CHAPTER XXV
REPENTANCE AT LEISURE
The first speaker was Lady Betty, and her first remark seemed to be ananswer to a question. "Well, 'tis as you like," she said. "But ifyou'll be guided by me you'll not tell her. Then, when you go, it willput the finishing touch to our--friendship"--with a sly laugh--"ifthat be your wish, sir. On the other hand, if you tell madam, who isbeginning to be jealous, take my word for it, there's an end of that!And there's this besides. If you tell her, it's not to be said whatshe will do, I warn you."
"She might insist on going?" Sir Hervey's voice answered. "That's whatyou mean?"
"If she knew she would go! I think she would, at any rate. At the bestthere's danger. On the other hand, say nothing to her, and here's theopportunity you said you desired. Of course, if you are weakening,"Lady Betty continued in the tone of one ready to take offence, "anddon't desire it any longer, that's another matter, sir."
"My dear girl," Sir Hervey cried eagerly, "have I not done everythingto show her that she is indifferent to me? Do you want any otherproof? Have I omitted anything? Have not I"--and then his voice diedabruptly. The two speakers had turned the corner of the house, andSophia heard no more. But she had heard enough. She had heard toomuch!
It is sadly trite that that we cannot have we want. It is an old talethat it is for the sour grapes the mouth waters, and not for the bunchwithin reach. A thousand kindnesses, the hand ever waiting, the smileever ready, gain no response; until a thousand rebuffs have earnedtheir due, and the smile and the hand are another's. Then, on asudden, the heart learns its own bitterness. Then we would give theworld for the look we once flouted, for the kind word from lips grownsilent. And it is too late. Too late!
In the gloom of the inner drawing-room, where she sat with fingersfeverishly interlaced, Sophia remembered his longsuffering with her,his thoughtfulness for her, his watchfulness over her, proved by ahundred acts of kindness and consideration. By a word at a drum whenshe was strange to town, and knew few. By countenance and a jest whenMadam Harrington snubbed her. By the recovery of a muff--of value andher sister's--before it was known that she had lost it. By the gift ofa birthnight fan which she had never carried; and the arrangement of aparty to which she had not gone. By a word of caution when herinfatuation for the Irishman began to be noticed; by a second word anda third. Through all he had been patience, she had been scorn. Now, ona sudden, she was in the dust before him. The smile that had neverfailed her in a difficulty, nor been wanting in a strait, had itsvalue at last; and she felt that to read it once more in those eyesshe would give the world, herself, all!
But too late. She had lost his love as she deserved to lose it. It washer doing. She had but herself to thank that this was the end. Only,she whispered, if he had had a little, a very little more patience! Aday even! If he had given her one day more. That, or left her to herfate!
Fearful at last of being found in that room, seated before hispicture, she crept out into the hall, and stood, marking the silencethat prevailed in the house; listening to the dull tick of the clockthat stood in the corner; watching the motes that danced in the dustybars of sunshine before the door. With pathetic self-pity she found inthese things--and in the faint taste of dry rot that told of thegenerations that had walked the old floor--the echo of her thoughts.Such, so quiet, so still, so regular, so far removed from the joy ofthe world was her life to be henceforth. "And I am young! I am young!"she whispered.
If he had only, when he met her in Clarges Row, left her to her fate!Nothing worse could have happened to her than this which had happened;and he might have wedded Lady Betty in innocence and honour. The faultwas hers, and yet it was his too. A wild infatuation had brought herto the brink of ruin; an impulse of chivalry, scarcely less foolish,had led him to save her. The end for both must be misery. For him Godknew what! For her, loneliness and this silent, empty, ordered housewith its faint dead perfume, its aroma of long-stored linen, itssavour of the dead and the by-gone.
As she stood in the middle of the floor, thinking these thoughts, theshadow of a bird flitted across the patch of sunshine that lay withinthe doorway. It startled her, and she looked up, just as Lady Betty,swinging her hat by its strings, and humming a gay air, appeared onthe threshold. The girl hung an instant as in doubt, and then, whethershe espied Sophia standing in the shadow and did not want to meet her,or she changed her mind for another reason, she turned and left thedoorway empty.
The sight was too much for Sophia's composure. That airy, laughingfigure--youthful, almost infantine--poised in sunshine--that and herown brooding face, seen lately in the glass, suggested a comparisonthat filled her heart to bursting. She crept to the oak side tablethat stood in the bayed recess behind the door, and leaning her armsupon it, hid her face in them. She did not weep, but from time to timeshe shivered, as if the June air chilled her.
