V
ROSY-FINGERED DAWN
"_Beaucoup de bruit, pas de mal!_" Vaughan muttered in his neighbour'sear; and saw with as much surprise as pleasure that she understood.
And all would have gone well but for the imprudence of the insidepassenger who had distinguished himself by his protest against theplacard. The coach was within a dozen paces of the Bear, the crowd wasfalling back from it, the peril, if it had been real, seemed past, themost timid was breathing again, when he thrust out his foolish head,and flung a taunt--which those on the roof could not hear--at therabble.
Whatever the words, their effect was disastrous. A bystander caughtthem up and repeated them, and in a trice half-a-dozen louts flungthemselves on the door and strove to drag it open, and get at the man;while others, leaning over their shoulders, aimed missiles at theinside passengers.
The guard saw that more than the glass of his windows was at stake;but he could do nothing. He was at the leaders' heads. And thepassengers on the roof, who had risen to their feet to see the fray,were as helpless. Luckily the coachman kept his head and his reins."Turn 'em into the yard!" he yelled. "Turn 'em in!"
The guard did so, almost too quickly. The frightened horses wheeledround, and, faster than was prudent, dashed under the low arch,dragging the swaying coach after them.
There was a cry of "Heads! Heads!" and then, more imperatively,"Heads! Stoop! Stoop!"
The warning was needed. The outsides were on their feet engrossed inthe struggle at the coach door. And so quickly did the coach turnthat--though a score of spectators in the street and on the balcony ofthe inn saw the peril--it was only at the last moment that Vaughan andthe two passengers at the back, men well used to the road, caught thewarning, and dropped down. And it was only at the very last momentthat Vaughan felt rather than saw that the girl was still standing. Hehad just time, by a desperate effort, and amid a cry of horror--for tothe spectators she seemed to be already jammed between the arch andthe seat--to drag her down. Instinctively, as he did so, he shieldedher face with his arm; but the horror was so near that, as they sweptunder the low brow, he was not sure that she was safe.
He was as white as she was, when they emerged into the light again.But he saw that she was safe, though her bonnet was dragged from herhead; and he cried unconsciously, "Thank God! Thank God!" Then, withthat hatred of a scene which is part of the English character, he puther quickly back into her seat again, and rose to his feet, as if hewished to separate himself from her.
But a score of eyes had seen the act; and however much he might wishto spare her feelings, concealment was impossible.
"Christ!" cried the coachman, whose copper cheeks were perceptiblypaler. "If your head's on your shoulders, Miss, it is to that younggentleman you owe it. Don't you ever go to sleep on the roof of acoach again! Never! Never!"
"Here, get a drop of brandy!" cried the landlady, who, from one of thedoors flanking the archway, had seen all. "Do you stay where you are,Miss," she continued, "and I'll send it up to you."
Then amid a babel of exclamations and a chorus of blame and praise,the ladder was brought, and Vaughan made haste to descend. A waitertripped out with the brown brandy and water on a tray; and the younglady, who had not spoken, but had remained, sitting white and still,where Vaughan had placed her, sipped it obediently. Unfortunately thelandlady's eyes were sharp; and as Vaughan passed her to go into thehouse--for the coach must be driven up the yard and turned before theycould set off again--she let fall a cry.
"Lord, sir!" she said, "your hand is torn dreadful! You've grazedevery bit of skin off it!"
He tried to silence her; and failing, hurried into the house. Shefussed after him to attend to him; and Sammy, who was not a man of themost delicate perceptions, seized the opportunity to drive home hisformer lesson. "There, Miss," he said solemnly, "I hope that'll teachyou to look out another time! But better his hand than your head.You'd ha' been surely scalped!"
The girl, a shade whiter than before, did not answer. And he thoughther, for so pretty a wench, "a right unfeelin' un!"
Not so the Frenchman. "I count him a very locky man!" he saidobscurely. "A very locky man."
"Well," the coachman answered with a grunt, "if you call thatlucky----"
"_Vraiment! Vraiment!_ But I--alas!" the Frenchman answered with aneloquent gesture, "I have lost my all, and the good fortunes are nolonger for me!"
"Fortunes!" the coachman muttered, looking askance at him. "A finefortune, to have your hand flayed! But where's"--recollectinghimself--"where's that there fool that caused the trouble! D--n me, ifhe shall go any further on my coach. I'd like to double-thong him, andit'd serve him right!"
So when the ex-M.P. presently appeared, Sammy let go his tongue tosuch purpose that the political gentleman; finding himself in aminority of one, retired into the house and, with many threats of whathe would do when he saw the management, declined to go on.
