Wives and Daughters

by Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell

  CHAPTER XXXIV.

  A LOVER'S MISTAKE.

  It was afternoon. Molly had gone out for a walk. Mrs. Gibson had beenpaying some calls. Lazy Cynthia had declined accompanying either. Adaily walk was not a necessity to her as it was to Molly. On a lovelyday, or with an agreeable object, or when the fancy took her, shecould go as far as any one; but these were exceptional cases; ingeneral, she was not disposed to disturb herself from her in-dooroccupations. Indeed, not one of the ladies would have left the house,had they been aware that Roger was in the neighbourhood; for theywere aware that he was to come down but once before his departure,and that his stay at home then would be but for a short time, andthey were all anxious to wish him good-by before his long absence.But they had understood that he was not coming to the Hall untilthe following week, and therefore they had felt themselves at fullliberty this afternoon to follow their own devices.

  Molly chose a walk that had been a favourite with her ever since shewas a child. Something or other had happened just before she lefthome that made her begin wondering how far it was right for the sakeof domestic peace to pass over without comment the little deviationsfrom right that people perceive in those whom they live with. Orwhether, as they are placed in families for distinct purposes, not bychance merely, there are not duties involved in this aspect of theirlot in life,--whether by continually passing over failings, their ownstandard is not lowered,--the practical application of these thoughtsbeing a dismal sort of perplexity on Molly's part as to whether herfather was quite aware of her stepmother's perpetual lapses fromtruth; and whether his blindness was wilful or not. Then she feltbitterly enough that although she was sure as could be that therewas no real estrangement between her and her father, yet there wereperpetual obstacles thrown in the way of their intercourse; and shethought with a sigh that if he would but come in with authority, hemight cut his way clear to the old intimacy with his daughter, andthat they might have all the former walks and talks, and quips andcranks, and glimpses of real confidence once again; things that herstepmother did not value, yet which she, like the dog in the manger,prevented Molly's enjoying. But after all Molly was a girl, not sofar removed from childhood; and in the middle of her grave regretsand perplexities, her eye was caught by the sight of some fineripe blackberries flourishing away high up on the hedge-bank amongscarlet hips and green and russet leaves. She did not care much forblackberries herself; but she had heard Cynthia say that she likedthem; and besides there was the charm of scrambling and gatheringthem; so she forgot all about her troubles, and went climbing up thebanks, and clutching at her almost inaccessible prizes, and slippingdown again triumphant, to carry them back to the large leaf which wasto serve her as a basket. One or two of them she tasted, but theywere as vapid to her palate as ever. The skirt of her pretty printgown was torn out of the gathers, and even with the fruit she hadeaten "her pretty lips with blackberries were all besmeared anddyed," when having gathered as many and more than she could possiblycarry, she set off home, hoping to escape into her room and mend hergown before it had offended Mrs. Gibson's neat eye. The front doorwas easily opened from the outside, and Molly was out of the clearlight of the open air and in the shadow of the hall, when she saw aface peep out of the dining-room before she quite recognized whose itwas; and then Mrs. Gibson came softly out, sufficiently at least tobeckon her into the room. When Molly had entered Mrs. Gibson closedthe door. Poor Molly expected a reprimand for her torn gown anduntidy appearance, but was soon relieved by the expression of Mrs.Gibson's face--mysterious and radiant.

  "I've been watching for you, dear. Don't go upstairs into thedrawing-room, love. It might be a little interruption just now. RogerHamley is there with Cynthia; and I've reason to think--in fact I didopen the door unawares, but I shut it again softly, and I don't thinkthey heard me. Isn't it charming? Young love, you know, ah, how sweetit is!"

  "Do you mean that Roger has proposed to Cynthia?" asked Molly.

  "Not exactly that. But I don't know; of course I know nothing. Only Idid hear him say that he had meant to leave England without speakingof his love, but that the temptation of seeing her alone had been toogreat for him. It was symptomatic, was it not, my dear? And all Iwanted was to let it come to a crisis without interruption. So I'vebeen watching for you to prevent your going in and disturbing them."

  "But I may go to my own room, mayn't I," pleaded Molly.

  "Of course," said Mrs. Gibson, a little testily. "Only I had expectedsympathy from you at such an interesting moment."