She had sat in this position some minutes when a faint sound rousedher. Ashamed of being found in that posture, she looked up, and sawLady Betty in the act of crossing the hall on tip-toe. Apparently thegirl had just entered from the terrace and thought herself alone; forwhen she reached the middle of the floor, she stood weighing a letterin her hand, as if she doubted what to do with it. Her eyes travelledslowly from the long oak table to an almoner; and thence to a chestthat stood beside the inner door. In the end she chose the chest, and,gliding to the door, placed the letter on it, arranging its positionwith peculiar care. Then she turned to go out again by the terracedoor, but had not taken two steps before her eyes met Sophia's. Sheuttered a low cry, and stood, arrested.
Sophia did not speak, but she rose, crossed the hall, and as theother, with a rapid movement, recovered the letter from the chest, sheextended her hand for it.
"Give it to me," she said.
For a moment Lady Betty confronted her, holding the letter hidden.Then, whether Sophia's pale set face cowed her, or she really had nochoice, she held out the letter. "It is for you," she faltered."But----"
"But," Sophia answered, taking her up with quiet scorn, "I was not toknow the bearer! I am obliged to you."
Again for a moment the two women looked at one another. And LadyBetty's face grew slowly scarlet. "You have his confidence," Sophiacontinued in the same tone. "It's fitting you wait, miss, and take theanswer."
"But he's gone," Betty stammered.
"Then I do not think you will take the answer!" Sophia retorted. "Butyou will wait, nevertheless! You will wait my pleasure." She broke theseal as she spoke, and began to read the contents of the note. Theywere short. A moment and she crumpled the paper in her hand anddropped it on the floor. "A very proper letter," she said with asneer. "There's no fault to be found with it, I am sure. He is myaffectionate husband, I can be no less than his dutiful wife. 'Tis nopart of a dutiful wife to find fault with her husband's letter, Isuppose."
"I don't know what you would be at," Lady Betty muttered, looking moreand more frightened.
"No? That's what I'm going to explain--if you'll sit, miss? Sit,girl!"
Lady Betty shrugged her shoulders, but obeyed, an uneasy look in hereyes. Sophia sat also, on the farther side of the small oak table; butfor a full minute she did not speak. When she did her voice had lostits bitterness, and was low and absent and passionless. "There are twothings to be talked about--you and I," she said, drumming slowly onthe table with her fingers. "And by your leave I'll speak of myselffirst. If I could set him free I would! D'you hear me? D'youunderstand? If the worst that could have befallen me in Clarges Row,the worst that he had in his mind when he married me, were the priceto be paid, I would pay it to-day. He should be free to marry whom hewould; and if by raising my hand I could come between him and her Iwould not! Nay, if by raising my hand I could bring them together Iwould! And that though when he married me, he did me as great a wrongas a man can do a woman!"
Suddenly, without warning, Lady Betty burst into irrepressiblesobbing. "Oh," she cried, "do you hate him so!"
"Sophy!"
But Sophia continued without heeding the remonstrance--"pointed out toyou! I mean, to return to your mother without loss of time. It is bestfor you, and best for--Tom," with a crooked smile. "Best, indeed, forall of us."
Lady Betty, her face held aloof, was busy drying her tears; herposition such that it was not possible to say what her sentimentswere, nor whether her emotion was real or assumed. But at that shelooked up, startled; she met the other's eyes. "Do you mean," shemuttered, "that I am to go home?"
"To be sure," Sophia answered coldly. "'Tis only what you wishedyourself, three days ago."
"But--but Sir Tom hasn't--hasn't troubled me again," Betty faltered.
"Tom?" Sophia answered, in a peculiar tone. "Ah, no. But--I doubt ifhe's to be trusted. Meanwhile, I gather from the letter you gave methat Sir Hervey will not return until to-morrow noon. We must act thenwithout him. You will start at daybreak to-morrow. I shall accompanyyou as far as Lewes. Thence Mrs. Stokes, who has been in London, andWatkyns, with sufficient attendance, will see you safe to her Grace'shouse. You are in my care----"
"And you send me home in disgrace!"
"Not at all!" my lady answered, with coldness. "The fault is Tom's."
"And I suffer! Do you mean, do you really mean----" Betty protested,in a tone of astonishment, "that I am to go back to-morrow--atdaybreak--by myself?"
"I do."
"Before Sir Hervey returns?"
"To be sure."
"But it is monstrous!" Betty cried, grown indignant; and in herexcitement she rose and stood opposite Sophia. "It is absurd! Whyshould I go? In this haste, and like a thing disgraced? I've donenothing! I don't understand."