"And a good riddance of a d--d Tory!" the coachman muttered. "Thinkall the world's made for them! Fifteen minutes he's cost us already!Take your seats, gents, take your seats! I'm off!"
Vaughan, with his hand hastily bandaged, was the last to come out. Heclimbed as quickly as he could to his place, and, without looking athis neighbour, he said some common-place word. She did not reply, andthey swept under the arch. For a moment the sight of the throngedmarketplace diverted him. Then he looked at her, and he saw that shewas trembling.
If he was not quite so wise as the Frenchman, having had no _bonnesfortunes_ to speak of, he had, nevertheless, keen perceptions. And heguessed that the girl, between her maiden shyness and her womanlygratitude, was painfully placed. It could not be otherwise. A girl whohad spent her years, since childhood, within the walls of a school atClapham, first as genteel apprentice, and then as assistant; who hadbeen taught to consider young men as roaring lions with whom her ownlife could have nothing in common, and from whom it was her duty toguard the more giddy of her flock; who had to struggle at oncewith the shyness of youth, the modesty of her sex, and herinexperience--above all, perhaps with that dread of insult whichbecomes the instinct of lowly beauty--how was she to carry herself incircumstances so different from any which she had ever imagined? Howwas she to express a tithe of the feelings with which her heart wasbursting, and which overwhelmed her as often as she thought of thehideous death from which he had snatched her?
She could not; and with inborn good taste she refrained from thecommonplace word, the bald acknowledgment, in which a shallow naturemight have taken refuge. On his side, he guessed some part of this,and discerned that if he would relieve her he must himself speak.Accordingly, when they had left the streets behind them and wereswinging merrily along the Newbury Road, he leant towards her.
"May I beg," he said in a low voice, "that you won't think of what hashappened? The coachman would have done as much, and scolded you! Ihappened to be next you. That was all."
In a strangled voice, "But your hand," she faltered. "I fear--I----"She shuddered, unable to go on.
"It is nothing!" he protested. "Nothing! In three days it will bewell!"
She turned her eves on him, eyes which possessed an eloquence of whichtheir owner was unconscious. "I will pray for you," she murmured. "Ican do no more."
The pathos of her simple gratitude was such that Vaughan could notlaugh it off. "Thank you," he said quietly. "We shall then be morethan quits." And having given her a few moments in which to recoverherself, "We are nearly at Speenhamland," he resumed cheerfully."There is the George and Pelican! It's a great baiting-house forcoaches. I am afraid to say how much corn and hay they give out in aday. They have a man who does nothing else but weigh it out." And sohe chattered on, doing his utmost to talk of indifferent matters in anindifferent tone.
She could not repulse him after what had passed. And now and then, bya timid word, she gave him leave to talk. Presently he began to speakof things other than those under their eyes, and when he
thought thathe had put her at her ease, "You understand French?" he said lookingat her suddenly.
"I spoke it as a child," she answered. "I was born abroad. I did notcome to England until I was nine."
"To Clapham?"
"Yes. I have been employed in a school there."
Prudently he hastened to bring the talk back to the road again. Andshe took courage to steal a look at him when his eyes were elsewhere.He seemed so strong and gentle and courteous; this unknown creaturewhich she had been taught to fear. And he was so thoughtful of her! Hecould throw so tender a note into his voice. Beside d'Orsay orAlvanley--but she had never heard of them--he might have passed musterbut tolerably; but to her he seemed a very fine gentleman. She had awoman's eye for the fineness of his linen, and the smartness of hiswaistcoat--had not Sir James Graham, with his chest of Palermo stuffs,set the seal of Cabinet approval on fancy waistcoats? Nor was sheblind to the easy carriage of his head, and his air of command.
And there she caught herself up: reflecting with a blush that it wasby the easy path of thoughts such as these that the precipice wasapproached; that so it was the poor and pretty let themselves be ledfrom the right road. Whither was she travelling? In what was this toend? She trembled. And if they had not at that moment swung out ofSavernake Forest and sighted the red roofs of Marlborough, lying warmand sung at the foot of the steep London Hill, she did not know whatshe should have done, since she could not repulse him.
They rattled in merry style through the town, the leaders cantering,the bars swinging, the guard tootling, the sun shining; past a scoreof inn signs before which the heavy stages were baiting; past the twochurches, while all the brisk pleasantness of this new, this livingworld, appealed to her to go its way. Ta-ra-ra! Ta-ra-ra! Swerving tothe right they pulled up bravely, with steaming horses, before thedoor of the far-famed Castle Inn. Ta-ra-ra! Ta-ra-ra! "Half an hourfor dinner, gentlemen!"