  But Molly did not hear these last words. She had escaped upstairs,and shut her door. Instinctively she had carried her leaf full ofblackberries--what would blackberries be to Cynthia now? She feltas if she could not understand it all; but as for that matter, whatcould she understand? Nothing. For a few minutes her brain seemedin too great a whirl to comprehend anything but that she was beingcarried on in earth's diurnal course, with rocks, and stones, andtrees, with as little volition on her part as if she were dead.Then the room grew stifling, and instinctively she went to the opencasement window, and leant out, gasping for breath. Gradually theconsciousness of the soft peaceful landscape stole into her mind, andstilled the buzzing confusion. There, bathed in the almost level raysof the autumn sunlight, lay the landscape she had known and lovedfrom childhood; as quiet, as full of low humming life as it had beenat this hour for many generations. The autumn flowers blazed out inthe garden below, the lazy cows were in the meadow beyond, chewingtheir cud in the green aftermath; the evening fires had just beenmade up in the cottages beyond, in preparation for the husband'shome-coming, and were sending up soft curls of blue smoke into thestill air; the children, let loose from school, were shouting merrilyin the distance, and she-- Just then she heard nearer sounds; anopened door, steps on the lower flight of stairs. He could nothave gone without even seeing her. He never, never would have doneso cruel a thing--never would have forgotten poor little Molly,however happy he might be! No! there were steps and voices, and thedrawing-room door was opened and shut once more. She laid down herhead on her arms that rested upon the window-sill, and cried,--shehad been so distrustful as to have let the idea enter her mind thathe could go without wishing her good-by--her, whom his mother had soloved, and called by the name of his little dead sister. And as shethought of the tender love Mrs. Hamley had borne her she cried themore, for the vanishing of such love for her off the face of theearth. Suddenly the drawing-room door opened, and some one was heardcoming upstairs; it was Cynthia's step. Molly hastily wiped her eyes,and stood up and tried to look unconcerned; it was all she had timeto do before Cynthia, after a little pause at the closed door, hadknocked; and on an answer being given, had said, without openingthe door,--"Molly! Mr. Roger Hamley is here, and wants to wish yougood-by before he goes." Then she went downstairs again, as ifanxious just at that moment to avoid even so short a tete-a-tete withMolly. With a gulp and a fit of resolution, as a child makes up itsmind to swallow a nauseous dose of medicine, Molly went instantlydownstairs.

  Roger was talking earnestly to Mrs. Gibson in the bow of the windowwhen Molly entered; Cynthia was standing near, listening, but takingno part in the conversation. Her eyes were downcast, and she did notlook up as Molly drew shyly near.

  Roger was saying,--"I could never forgive myself if I had accepted apledge from her. She shall be free until my return; but the hope, thewords, her sweet goodness, have made me happy beyond description. Oh,Molly!" suddenly becoming aware of her presence, and turning to her,and taking her hand in both of his,--"I think you have long guessedmy secret, have you not? I once thought of speaking to you before Ileft, and confiding it all to you. But the temptation has been toogreat,--I have told Cynthia how fondly I love her, as far as wordscan tell; and she says--" then he looked at Cynthia with passionatedelight, and seemed to forget in that gaze that he had left hissentence to Molly half finished.

  Cynthia did not seem inclined to repeat her saying, whatever it was,but her mother spoke for her.

  "My dear sw
eet girl values your love as it ought to be valued, I amsure. And I believe," looking at Cynthia and Roger with intelligentarchness, "I could tell tales as to the cause of her indisposition inthe spring."

  "Mother," said Cynthia suddenly, "you know it was no such thing. Praydon't invent stories about me. I have engaged myself to Mr. RogerHamley, and that is enough."

  "Enough! more than enough!" said Roger. "I will not accept yourpledge. I am bound, but you are free. I like to feel bound, it makesme happy and at peace, but with all the chances involved in the nexttwo years, you must not shackle yourself by promises."

  Cynthia did not speak at once; she was evidently revolving somethingin her own mind. Mrs. Gibson took up the word.

  "You are very generous, I am sure. Perhaps it will be better not tomention it."

  "I would much rather have it kept a secret," said Cynthia,interrupting.

  "Certainly, my dear love. That was just what I was going to say.I once knew a young lady who heard of the death of a young man inAmerica, whom she had known pretty well; and she immediately said shehad been engaged to him, and even went so far as to put on weeds; andit was a false report, for he came back well and merry, and declaredto everybody he had never so much as thought about her. So it wasvery awkward for her. These things had much better be kept secretuntil the proper time has come for divulging them."

