jacques against thetrunk of a forest tree, as this sad soliloquy glided through his mind,and he heard a measured step approaching slowly from the house.
"This is Sir Booth coming," thought he, with a strange, sardonicgladness. "We shall see what will come of it. Let us hear the oldgentleman, by all means."
The step was still distant.
It would have been easy for him to retrace his steps, and to avoid theencounter. But it seemed to him that to stir would have been like movinga mountain, and a sort of cold defiance kept him there, and anunspeakable interest in the story which he was enacting, and a longingto turn over the leaf, and read the next decisive page. So he waited.
His conjecture was right, but the anticipated dialogue did not occur.The tall figure of Sir Booth appeared; some wrappers thrown across hisarm. He stalked on and passed by Cleve, without observing, or rather,seeing him; for his eye had not grown like Cleve's accustomed to thedarkness.
Cleve stood where he was till the step was lost in silence, and waitedfor some time longer, and heard Sir Booth's voice, as he supposed,hailing the boatmen from that solitary shore, and theirs replying, andhe thought of the ghostly boat and boatmen that used to scare him in the"Tale of Wonder" beloved in his boyhood. For anything that remains tohim in life, for any retrospect but one of remorse, he might as well beone of those phantom boatmen on the haunted lake. By this time he isgliding, in the silence of his secret thoughts, upon the dark seaoutside Malory.
"Well!" thought Cleve, with a sudden inspiration, "he will not returnfor two hours at least. I _will_ go on--no great harm in merely passingthe house--and we shall see whether anything turns up."
On went Cleve. The approach to the old house is not a very long one. Ona sudden, through the boughs, the sight of lighted windows met his eyes,and through the open sash of one of them, he heard faintly the pleasantsound of female prattle.
He drew nearer. He stood upon the esplanade before the steps, under thewell-known gray front of the whole house. A shadow crossed the window,and he heard Miss Anne Sheckleton's merry voice speaking volubly, andthen a little silence, of which he availed himself to walk with asdistinct a tread as he could manage, at a little distance, in front ofthe windows, in the hope of exciting the attention of the inmates. Hesucceeded; for almost at the instant two shadowy ladies, the lightsbeing within the room, and hardly any from without, appeared at the openwindow; Miss Sheckleton was in front, and Miss Fanshawe with her handleaning upon her old cousin's shoulder, looked out also.
Cleve stopped instantly, and approached, raising his hat. This younggentleman was also a mere dark outline, and much less distinct thanthose he recognised against the cheery light of the drawing-roomcandles. But I don't think there was a moment's doubt about hisidentity. "Here I am, actually detected, trying to glide byunperceived," said Cleve, lying, as Mr. Fag says in the play, and comingup quickly to the open window. "You must think me quite mad, or the mostimpudent person alive; but what am I to do? I can't leave Ware, withoutpaying old Rebecca--Mrs. Mervyn, you know--a visit. Lady Verney blows meup so awfully about it, and has put it on me as a duty. She thinksthere's no one like old Rebecca; and really poor old Mervyn was alwaysvery kind to me when I was a boy. She lives, you know, in the steward'shouse. I can't come up here in daylight. I'm in such a dilemma. I mustwait till Sir Booth has gone out in his boat, don't you see? and so Idid; and if I had just got round the corner there, without yourobserving me, I should have been all right. I'm really quite ashamed. Imust look so like a trespasser--a poacher--everything that issuspicious; but the case, you see, is really so difficult. I've told youeverything, and I do hope you quite acquit me."
"Oh, yes," said Miss Sheckleton. "We _must_, you know. It's like a pieceof a Spanish comedy; but what's to be done? You must have been very nearmeeting. Booth has only just gone down to the boat."
"We did meet--that is, he actually passed me by, but without seeing me.I heard him coming, and just stood, taking my chance; it was very darkyou know."
"Well, I forgive you," said Miss Sheckleton. "I must, you know; but thedogs won't. You hear them in the yard. What good dear creatures theyare; and when they hear us talking to you, they'll grow quite quiet, andunderstand that all is well, they are _so_ intelligent. And there's theboat; look, Margaret, through _that_ opening, you can just see it. Whenthe moon gets up, it looks so pretty. I suppose it's my bad taste, butthose clumsy fishing boats seem to me so much more picturesque than yournatty yachts, though, of course, _they_ are very nice in their way. Doyou hear how _furious_ you have made our great dog, poor old Neptune! Helooks upon us, Margaret and I, as in his special charge;
but it does notdo, making such an uproar."
I fancy she was thinking of Sir Booth, for she glanced toward the boat;and perhaps the kind old lady was thinking of somebody else, also.
"I'll just run to the back window, and quiet him. I shan't be away amoment, Margaret, dear."
And away went Miss Sheckleton, shutting the door. Miss Fanshawe had notsaid a word, but remained at the window looking out. You might havethought his being there, or not, a matter of entire indifference to her.She had not said a word. She looked toward the point at which the risingsplendour of the moon was already visible over the distant hills.
