for though we could bring home a paper bag in onehand and a parasol in the other, of course we could not carry a bottle,and you may be sure that we did not care for Spanish liquorice water,nor yet for lemonade. I should have liked bottled stout, though I didtake almost a dislike to it after Patty Smith proposed to give me aSeidlitz powder, for the effervescence put me in mind of it. But, as arule, we used to have wine--sherry or claret--in a dear, nice,champagney-looking bottle, with a silvery top, and a blue heraldicdragon sitting in a castle, with his head out of the top and his tailsticking out of the bottom--a scaly-looking dragon, like Richard Coeurde Lion's legs in the old pictures; while the tail was all barbed like acrochet needle tied back to back to another crochet needle. And, oh, itwas such fun! I believe those were the only merry times we had. Thenew servant always got the wine for us from a man in the town, and weused to lend her the key to put the bottle in the larder when she wentup to make the beds; and I'm afraid to tell you how many bottles wedrank, for it would be too shocking.
Effie Campanelle Brassey was a really dear girl, and could enter intomatters so much better than Patty Smith, and it was a pleasure to sit inthe dusk of a night and tell her all about our disappointments--for, ofcourse, they were disappointments, the poor Signor being found out, andAchille proving so utterly lost to all proper feeling, and acting as hedid with Miss Furness.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.
MEMORY THE TWENTY-SECOND--WEAK WOMAN.
They say that it is natural for women to be weak, and of course they whosaid so must know best about it. So if woman is naturally weak, I donot think I need be very much ashamed of owning that I was the same asthe rest of my sex, and willing at last to forgive poor Achille; forreally he did begin to look so pale and distressed, so worn, and sallow,and miserable, and seemed so to humble himself before me, that I beganto be afraid he was contemplating something dreadful. He appeared sodejected, and bent, and old, and directed at me such penitent looks,that no one with a heart beating within her breast could have resistedfor long; and by degrees his sorrow began to melt away the hard, cold,icy armour in which I was encased, to sap the walls of the citadel ofstone I had built round my heart, and one day--I could not help it--Icould not resist the piteous look he directed at me, but forgave himwith one quick, sharp glance, which brought almost a sob from hisbreast; while, though his eyes were cast down, I could see him swellingalmost, as it were, with emotion, and I escaped from the room as soon asI possibly could, to try and calm the wild, fluttering sensation thatpervaded my very being.
Then Clara laughed at me, and sneered, and flouted, and jeered; but Idid not care, for something seemed always telling me that I loved himvery dearly. But I made up my mind to refrain from all meetings, and todo nothing clandestine, except the correspondence with a few notes;though I knew that it was nonsense to think for a moment that papa ormamma would ever give their consent to my loving and being espoused by aFrench master.
And then began the notes again; while now that I think of it all, itseems perfectly wonderful that we were not found out, over and over andover again, for Achille grew so terribly barefaced--I mean in his ways,for of course he did not remove his beautiful beard. Sometimes it wasClara who had a note for me, sometimes Euphemia; and then I did not likeit, for it did not seem nice for them to be the bearers of the notes;and if the thing had been possible, I declare that at such times Ishould have felt jealous; for I could not help thinking it possible thathe had squeezed their hands when he had delivered the notes; and, as amatter of course, such a thing was too dreadful to contemplate for morethan about half a minute at a time.
You may be sure I never asked them if such had been the case; but I knowthat I used to be snappish, and not like to say "thank you" for themissives, however welcome they might be. But they never knew thereason, only thought that perhaps something had put me a little out oftemper.
And what notes those used to be!--all bewailing his inability to meetme; for it was quite out of the question to make any appointments, withthat horrible dog ranging and roaming about like a fierce wolf, nightafter night; nearly driving the poor old gardener mad, too, with themischief he did.
"I declare, miss," the old man said to me, "I'd sooner set up and watchin the garden myself night after night, than hev that there blessedbeast a-destroying of everythink. Certainly, there ain't such a dealjest now; but what it will be when we comes to verbenas and beddingplants saints knows. Ribbon gardening, indeed!--the whole blessedgarden's torn to ribbons already. If some one would only poison him!"