  Even then and there Cynthia could not resist the temptation ofsaying,--"Mamma, I will promise you I won't put on weeds, whateverreports come of Mr. Roger Hamley."

  "Roger, please!" he put in, in a tender whisper.

  "And you will all be witnesses that he has professed to think of me,if he is tempted afterwards to deny the fact. But at the same time Iwish it to be kept a secret until his return--and I am sure you willall be so kind as to attend to my wish. Please, _Roger!_ Please,Molly! Mamma, I must especially beg it of you!"

  Roger would have granted anything when she asked him by that name,and in that tone. He took her hand in silent pledge of his reply.Molly felt as if she could never bring herself to name the affairas a common piece of news. So it was only Mrs. Gibson that answeredaloud,--

  "My dear child! why 'especially' to poor me? You know I'm the mosttrustworthy person alive!"

  The little pendule on the chimney-piece struck the half-hour.

  "I must go!" said Roger, in dismay. "I had no idea it was so late. Ishall write from Paris. The coach will be at the George by this time,and will only stay five minutes. Dearest Cynthia--" he took her hand,and then, as if the temptation was irresistible, he drew her to himand kissed her. "Only remember you are free!" said he, as he releasedher and passed on to Mrs. Gibson.

  "If I had considered myself free," said Cynthia, blushing a little,but ready with her repartee to the last,--"if I had thought myselffree, do you think I would have allowed that?"

  Then Molly's turn came, and the old brotherly tenderness came backinto his look, his voice, his bearing.

  "Molly! you won't forget me, I know; I shall never forget you, noryour goodness to--her." His voice began to quiver, and it was bestto be gone. Mrs. Gibson was pouring out, unheard and unheeded, wordsof farewell; Cynthia was re-arranging some flowers in a vase on thetable, the defects in which had caught her artistic eye, withoutthe consciousness penetrating to her mind. Molly stood, numb to theheart; neither glad nor sorry, nor anything but stunned. She felt theslackened touch of the warm grasping hand; she looked up--for tillnow her eyes had been downcast, as if there were heavy weights totheir lids--and the place was empty where he had been; his quickstep was heard on the stair, the front door was opened and shut;and then as quick as lightning Molly ran up to the front attic--thelumber-room, whose window commanded the street down which hemust pass. The window-clasp was unused and stiff, Molly tugged atit--unless it was open, and her head put out, that last chance wouldbe gone.

  "I must see him again; I must! I must!" she wailed out, as she waspulling. There he was, running hard to catch the London coach; hisluggage had been left at the George before he came up to wish theGibsons good-by. In all his hurry, Molly saw him turn round and shadehis eyes from the level rays of the westering sun, and rake the housewith his glances--in hopes, she knew, of catching one more glimpse ofCynthia. But apparently he saw no one, not even Molly at the atticcasement; for she had drawn back when he had turned, and kept herselfin shadow; for she had no right to put herself forward as the one towatch and yearn for farewell signs. None came--another moment--he wasout of sight for years!

  THE LAST TURNING.]

  She shut the window softly, and shivered all over. She left the atticand went to her own room; but she did not begin to take off herout-of-door things till she heard Cynthia's foot on the stairs.Then she hastily went to the toilet-table, and began to untie herbonnet-strings; but they were in a knot, and took time to undo.Cynthia's step stopped at Molly's door; she opened it a little andsaid,--"May I come in, Molly?"

  "Certainly," said Molly, longing to be able to say "No" all the time.Molly did not turn to meet her, so Cynthia came up behind her, andputting her two hands round Molly's waist, peeped over her shoulder,putting out her lips to be kissed. Molly could not resist theaction--the mute entreaty for a caress. But, in the moment before,she had caught the reflection of the two faces in the glass; herown, red-eyed, pale, with lips dyed with blackberry juice, her curlstangled, her bonnet pulled awry, her gown torn--and contrasted itwith Cynthia's brightness and bloom, and the trim elegance of herdress. "Oh! it is no wonder!" thought poor Molly, as she turnedround, and put her arms round Cynthia, and laid her head for aninstant on her shoulder--the weary, aching head that sought a lovingpillow in that supreme moment! The next she had raised herself, andtaken Cynthia's two hands, and was holding her off a little, thebetter to read her face.

  "OH! IT IS NO WONDER!"]

  "Cynthia! you do love him dearly, don't you?"

  Cynthia winced a little aside from the penetrating steadiness ofthose eyes.