Sophia rose also; her face still pale, a fire smouldering in her eyes."Don't you?" she said. "Don't you understand?"
"No."
"Think again, girl. Think again!"
"N-no," Betty repeated; but this time her voice quavered. Her eyessank before Sophia's, and a fresh wave of colour swept over her face.There is an innocent shame as well as a guilty shame; a shame causedby that which others think us, as well as by that which we are. Bettysank under this, yet made a fight. "Why should I go?" she repeatedweakly.
"Not for my sake," Sophia answered gravely. "For your own. Because Ihave more thought for you, more mercy for you, more compassion for youthan you have for yourself. You say you go in disgrace? It is nottrue; but were you to stay, you would stay in disgrace! From that Ishall save you whether you will or no. Only----" and suddenlystretching out her hand she seized Betty's shoulder and swayed theslighter girl to and fro by it--"only," she cried, with suddenvehemence, "don't think I do it to rid myself of you! To keep him, orto hold him, or to glean after you! If I could give him the woman heloves I would give her to him, though you were that woman! If I couldset her in my place, I would set her there, though her foot were on mybreast! But I cannot. I cannot, girl. And you must go."
She let her hand fall with the last word; but not so quickly thatBetty had not time to snatch it to her lips and kiss it--kiss it withan odd strangled cry. The next instant the girl flung herself on thebench beside the table, and hiding her head on her arms--as Sophia hadhidden hers a while before--she gave herself up to unrestrainedweeping. For a few seconds Sophia stood watching her with a cold,grave face; then she shivered, and turning in silence, left the hall.
Strange to say, the door had barely fallen to behind her when a changecame over Lady Betty. She raised her head and looked round, her eyesshining through her tears. As soon as she was certain that she wasalone, she sprang to her feet, and waving her hat by its ribands roundher head, spun round the table in a frantic dance of triumph, her hoopsweeping the hall from end to end, yet finding it too small for theexuberance of her joy. Pausing at last, breathless and dishevelled,"Oh, you dear! Oh, you angel!" she cried. "You'd give him the woman heloves, would you, ma'am--if you could! You'd set her foot on yourbreast, if 'twould make him happy? Oh, it was better than the bestplay that ever was, it was better than 'Goodman's Fields,' or 'Mr.Quinn,' to hear her stab herself, and stab herself, and stab herself!If he doesn't kiss her shoes, if he does not kneel in the dust to her,I'll never believe in man again! I'll die a maid at forty and content!I'll--but oh, la!" And Lady Betty broke off suddenly with a look ofconsternation, "I'd forgotten! What am I to do? She's a dragon. She'llnot let me stay till he returns, no, not if I go on my knees to her!And if I go, I lose all! Oh, la, sweet, what am I to do?"
She thought awhile with a face full of mischief. "Coke might meet usin Lewes," she muttered, "and cut the knot, but that's a chance. Or Imight tell her--and that's to spoil sport. I must get a note to himto-night. But she'll be giving her orders now, I expect; and it's oddsthe men won't carry it. There's only Tom, and that's putting my handin very far!"
She thought awhile, then rubbed her lips with her handkerchief, andlaughing and blushing looked at it. "Well it leaves no mark," shemuttered with a grimace. "And if he's rude I can pay him as I paid himbefore."
Apparently she would face the risk, for she set herself busily tosearch among the dog-leashes and powder-horns, holsters, and tatteredvolumes of farriery, that encumbered the great table. Presently sheunearthed a pewter ink-pot and an old swan-quill; and bearing these,and a flyleaf ruthlessly torn from a number of the _Gentleman'sMagazine_, to a table in the bay window, she sat down and scrawled afew lines. She folded the note into the shape of a cocked hat, boundit deftly about with a floss of silk torn from her ribands; and havingsucceeded so far, lacked only a postman. She had a good idea where hewas to be found, and having donned her hat and tied the strings morenicely than usual, went on the terrace. There she was not long indiscovering him. He was kicking his heels on the horseblock under theoak, between the terrace and the stables.
No one knew better than her ladyship how to play the innocent; but onthis occasion she had neither time nor mind to be taken by surprise.She tripped down the steps, crossed the intervening turf, and pausingbefore him opened her fire.
"Do you wish to earn your pardon, sir?" she asked. Her manner was ascold and formal as it had been for the last three days.
Tom rose sheepishly, his mind in a whirl. For days she had avoidedhim. She had drawn in her skirts if he passed near her; she hadignored his hand at table; she had looked through him when he spoke.Until she paused, until her voice sounded in his ears, he had thoughtshe would go by him; and for a moment he could not find his tongue toanswer her. Then "I don't understand," he muttered sullenly.
