Shirley

by Charlotte Bronte

  CHAPTER VII.

  The Curates at Tea.

  Caroline Helstone was just eighteen years old, and at eighteen the truenarrative of life is yet to be commenced. Before that time we sitlistening to a tale, a marvellous fiction, delightful sometimes, and sadsometimes, almost always unreal. Before that time our world is heroic,its inhabitants half-divine or semi-demon; its scenes are dream-scenes;darker woods and stranger hills, brighter skies, more dangerous waters,sweeter flowers, more tempting fruits, wider plains, drearier deserts,sunnier fields than are found in nature, overspread our enchanted globe.What a moon we gaze on before that time! How the trembling of our heartsat her aspect bears witness to its unutterable beauty! As to our sun, itis a burning heaven--the world of gods.

  At that time, at eighteen, drawing near the confines of illusive, voiddreams, Elf-land lies behind us, the shores of Reality rise in front.These shores are yet distant; they look so blue, soft, gentle, we longto reach them. In sunshine we see a greenness beneath the azure, as ofspring meadows; we catch glimpses of silver lines, and imagine the rollof living waters. Could we but reach this land, we think to hunger andthirst no more; whereas many a wilderness, and often the flood of death,or some stream of sorrow as cold and almost as black as death, is to becrossed ere true bliss can be tasted. Every joy that life gives must beearned ere it is secured; and how hardly earned, those only know whohave wrestled for great prizes. The heart's blood must gem with redbeads the brow of the combatant, before the wreath of victory rustlesover it.

  At eighteen we are not aware of this. Hope, when she smiles on us, andpromises happiness to-morrow, is implicitly believed; Love, when hecomes wandering like a lost angel to our door, is at once admitted,welcomed, embraced. His quiver is not seen; if his arrows penetrate,their wound is like a thrill of new life. There are no fears of poison,none of the barb which no leech's hand can extract. That perilouspassion--an agony ever in some of its phases; with many, an agonythroughout--is believed to be an unqualified good. In short, at eighteenthe school of experience is to be entered, and her humbling, crushing,grinding, but yet purifying and invigorating lessons are yet to belearned.

  Alas, Experience! No other mentor has so wasted and frozen a face asyours, none wears a robe so black, none bears a rod so heavy, none withhand so inexorable draws the novice so sternly to his task, and forceshim with authority so resistless to its acquirement. It is by yourinstructions alone that man or woman can ever find a safe track throughlife's wilds; without it, how they stumble, how they stray! On whatforbidden grounds do they intrude, down what dread declivities are theyhurled!

  Caroline, having been convoyed home by Robert, had no wish to pass whatremained of the evening with her uncle. The room in which he sat wasvery sacred ground to her; she seldom intruded on it; and to-night shekept aloof till the bell rang for prayers. Part of the evening churchservice was the form of worship observed in Mr. Helstone's household. Heread it in his usual nasal voice, clear, loud, and monotonous. The riteover, his niece, according to her wont, stepped up to him.

  "Good-night, uncle."

  "Hey! You've been gadding abroad all day--visiting, dining out, and whatnot!"

  "Only at the cottage."

  "And have you learned your lessons?"

  "Yes."

  "And made a shirt?"

  "Only part of one."

  "Well, that will do. Stick to the needle, learn shirt-making andgown-making and piecrust-making, and you'll be a clever woman some day.Go to bed now. I'm busy with a pamphlet here."

  Presently the niece was enclosed in her small bedroom, the door bolted,her white dressing-gown assumed, her long hair loosened and fallingthick, soft, and wavy to her waist; and as, resting from the task ofcombing it out, she leaned her check on her hand and fixed her eyes onthe carpet, before her rose, and close around her drew, the visions wesee at eighteen years.

  Her thoughts were speaking with her, speaking pleasantly, as it seemed,for she smiled as she listened. She looked pretty meditating thus; but abrighter thing than she was in that apartment--the spirit of youthfulHope. According to this flattering prophet, she was to knowdisappointment, to feel chill no more; she had entered on the dawn of asummer day--no false dawn, but the true spring of morning--and her sunwould quickly rise. Impossible for her now to suspect that she was thesport of delusion; her expectations seemed warranted, the foundation onwhich they rested appeared solid.

  "When people love, the next step is they marry," was her argument. "Now,I love Robert, and I feel sure that Robert loves me. I have thought somany a time before; to-day I _felt_ it. When I looked up at him afterrepeating Chenier's poem, his eyes (what handsome eyes he has!) sent thetruth through my heart. Sometimes I am afraid to speak to him, lest Ishould be too frank, lest I should seem forward--for I have more thanonce regretted bitterly overflowing, superfluous words, and feared I hadsaid more than he expected me to say, and that he would disapprove whathe might deem my indiscretion; now, to-night I could have ventured toexpress any thought, he was so indulgent. How kind he was as we walkedup the lane! He does not flatter or say foolish things; his love-making(friendship, I mean; of course I don't yet account him my lover, but Ihope he will be so some day) is not like what we read of in books,--itis far better--original, quiet, manly, sincere. I _do_ like him; I wouldbe an excellent wife to him if he did marry me; I would tell him of hisfaults (for he has a few faults), but I would study his comfort, andcherish him, and do my best to make him happy. Now, I am sure he willnot be cold to-morrow. I feel almost certain that to-morrow evening hewill either come here, or ask me to go there."

  She recommenced combing her hair, long as a mermaid's. Turning her headas she arranged it she saw her own face and form in the glass. Suchreflections are soberizing to plain people: their own eyes are notenchanted with the image; they are confident then that the eyes ofothers can see in it no fascination. But the fair must naturally drawother conclusions: the picture is charming, and must charm. Caroline sawa shape, a head, that, daguerreotyped in that attitude and with thatexpression, would have been lovely. She could not choose but derivefrom the spectacle confirmation to her hopes. It was then inundiminished gladness she sought her couch.