  "You speak with all the solemnity of an adjuration, Molly!" said she,laughing a little at first to cover her nervousness, and then lookingup at Molly. "Don't you think I've given a proof of it? But you knowI've often told you I've not the gift of loving; I said pretty muchthe same thing to him. I can respect, and I fancy I can admire, andI can like, but I never feel carried off my feet by love for any one,not even for you, little Molly, and I'm sure I love you more than--"

  "No, don't!" said Molly, putting her hand before Cynthia's mouth, inalmost a passion of impatience. "Don't, don't--I won't hear you--Iought not to have asked you--it makes you tell lies!"

  "Why, Molly!" said Cynthia, in her turn seeking to read Molly'sface, "what's the matter with you? One might think you cared for himyourself."

  "I?" said Molly, all the blood rushing to her heart suddenly; then itreturned, and she had courage to speak, and she spoke the truth asshe believed it, though not the real actual truth.

  "I do care for him; I think you have won the love of a prince amongstmen. Why, I am proud to remember that he has been to me as a brother,and I love him as a sister, and I love you doubly because he hashonoured you with his love."

  "Come, that's not complimentary!" said Cynthia, laughing, butnot ill-pleased to hear her lover's praises, and even willing todepreciate him a little in order to hear more.

  "He's well enough, I daresay, and a great deal too learned and cleverfor a stupid girl like me; but even you must acknowledge he's veryplain and awkward; and I like pretty things and pretty people."

  "Cynthia, I won't talk to you about him. You know you don't mean whatyou are saying, and you only say it out of contradiction, because Ipraise him. He shan't be run down by you, even in joke."

  "Well, then, we won't talk of him at all. I was so surprised whenhe began to speak--so--" and Cynthia looked very lovely, blushingand dimpling up as she remembered his words and looks. Suddenly sherecalled herself to the present time, and her eye caught on the leaffull of blackberries--the broad, green leaf, so fresh and crisp whenMolly had gathered it an
hour or so ago, but now soft and flabby, anddying. Molly saw it, too, and felt a strange kind of sympathetic pityfor the poor inanimate leaf.

  "Oh! what blackberries! you've gathered them for me, I know!" saidCynthia, sitting down and beginning to feed herself daintily,touching them lightly with the ends of her taper fingers, anddropping each ripe berry into her open mouth. When she had eatenabout half she stopped suddenly short.

  "How I should like to have gone as far as Paris with him!" sheexclaimed. "I suppose it wouldn't have been proper; but how pleasantit would have been! I remember at Boulogne" (another blackberry),"how I used to envy the English who were going to Paris; it seemedto me then as if nobody stopped at Boulogne, but dull, stupidschool-girls."

  "When will he be there?" asked Molly.

  "On Wednesday, he said. I'm to write to him there; at any rate he'sgoing to write to me."

  Molly went about the adjustment of her dress in a quiet,business-like manner, not speaking much; Cynthia, although sittingstill, seemed very restless. Oh! how much Molly wished that she wouldgo.

  "Perhaps, after all," said Cynthia, after a pause of apparentmeditation, "we shall never be married."

  "Why do you say that?" said Molly, almost bitterly. "You have nothingto make you think so. I wonder how you can bear to think you won't,even for a moment."

  "Oh!" said Cynthia; "you mustn't go and take me _au grand serieux_. Idaresay I don't mean what I say, but you see everything seems a dreamat present. Still, I think the chances are equal--the chances for andagainst our marriage, I mean. Two years! it's a long time! he maychange his mind, or I may; or some one else may turn up, and I mayget engaged to him: what should you think of that, Molly? I'm puttingsuch a gloomy thing as death quite on one side, you see; yet in twoyears how much may happen!"

  "Don't talk so, Cynthia, please don't," said Molly, piteously. "Onewould think you didn't care for him, and he cares so much for you!"

  "Why, did I say I didn't care for him? I was only calculatingchances. I'm sure I hope nothing will happen to prevent the marriage.Only, you know it may, and I thought I was taking a step in wisdom,in looking forward to all the evils that might befall. I'm sure allthe wise people I've ever known thought it a virtue to have gloomyprognostics of the future. But you're not in a mood for wisdom orvirtue, I see; so I'll go and get ready for dinner, and leave you toyour vanities of dress."

  She took Molly's face in both her hands, before Molly was awareof her intention, and kissed it playfully. Then she left Molly toherself.