"I spoke plainly," Lady Betty answered, in a voice clear as a bell."But I will say it again. Do you wish, sir, to earn your pardon?"
Tom's face flamed. Unfortunately, his ill-conditioned side wasuppermost. "I don't want another slap in the face," he grumbled.
"And I do not want what I have found," Lady Betty retorted withdignity, though the rebuff, which she had not expected, stung her. "Icame in search of a gentleman willing to do a lady a service, and Ihave not found one. After this our acquaintance is at an end, sir. Youwill oblige
me by not speaking to me. Good evening." And she sweptaway her head in the air.
Tom was not of the softest material, but at that, brute and boor werethe best names he gave himself. The love that resentment had held atbay, returned in a flood and overwhelmed him. Sinking under remorse,feeling that he would now die for a glance from her eyes whom he hadagain and hopelessly offended, he rushed after her. Overtaking her atthe foot of the steps, he implored her, with humble, incoherentprayers, to forgive him--to forgive him once more, only once more, andhe would be her slave for ever!
"It's only one chance I ask," he panted. "Give me one more chanceof--of showing that I am not the brute you think me. Oh, Lady Betty,forgive me, and--and forget what I said. You've cut me to the heartevery hour for days past; you haven't looked at me; you've treated meas if I were something lower than a thief-taker. And--and when I wassmarting under this, because I'd rather have a word from your lipsthan a kiss from another, you came to me, and I--I've misbehavedmyself worse than before."
"No, not worse," Lady Betty said, in her cold, clear voice. "That wasimpossible."
"But as bad as I could," Tom confessed, not over-comforted. "Oh why,oh why," he continued, piteously, "am I always at my worst with you?For I think more of you than of any one. I'm always thinking of you. Ican't sleep for thinking--what you are thinking of me, Lady Betty. I'dlie down in the dust, and let you walk over me if it would give youany pleasure. If it weren't for those d----d windows I'd kneel downnow and ask your pardon."
"I don't see what difference the windows make," Lady Betty said, inher coldest tone. "They don't make your offence any less."
Tom might have answered that they made his punishment the greater;but, instead, he plumped down on the lowest step, careless who saw himif only Betty forgave him. "Oh, Lady Betty," he cried, "forgive me!"
"That is better," she said, judiciously.
"Oh, Lady Betty," he cried, "I humbly ask you to forgive me."
Lady Betty looked at him quietly from an upper step.
"You may get up," she said. "But I warn you, sir, you have yet to earnyour pardon. You have promised much, I want but a little. Will youtake a note from me to Lewes to-night?"
"If I live!" he cried, his eyes sparkling. "But that's a small thing."
"I trust in small things first," she answered.
"And great afterwards!"
She had much ado not to laugh, he looked at her so piteously, hishands clasped. "Perhaps," she said. "At any rate the future will show.Here is the note." She passed it to him quickly, with one eye on thewindows. "You will tell no one, you will mention it to no one; but youwill see that it reaches his hands to-night."
"It shall if I live," Tom answered fervently. "To whom am I to deliverit?"
"To Sir Hervey."
Tom swore outright, and turned crimson. They looked at one another,the man and the maid.
When Betty spoke again--after a long, strange pause, during which hestood holding the note loosely in his fingers as if he would dropit--it was in a tone of passion which she had not used before."Listen!" she said. "Listen, sir, and understand if you can--for itbehoves you! There is an offence that passes forgiveness. I believethat a moment ago you were on the point of committing it. If so, andif you have not yet repented, think, think before you do commit it.For there will be no place for repentance afterwards. It is not for meto defend my conduct, nor for you to suspect it," the young girlcontinued proudly. "That is my father's right, and my husband's when Ihave one. It imports no one else. But I will stoop to tell you this,sir. If you had said the words that were on your lips a moment ago, assurely as you stand there to-day, you would have come to me to-morrowto crave my pardon, and to crave it in shame, in comparison of whichanything you have felt to-day is nothing. And you would have craved itin vain!" she continued vehemently. "I would rather the lowest servanthere--soiled my lips--than you!"
Her passion had so much the better of her, when she came to the lastwords, that she could scarcely utter them. But she recovered herselfwith marvellous rapidity. "Do you take the note, sir," she saidcoldly, "or do you leave it?"
"I will take it, if it be to the devil!" he cried.
"No," she answered quickly; and she stayed him by a haughty gesture."That will not do! Do you take it, thinking no evil? Do you take it,thinking me a good woman? Or do you take it thinking me somethinglower, infinitely lower, than the creatures you make your sport andpastime?"