"Now," said Vaughan, thinking that all was well, or rather decliningto think of anything but her shy glances and the delightful present."You must cut my meat for me!"
She did not reply, and he saw that her eyes went to the basket at herfeet. He guessed that she wished to avoid the expense of dining. "Or,perhaps, you are not coming in?" he said.
"I did not intend to do so," she replied. "I suppose," she continuedtimidly, "that I may stay here?"
"Certainly. You have something with you?"
"Yes."
He nodded pleasantly and left her; and she remained in her seat. Asshe ate, the target for many a sly glance of admiration, she wasdivided between gratitude and self-reproach; now thinking of him witha quickened heart, now taking herself to task for her weakness. Theresult was that when he strode out, confident and at ease, and lookedup at her with laughing eyes, she blushed furiously--to her ownunspeakable mortification.
Vaughan was no Lothario, and for a moment the telltale colour took himaback. Then he told himself that at Chippenham, less than twenty milesdown the road, he was leaving her. It was absurd to suppose that, inthe short space which remained, either could be harmed. And he mountedgaily, and masking his knowledge of her emotion with a skill whichsurprised himself, he chatted pleasantly, unaware that with every wordhe was stamping the impression of her face, her long eyelashes, hergraceful head, her trick of this and that, more deeply upon hismemory. While she, reassured by the same thought that they would partin an hour--and in an hour what harm could happen?--closed her eyesand drank the sweet draught--the sweeter for its novelty, and for thebitter which lurked at the bottom of the cup. Meantime Sammy winkedsagely at his horses, and the Frenchman cast envious glances over hisshoulders, and Silbury Hill, Fyfield, and the soft folds of the downsswept by, and on warm commons and southern slopes the early beeshummed above the gorse.
Here was Chippenham at last; and the end was come. He must descend. Ahasty touch, a murmured word, a pang half-felt; she veiled her eyes.If her colour fluttered and she trembled, why not? She had cause to begrateful to him. And if he felt as his foot touched the ground thatthe world was cold, and the prospect cheerless, why not, when he hadto face Sir Robert, and when his political embarrassments, forgottenfor a time, rose nearer and larger?
It had often fallen to him to alight before the Angel at Chippenhan.From boyhood he had known the wide street, in which the fairs wereheld, the red Georgian houses, and the stone bridge of many archesover the Avon. But he had never seen these things, he had neveralighted there, with less satisfaction than on this day.
Still this was the end. He raised his hat, saluted silently, andturned to speak to the guard. In the act he jostled a person who wasapproaching to accost him. Vaughan stared. "Hallo, White!" he said. "Iwas coming to see you."
White's hat was in his hand. "Your servant, sir," he said. "Yourservant, sir. I am glad to be here to meet you, Mr. Vaughan."
"But you didn't expect me?"
"No, sir, no; I came to meet Mr. Cooke, who was to arrive by thiscoach. But I do not see him."
A light broke in upon Vaughan. "Gad! he must be the man we left behindat Reading," he said. "Is he a peppery chap?"
"He might be so called, sir," the agent answered with a smile. "Ifancied that you knew him."
"No. Sergeant Wathen I know; not Mr. Cooke. Any way, he's not come,White."
"All the better, sir, if I can get a message to him by the up-coach.For he's not needed. I am glad to say that the trouble is at an end.My Lord Lansdowne has given up the idea of contesting the borough, andI came over to tell Mr. Cooke, thinking that he might prefer to go onto Bristol. He has a house at Bristol."
"Do you mean," Vaughan said, "that there will be no contest?"
"No, sir, no. Not now. And a good thing, too. Upset the town fornothing! My lord has no chance, and Pybus, who is his lordship's manhere, he told me himself----"
He paused with his mouth open, and his eyes on a tall lady wearing aveil, who, after standing a couple of minutes on the further side ofthe street, was approaching the coach. To enter it she had to pass byhim, and he stared, as if he saw a ghost. "By Gosh!" he muttered underhis breath. And when, with the aid of the guard, she had taken herseat inside, "By Gosh!" he muttered again, "if that's not mylady--though I've not seen her for ten years--I've the horrors!"
He turned to Vaughan to see if he had noticed anything. But Vaughan,without waiting for the end of his sentence, had stepped aside to tella helper to replace his valise on the coach. In the bustle he hadnoted neither White's emotion nor the lady.