"If some one would only poison him!" I mentally said, after him.
But no one did, and we had to content ourselves with notes. Yes, suchnotes!--not what they were of old--full of patriotism; but all the same,pressing me to fly with him, to be his, to leave this land of cold andfogs for his own sunny south, where all would be smiles, and beauty, andlove, and blue skies, and emerald verdure, and sunshine. Oh, what afuture he painted! It was quite enough to destroy one's sleep for thenight, for one could do nothing but lie in the wild waking dream of anexcited imagination. And then, after such waking hours, there was aviolent headache in the morning. What could I do, being so weak, andleaning towards him as I did then? I knew how wicked it was, and howgrievous; but then, it all seemed like fate--like something that was tobe; and I used to think that all would come right in the end, when mammaand papa would forgive me, and we should all be happy together.
"He knows that you will have a nice little sum of money when you come ofage," said Clara, spitefully.
"That I'm sure he doesn't," I said. "How can you talk such nonsense?Why, he don't know anything about our position at home."
"Why, how can you say so?" replied Clara, "when you told him in myhearing, one night down in the conservatory, months ago."
And that was right, though I had not recalled it at the time; but it wastoo bad of Clara to try and make out that Achille was prompted bymercenary motives, when he was the very soul of generosity, and kepthimself horribly poor by the amounts he gave away. And, besides, he wastoo much of a gentleman to care for money, except as regarded the goodit would do to his fellow creatures.
But there, as it must have been seen all along, Clara always was petty,and spiteful, and full of little remarks of that sort, which she wouldthrow at you, when they would come round, and hard, and prickly, justlike one of those nasty, spikey chestnut shucks that will not bear to behandled. So I grew not to mind what she said; and when I told Achille,he used to laugh, and say that she was "une drole de fille," and, likeme, he took no further notice of it.
I would not consent for such a time--months, and months, and months; butI knew that at last I should be compelled to yield, and go with him."But not yet," I said, "not yet," and I drove it off as long as I could;but at last I gave up, and promised to be his--the promise that shouldmake me another's! And then began a week of such nervous excitement aswas almost unbearable. Such foolish ideas, too, came into my head--someof them so childish that I was almost ashamed of them; such as wishing,like I had read of somewhere, to save up pieces of bread and butter, andto purchase a suit of boy's clothes. In short, it seemed as if nothingbut absurdities would come into my head.
I should have gone on as comfortably again if I could have taken Claraand Euphemia into my confidence; but upon this most momentous ofundertakings I felt, and Achille agreed with me, that I should confidein no one; for this was, indeed, too serious a matter to trust toanother. In fact, at times I felt that I could hardly trust myself; forI used to be like the wife of King Midas, and I declare that theknowledge was such a burden that it would have been a relief to have putone's head down by the river, and whispered the secret. Every lessonday came a note; and there was the night settled, and everythingarranged, before I could bring myself to believe that it was true; whileall around me seemed strained, changed, and unnatural, and sometimes Ireally used to feel as if I were dreaming.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.
MEMORY THE TWENTY-THIRD--THE HORROR OF M
Y BLIGHTED LIFE.
The night before the one appointed for my flight with Achille, I satdown and wrote two letters home--one the usual weekly affair, the othera tear-bedewed prayer for pardon. In it I detailed the full particularsof the step which I had taken, pointing out at the same time theuselessness of attempting pursuit; for long before I could be discoveredI should be the wife of the man who possessed my heart, truly andthoroughly. Yes; that letter was tear-bedewed, and there was somethingvery mournful in writing home upon such an occasion. But the die wascast, and I felt quite relieved when I had placed both letters in theirenvelopes; and then, leaving one for enclosure in the letter-bag of thehouse, I secured the other in my bosom, and soon after retired to rest.
Yes, I retired to rest, but not to sleep, and rose the next morning paleand dejected; while how I went through my lessons that day
A Fluttered Dovecote Page 34