"I do, I do believe!" Tom cried; and, dropping on his knees, he hidhis face against her hoop-skirt, and pressed his lips to the stuff.And strange to say when he had risen and gone--without anotherword--there were tears in the girl's eyes. Tom had touched her.
CHAPTER XXVI
A DRAGON DISARMED
It was five o'clock in the morning. The low sun shone athwart thecool, green sward of the park, leaving the dells and leafy retreats ofthe deer in shadow. In the window recess of the hall, whence the eyehad that view, and could drink in the freshness of the early morning,the small oak table was laid for breakfast. Old plate that had escapedthe melting-pot and the direful year of the new coinage, dragon chinaimported when Queen Anne was young, linen, white as sun and dew orD'Oyley could make it, gave back the pure light of early morning, andbade welcome a guest as dainty as themselves. Yet Lady Betty, for whomthe table was prepared, and who stood beside it in an attitude ofexpectation, tapped the floor with her foot and looked but halfpleased. "Is Lady Coke not coming?" she asked at last.
"No, my lady," Mrs. Stokes answered. "Her ladyship is taking her mealin her room."
"Oh!" Lady Betty rejoined drily. "She's not ailing, I hope?"
"No, my lady. She bade me say that the chariot would be at the door athalf after five."
Betty grimaced, but took her seat in silence, and kept one eye on theclock. Had her messenger played her false? Or was Coke incredulous? Orwhat kept him? Even if he did not come before they set out, he mightmeet them on the hither side of Lewes; but that was a slender threadto which to trust, and Lady Betty had no mind to be packed home inerror. As the finger of the clock in the corner moved slowlydownwards, as the sun drank up the dew on leaf and bracken, and theday hardened, she listened, and more intently listened for the footthat was overdue. It wanted but five minutes of the half hour now! Nowit wanted but three minutes! Two minutes! Now the rustle of my lady'sskirts was on the stairs, the door was opened for her to enterand--and then at last, Betty caught the ring of spurred heels on thepavement of the terrace.
"He's come!" she cried, springing from her seat, and forgettingeverything else in her relief. "He's come!"
Sophia from the inner threshold stared coldly. "Who?" she asked. Itwas the first time the two had met in the morning and had not kissed;but there are bounds to the generosity of woman, and Sophia could notstoop to kiss her rival. "Who?" she repeated, standing stiffly aloof,near the door by which she had entered.
"You will see!" Betty cried, with a bubble of laughter. "You willsee."
The next moment Sir Hervey's figure darkened the open doorway, andSophia saw him and understood. For an instant surprise drove the bloodfrom her cheeks; then, as astonishment gave place to indignation, andto all the feelings which a wife--though a wife in name only--might beexpected to experience in such a position, the tide returned in doublevolume. She, did not speak, she did not move; but she saw that theyunderstood one another, she felt that this sudden return was concertedbetween them; and her eyes sparkled, her bosom rose. If she had neverbeen beautiful before, Sophia was beautiful at that moment.
Sir Hervey smiled, as he looked at her. "Good morning, my dear," hesaid cheerily. "I'm of the earliest, or thought I was. But you hadnearly stolen a march on me."
She did not answer him. "Lady Betty," she said, without turning herhead or looking at the girl, "you had better leave us."
"Yes, Betty, away with you!" he cried, good humouredly. "You'll findTom outside." And as Betty whisked away through the open door, "You'llpard
on me, my dear," he continued quietly, but with dignity, "I havecountermanded the carriage. When you have heard what I have to say youwill agree with me, I am sure, that there is no necessity for ourguest to leave us to-day." He laid his whip aside, as he spoke, andturned to the table from which Lady Betty had lately risen. "I havenot broken my fast," he said. "Give me some tea, child."
A wild look, as of a creature caged and beating vain wings againstbars, darkened Sophia's eyes. She was trembling with agitation,panting to resist, outraged in her pride if not in her love; and heasked for tea! Yet words did not come at once, his easy manner had itseffect; as if she acknowledged that he had still a right to herservice, she sat down at the little table in the window bay. He passedhis legs over the bench on the other side, and sat waiting, the widthof the table only--and it was narrow--between them. As she washedBetty's cup in the basin the china tinkled, and betrayed heragitation; but she managed to make his tea and pass it to him.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "And now for what I was saying. LadyBetty sent me a note last night, stating that she was to go to-day,unless I interceded for her. It was that brought me back thismorning."