"Did you miss anything--I'm sure you did--yesterday? I found a pin atthe jetty of Penruthyn. It is so pretty, I've been ever so much temptedto keep it; so very pretty, that somehow, I think it could not havebelonged to any one but to you."
And he took the trinket from his waistcoat pocket.
"Oh! I'm so glad," said she; "I thought I had seen it this morning, andcould not think what had become of it. I never missed it till thisevening."
He touched the fingers she extended to receive it. He took them in hishand, and held them with a gentle force.
"For one moment allow me to hold your hand; don't take it from me yet. I_implore_, only while I say a few words, which you may make, almost by alook, a farewell--my eternal farewell. Margaret, I love you as no otherman ever will love you. You think all this but the madness that youngmen talk. I know nothing of them. What I say is desperately true; nomadness, but sad and irreparable reality. I never knew love but foryou--and for you it is such idolatry as I think the world neverimagined. You are never for one moment from my thoughts. Every good hopeor thought I have, I owe to you. You are the good principle of my life,and if I lose you, I am lost myself."
This strange girl was not a conventional young lady. I don't pronouncewhether she was better or worse for that. She did not drop her eyes,nor yet withdraw her hand. She left that priceless pledge in his, itseemed, unconsciously, and with eyes of melancholy and earnest inquiry,looked on the handsome young man that was pleading with her.
"It is strange," she said, in a dreamy tone, as if talking with herself."I said it was strange, for he does not, and cannot, know me."
"Yes," he answered, "I do know you--intuitively I know you. We have allfaith in the beautiful. We cannot separate the beautiful and the good;they come both direct from God, they resemble him; and I know yourpower--you can make of me what you will. Oh, Margaret, will you shut meout for ever from the only chance of good I shall ever know? Can youever, ever like me?"
There was a little silence, and she said, very low, "If I _were_ to likeyou, would you love me better than anything else in all the world?"
"Than all the world--than all the world," he reiterated, and she feltthe hand of this young man of fashion, of ambition, who had years agolearned to sneer at all romance, quiver as it held her own.
"But first, if I were to allow any one to like me, I would say to him,you must know what you undertake. You must love me with your entireheart; heart and soul, you must give yourself altogether up to me. Imust be everything to you--your present, your future, your happiness,your hope; for I will not bear to share your heart with anything on_earth_! And these are hard terms, but the only ones."
"I need make _no_ vow, darling--_darling_. My life is what you describe,and I cannot help it; I adore you. Oh! Margaret, _can_ you like me?"
Then Margaret Fanshawe answered, and in a tone the most sad, I think,that ever spoke; and to _him_, the sweetest and most solemn; likedistant music in the night, funereal and plaintive, her words fell uponhis entranced ear.
"If I were to say I could like you enough to _wait_, and _try_ if Icould like you more, it always seemed to me so awful a thing--try if Icould like you more--would not the terms seem to you too hard?"
"Oh! Margaret, darling, say you _can_ like me _now_. You know how Iadore you," he implored.
"Here, then, is the truth. I do not like you well enough to say allthat; no, I do _not_, but I like you too well to say _go_. I don't knowhow it _may_ be, but if you choose to wait, and give me a very littletime to resolve, I shall see clearly, and all uncertainty come to anend, _some_how, and God guide us all to good! That is the whole truth,Mr. Verney; and pray say no more at present. You shall not wait long formy answer."
"I agree, darling. I accept your terms. You don't know what delay is tome; but anything rather than despair."
She drew her hand to herself. He released it. It was past all foolishby-play with him, and the weight of a strange fear lay upon his heart.
This little scene took longer in speaking and acting, than it does inreading in this poor note of mine. When they looked up, the moon wassilvering the tops of the trees, and the distant peaks of the Welshmountains, and glimmering and flashing to and fro, like strings ofdiamonds, on the water.
And now Miss Anne Sheckleton entered, having talked old Neptune intogood humour.
"Is there a chance of your visiting Penruthyn again?" asked Cleve, as ifnothing unusual had passed. "You have not seen the old park. _Pray_,come to-morrow."
Miss Sheckleton looked at the young lady, but she made no sign.
"_Shall_ we? _I_ see nothing against it," said she.
"Oh! _do_. I entreat," he persisted.
"Well, if it should be fine, and if nothing prevents, I think I maysay, we _will_, about three o'clock to-morrow."
Margaret did not speak; but was there not something sad and even gentlein her parting? The old enigma was still troubling his brain and heart,as he walked down the dark avenue once more. How would it all end? Howwould she at last pronounce?
The walk, next day, was taken in the Warren, as he had proposed. Ibelieve it was a charming excursion; as happy, too, as under the bitterconditions of suspense it could be; but nothing worthy of record wasspoken, and matters, I dare say, remained, ostensibly at least,precisely as they were.