At this moment he returned. "I shall go on to Bristol for the night,White," he said. "Sir Robert is quite well?"
"Quite well, sir, and I shall be happy to tell him of your promptnessin coming."
"Don't tell him anything," the young man said, with a flash ofperemptoriness. "I don't want to be kept here. Do you understand,White? I shall probably return to town to-morrow. Anyway, saynothing."
"Very good, sir," White answered. "But I am sure Sir Robert would bepleased to know that you had come down so promptly."
"Ah, well, you can let him know later. Good-bye, White."
The agent, with one eye on the young squire and one on the lady, whosefigure was visible through the small coach-window, seemed to be aboutto refer to her. But he checked himself. "Good-bye, sir," he said."And a pleasant journey! I'm glad to have been of service, Mr.Vaughan."
"Thank you, White, thank you," the young man answered. And he swunghimself up, as the coach moved. A good-natured nod, and--Tantivy!Tantivy! Tantivy! The helpers sprang aside, and away they went downthe hill, and over the long stone bridge, and so along the Bristolroad; but now with the shades of evening beginning to spread on thepastures about them, and the cawing rooks, that had been abroad allday on the uplands, streaming across the pale sky to the elms besidethe river.
But _varium et mutabile femina_. When he turned, eager to take up thefallen thread, Clotho could not have been more cold than hisneighbour, nor Atropos with her shears more decisive. "I've had goodnews," he said, as he settled his coat about
him. "I came down with avery unpleasant task before me. And it is lifted from me."
"Indeed!"
"So I am going on to Bristol instead of staying at Chippenham."
No answer.
"It is a great relief to me," he continued cheerfully.
"Indeed!" She spoke in the most distant of voices.
He raised his brows in perplexity. What had happened to her? She hadbeen so grateful, so much moved, a few minutes before. The colour hadfluttered in her cheek, the tear had been visible in her eye, she hadleft her hand the fifth of a second in his. And now!
Now she was determined that she would blush and smile and be kind nomore. She was grateful--God knew she was grateful, let him think whathe would. But there were limits. Her weakness, as long as she believedthat Chippenham must part them, had been pardonable. But if he had itin his mind to attend her to Bristol, to follow her or haunt her--asshe had known foolish young cits at Clapham to haunt the more giddy ofher flock--then her mistake was clear; and his conduct, now merelysuspicious, would appear in its black reality. She hoped that he wasinnocent. She hoped that his change of plan at Chippenham had been nosubterfuge; that he was not a roaring lion. But appearances weredeceitful and her own course was plain.
It was the plainer, as she had not been blind to the respect withwhich all at the Angel had greeted her companion; even White, a man ofsubstance, with a gold chain and seals hanging from his fob, had stoodbareheaded while he talked to him. It was plain that he was a finegentleman; one of those whom young persons in her rank of life mustshun.
So he drew scarcely five words out of her in as many miles. At last,thrice rebuffed, "I am afraid you are tired," he said. Was it for thisthat he had chosen to go on to Bristol?
"Yes," she answered. "I am rather tired. If you please I would prefernot to talk."
He was a little huffed then, and let her be; nor did he guess, thoughhe was full of conjectures about her, how she hated her seemingingratitude. But there was nought else for it; better seem thanklessnow than be worse hereafter. For she was growing frightened. She wasbeginning to have more than an inkling of the road by which youngthings were led to be foolish. Her ear retained the sound of hisvoice though he was silent. The fashion in which he had stooped toher--though he was looking another way now--clung to her memory.His laugh, though he was grave now, rang for her, full of glee andgood-fellowship. She could have burst into tears.
They stayed at Marshfield to take on the last team. And she tried todivert her mind by watching a woman in a veil who walked up and downbeside the coach, and seemed to return her curiosity. But she tried tolittle purpose, for she felt strained and weary, and more than everinclined to cry. Doubtless the peril through which she had passed hadshaken her.
So that she was thankful when, after descending perilous Tog Hill,they saw from Kingswood heights the lights of Bristol shining throughthe dusk; and she knew that she was at her journey's end. To arrive ina strange place on the edge of night is trying to anyone. But toalight friendless and alone, amid the bustle of a city, and to knowthat new relations must be created and a new life built up--this maywell raise in the most humble and contented bosom a feeling ofloneliness and depression. And doubtless that was why Mary Smith,after evading Vaughan with a success beyond her hopes, felt as shefollowed her modest trunk through the streets that--but she bent herhead to hide the unaccustomed tears.
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