Sophia's eyes burned, but she forced herself to speak with calmness."Did she tell you," she asked, "why she was to go?"
Sir Hervey shrugged his shoulders. "Well," he said, with a smile, "shehinted at the reason."
"Did she tell you what I had said to her?"
"I am afraid not," he said politely. "Probably space----"
"Or shame!" Sophia cried; and the next moment could have bitten hertongue. "Pardon me," she said in an altered tone, "I had no right tosay that. But if she has not told you, 'tis I must tell you, myself.And it is more fitting. I am aware that you have discovered--all toosoon, Sir Hervey--that our marriage, if it could be called a marriage,was a mistake. I cannot--I cannot," Sophia continued, trembling fromhead to foot, "take all the blame of that to myself, though I knowthat the first cause was my fault, and that it was I led you to committhe error. But I cannot take all the blame," she repeated, "I cannot!For you knew the world, you should have known yourself, and what waslikely, what was certain to come of it! What has come of it!"
Sir Hervey drummed on the table with his fingers, and when he spoke,it was in a tone of apology. "The future is hard to read," he said."It is easy, child, to be wise after the event."
Her next words seemed strangely ill-directed to the issue. "You nevertold me that you had been betrothed before," she said, "and that shedied. If you had told me, and if I had seen her face--I should havebeen wiser. I should have foreseen what would happen. I do not wonderthat such a face seen again has"--she paused, stammering and pale,"has recalled old times and your youth. I have no right to blame you.I do not blame you. At least, I--I try not to blame you," sherepeated, her voice sinking lower and lower. "I have told her, and itis true, that if I could bear all the consequences of our error Iwould bear them. That if I could release you and set you free to marrythe--the woman you have learned to love--I would, sir, willingly.That, at any rate, I would not raise a finger to prevent such amarriage."
"And did you--mean that," he asked in a low voice, his face averted.
"As God sees me, I did."
"You are in earnest, Sophia?" For an instant he turned his head andlooked at her.
"I am."
"Yet--you were for sending her away," he said. "This morning? Before Icould return? That I might not see her again."
She looked at him with astonishment, with indignation. "Cannot youunderstand," she cried, "that that was not on my account, but onhers?"
"It seems to have been rather on my account," he muttered doggedly,his fingers toying with the teaspoon, his eyes on the table. He seemedstrangely changed. He did not seem to be himself.
She shuddered. "At any rate, it was not on my account," she said.
"And you are still fixed that she must go?"
"Yes."
"Then I'll tell you what it is," he answered with suddendetermination, "I'll take you at your word!" He raised his cup, whichwas half full, and held it in front of his lips, looking at her acrossit as he spoke. "You said just now that if there was a way to--to giveme the woman I loved--you would take it."
She started. For a moment she did not answer.
He waited. At last: "You didn't mean it?" he said, his tone cold.
The room, the high window with its stained escutcheons, the dark oakwalls, the dark oak table, the leafage reflected cool and green in thetall mirror opposite the door, went round with her; she swallowedsomething that rose in her throat, and set her teeth hard, and atlength she found her voice. "Yes," she said, "I meant it."
"Well, there is a way," he answered; and he rose from the table, and,moving to the door which led to the main hall and the staircase, heclosed it. "There is a way of doing it. But it is not quite easy toexplain it to you in a moment. 'Twas a hurried marriage, as you know,and informal, and a marriage only in name. And something has happenedsince then."
He paused there; she asked in a low tone, "What?"
"Well, it is what took me to Lewes yesterday," he answered. "I shouldhave told you of it then, but I was in doubt how you would take it.And Betty persuaded me not to tell it. The man Hawkesworth----"
He paused, as she rose stiffly from the table. "Have they taken him?"she exclaimed.
"Yes," he said gently. "They took him in hiding near Chichester. Buthe was ill, dying, it was thought, when they surprised him."
She had a strange prevision. "Of the smallpox?" she asked.
"Yes," he answered. And then, "He died last night," he continuedsoftly. "My dear, let me get you a little cordial."
"No, no! Did you see him?"
"I did. And I did what I could for him. I was with him when he died."
She sat down at the table, hiding her face in her hands. Presently sheshuddered. "Heaven forgive him!" she whispered. "Heaven forgive him,as I do!" And again she was silent for some minutes, while he stoodwatching her. At last, "Was it about him," she asked in a low voice,"that Lady Betty was talking to you on the terrace yesterday?"
"Yes. I asked her advice. I did not know what you might do, if youknew. And I did not wish you to see him."
"But she had another reason," Sophia murmured, behind her hands."There was another motive, which she urged for keeping it from me.What was it?"
He did not answer.
"What was it?" she repeated, and lowered her hands and looked at him,her lips parted.
He walked up the hall and back again under her eyes. "Well," he said,in a tone elaborately easy, "she is but a child, you know, and doesnot understand things. She knew a little of the circumstances of ourmarriage, and she thought she knew more. She fancied that a littlejealousy might foster love; and so it may, perhaps, where a sparkexists. But not otherwise. That was her mistake."
"But--but I do not understand!" Sophia cried, her hands shaking, herface bewildered. "You said--you told her that you were perfectlyindifferent to me."
"Oh, pardon me," Sir Hervey answered lightly. "Never, I am sure. Isaid, perhaps, that I had done everything to _show_ that I wasindifferent to you. That was part of her foolish plan. But there is adistinction, you see?"
"Yes," Sophia faltered, her face growing slowly scarlet. "There is adistinction, I see."
She wanted to cry, and she wanted to think; and she wanted to hide herface from his eyes, but had not the will to do it while he looked ather. Her head was going round. If she had misinterpreted Betty's wordson the terrace, and it seemed certain now that she had, what had shedone? Or, rather, what had she not done? She had fallen into Betty'strap; she had proclaimed her own folly; she had misjudged her--andhim! She had done them foul, dreadful wrong; she had insulted themhorribly, horribly insulted them by her suspicions! She had proved themeanness and lowness of her mind! While he had been thinking of her,and for her, still shielding her, as he had shielded her from thebeginning--she had been slandering him, accusing him, wronging him,and along with him this young girl,
her guest, her friend, livingunder her roof! It was infamous! Infamous! What had so warped her?
And then, as she sat overwhelmed by shame, a ray of light pierced thedarkness. She looked at him, feeling on a sudden cold and weak. "Butyou--you have not yet explained!" she muttered.
"What?"
"How I can help you to--to----" Her voice failed her.
She could not finish.
"To Betty," he said, seeing her stuck in a quagmire of perplexities."I do not want Betty."
"Then what did you mean?" she stammered.
"I never said I wanted Betty," he answered, smiling.
"But you said----"
"I said that there was a way by which you could help me to the woman Iloved. And there is a way. Betty, in her note to me, will have it thatyou can do it at slight cost to yourself. That is for you to decide.Only remember, Sophia," Sir Hervey continued gravely, "you are free,free as air. I have kept my word to the letter. I shall continue tokeep it. If there is to be a change, if we are to come nearer to oneanother, it must come from you, not from me."
She turned to the window; and waiting for her answer--which did notcome quickly--he saw that she was shaking. "You don't help me," shewhispered at last.
"What, child?"
"You don't help me. You don't make it easy for me." And then sheturned abruptly to him and he saw that the tears were running down herface. "Don't you know what you ought to do?" she cried, holding outher hands and lifting her face to him. "You ought to beat me, youought to shake me, you ought to lock me in a dark room! You ought totell me every hour of the day how mean, how ungrateful, how poor anddespicable a thing I am--to take all and give nothing!"
"And that would help you?" he said. "'Tis a new way of making love,sweet."
"'Tis an old one," she cried impetuously. "You are too good to me. Butif you will take me, such as I am--and--and I suppose you have notmuch choice," she continued, with an odd, shy laugh, "I shall be verymuch obliged to you, sir. And--and I shall thank you all my life."
He would have taken her in his arms, but she dropped, as she spoke, onthe bench beside the table, and hiding her face in her hands, began toweep softly--in the same posture, and in the same place, in which shehad sat the day before, but with feelings how different! Ah, howdifferent!
Sir Hervey stood over her a moment, watching her. Her riding-cap hadfallen off and lay on the table beside her. Her hair, clubbed for thejourney, hung undressed and without powder on her neck. He touched itgently, almost reverently with his hand. It was the first caress hehad ever given her.
HER HAIR ... HUNG UNDRESSED ON HER NECK. HE TOUCHED ITGENTLY ... IT WAS THE FIRST CARESS HE HAD EVER GIVEN HER]
"Child," he whispered, "you are not unhappy?"
"Oh, no, no," she cried. "I am thankful, I am so thankful!"
* * * * *
"I said I would let you kiss me?" Lady Betty exclaimed withindignation. And her eyes scorched poor Tom. "It's quite sure, sir, Isaid nothing of the kind."
"But you said," Tom stammered, "that if I didn't do what you wanted,you wouldn't! And that meant that if I did, you would. Now, didn'tit?"
Lady Betty shrugged her shoulders in utter disdain of such reasoning."Oh, la, sir, you are too clever for me!" she cried. "I wasn't atcollege." And she turned from him contemptuously.
They were at the horseblock under the oak, whither Tom had followedher, with thoughts bent on bold emprise. And at the first he had put agood face on it; but the lesson of the day before, and of the daybefore that, had not been lost. The spirit had gone out of him. Thepout of her lips silenced him, a glance from her eyes--if they werecold or distant, harsh or contemptuous--sent his heart into his boots.He grovelled before her; it may be that he was of a nature to benefitby the experience.
Having snubbed him, she was silent awhile, that the iron might enterinto his soul. Then she looked to see if he was sullen; she found thathe was not. He was only heartbroken, and her majesty relented. "Isaid, it is true," she continued, "that--that you might earn yourpardon. Well, you are pardoned, sir; and we are where we were."
"May I call you Betty, then?"
Lady Betty's eyes fell modestly on her fan. "Well, you may," she said."I think that is part of your pardon, if it gives you any pleasure tocall me by my name. It seems vastly foolish to me."
He was foolish. "Betty!" he cried softly. "Betty! Betty! It'll be theonly name for me as long as I live. Betty! Betty! Betty!"
"What nonsense!" Lady Betty answered; but her gaze fell before his.
"Do you remember," he ventured, "what it was I said of your eyes?"
"Of my eyes?" she cried, recovering herself. "No; of the maid's eyes,if you please. There was some nonsense said of them, I remember."
"It was all true of your eyes!" Tom said, gathering courage andfluency. "It's true of them now! And all I said to the maid, I say toyou. And I wish, oh, I wish you were the maid again!"
"That you might be rude to me, I suppose?" she answered, tracing afigure with her fan on the horseblock.
"No," Tom cried. "That I might show you how much I love you. That Imight get nothing by you but yourself. Oh, Betty, give me a littlehope! Say that--that some day I shall--I shall kiss you again."
Betty, blushing and but half disdainful, studied the ground with agravity that was not natural to her.
"Well, perhaps--in a year," she faltered. "Always supposing that youkiss no one in the meantime, sir."
"A year, a whole year, Betty!" Tom protested.
"Yes, a year, not a day less," she answered firmly. "You are only aboy. You don't know your own mind. I don't know yet whether you wouldtreat me well. And for waiting, I'll have no one kiss me," Bettycontinued, steadfastly, "that cannot wait and wait, and doesn't thinkme worth the waiting. So, sir, if you wish to show that you are a man,you must show it by waiting."
"A year!" Tom moaned. "It's an age!"
"So it is to a boy," she retorted. "To a man it's a year. And as youdon't wish to wait----"
"I will wait! I will indeed!" Tom cried.
"Remember you must kiss no one in the meantime," Betty continued,drawing patterns on the block, "nor write, nor speak, nor look a wordof love. You will be on your honour, and--and you will wait till thisday twelvemonth, sir."
"I will," Tom cried. "I will, and thankfully, if you on your side,Betty----"
She sprang up. "What?" she cried, on fire in an instant. "You wouldmake terms with me, would you?"
Tom, the bold, the bully, cringed. "No," he said. "No, of course not.I beg your pardon, Betty."
She was silent for a full half minute, and he thought her hopelesslyoffended. But when she spoke again it was hurriedly, and in a tone ofstrange, new shyness. "Still, I--I don't ask what I won't give," shesaid. "You've kissed me, and you are not the same to me as--as others.I don't mind telling you that. And--and what is law for you shall belaw for me. I suppose you understand," she added, her face naming moreand more. And in her growing bashfulness she glanced at him angrily."I never--I never have flirted, of course," she continued, despairingof making him understand; "but I--I won't flirt this year if you arein earnest."
Somehow Tom had got her hand, and was kissing it. And the two formed apretty picture. But the time allowed them was short. Tom's ecstasy wasinterrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. Sir Hervey andSophia had descended the steps of the terrace followed by the oldvicar, who looked little the worse for his fainting-fit. He bore onhis arm a new gown, the gift of his patron, and the token of his ownfavour, if not of his wife's forgiveness. The three were so closelyengaged in talk that until they came face to face with the other pairthey were not conscious of their presence. Then for a moment Sophiafaltered and hung back, shamed and conscience-stricken, reminded ofthe things she had said, and the worse things she had thought, of herfriend. But in a breath the two girls were in one another's arms.
Tom looked and groaned. "Oh, Lord!" he said. "A year! A whole year!"
u for reading books on Archive.
Sophia: A Romance Page 28