  And in undiminished gladness she rose the next day. As she entered heruncle's breakfast-room, and with soft cheerfulness wished himgood-morning, even that little man of bronze himself thought, for aninstant, his niece was growing "a fine girl." Generally she was quietand timid with him--very docile, but not communicative; this morning,however, she found many things to say. Slight topics alone might bediscussed between them; for with a woman--a girl--Mr. Helstone wouldtouch on no other. She had taken an early walk in the garden, and shetold him what flowers were beginning to spring there; she inquired whenthe gardener was to come and trim the borders; she informed him thatcertain starlings were beginning to build their nests in thechurch-tower (Briarfield church was close to Briarfield rectory); shewondered the tolling of the bells in the belfry did not scare them.

  Mr. Helstone opined that "they were like other fools who had justpaired--insensible to inconvenience just for the moment." Caroline, madeperhaps a little too courageous by her temporary good spirits, herehazarded a remark of a kind she had never before ventured to make onobservations dropped by her revered relative.

  "Uncle," said she, "whenever you speak of marriage you speak of itscornfully. Do you think people shouldn't marry?"

  "It is decidedly the wisest plan to remain single, especially forwomen."

  "Are all marriages unhappy?"

  "Millions of marriages are unhappy. If everybody confessed the truth,perhaps all are more or less so."

  "You are always vexed when you are asked to come and marry a couple.Why?"

  "Because one does not like to act as accessory to the commission of apiece of pure folly."

  Mr. Helstone spoke so readily, he seemed rather glad of the opportunityto give his niece a piece of his mind on this point. Emboldened by theimpunity which had hitherto attended her questions,
she went a littlefurther.

  "But why," said she, "should it be pure folly? If two people like eachother, why shouldn't they consent to live together?"

  "They tire of each other--they tire of each other in a month. Ayokefellow is not a companion; he or she is a fellow-sufferer."

  It was by no means naive simplicity which inspired Caroline's nextremark; it was a sense of antipathy to such opinions, and of displeasureat him who held them.

  "One would think you had never been married, uncle. One would think youwere an old bachelor."

  "Practically, I am so."

  "But you have been married. Why were you so inconsistent as to marry?"

  "Every man is mad once or twice in his life."

  "So you tired of my aunt, and my aunt of you, and you were miserabletogether?"

  Mr. Helstone pushed out his cynical lip, wrinkled his brown forehead,and gave an inarticulate grunt.

  "Did she not suit you? Was she not good-tempered? Did you not get usedto her? Were you not sorry when she died?"

  "Caroline," said Mr. Helstone, bringing his hand slowly down to withinan inch or two of the table, and then smiting it suddenly on themahogany, "understand this: it is vulgar and puerile to confoundgenerals with particulars. In every case there is the rule and there arethe exceptions. Your questions are stupid and babyish. Ring the bell, ifyou have done breakfast."

  The breakfast was taken away, and that meal over, it was the generalcustom of uncle and niece to separate, and not to meet again tilldinner; but to-day the niece, instead of quitting the room, went to thewindow-seat, and sat down there. Mr. Helstone looked round uneasily onceor twice, as if he wished her away; but she was gazing from the window,and did not seem to mind him: so he continued the perusal of his morningpaper--a particularly interesting one it chanced to be, as new movementshad just taken place in the Peninsula, and certain columns of thejournal were rich in long dispatches from General Lord Wellington. Helittle knew, meantime, what thoughts were busy in his niece'smind--thoughts the conversation of the past half-hour had revived butnot generated; tumultuous were they now, as disturbed bees in a hive,but it was years since they had first made their cells in her brain.

  She was reviewing his character, his disposition, repeating hissentiments on marriage. Many a time had she reviewed them before, andsounded the gulf between her own mind and his; and then, on the otherside of the wide and deep chasm, she had seen, and she now saw, anotherfigure standing beside her uncle's--a strange shape, dim, sinister,scarcely earthly--the half-remembered image of her own father, JamesHelstone, Matthewson Helstone's brother.

  Rumours had reached her ear of what that father's character was; oldservants had dropped hints; she knew, too, that he was not a good man,and that he was never kind to her. She recollected--a dark recollectionit was--some weeks that she had spent with him in a great townsomewhere, when she had had no maid to dress her or take care of her;when she had been shut up, day and night, in a high garret-room, withouta carpet, with a bare uncurtained bed, and scarcely any other furniture;when he went out early every morning, and often forgot to return andgive her her dinner during the day, and at night, when he came back, waslike a madman, furious, terrible, or--still more painful--like an idiot,imbecile, senseless. She knew she had fallen ill in this place, and thatone night, when she was very sick he had come raving into the room, andsaid he would kill her, for she was a burden to him. Her screams hadbrought aid; and from the moment she was then rescued from him she hadnever seen him, except as a dead man in his coffin.

  That was her father. Also she had a mother, though Mr. Helstone neverspoke to her of that mother, though she could not remember having seenher; but that she was alive she knew. This mother was then thedrunkard's wife. What had _their_ marriage been? Caroline, turning fromthe lattice, whence she had been watching the starlings (though withoutseeing them), in a low voice, and with a sad, bitter tone, thus brokethe silence of the room,--

  "You term marriage miserable, I suppose, from what you saw of my fatherand mother's. If my mother suffered what I suffered when I was withpapa, she must have had a dreadful life."

  Mr. Helstone, thus addressed, wheeled about in his chair, and lookedover his spectacles at his niece. He was taken aback.

  Her father and mother! What had put it into her head to mention herfather and mother, of whom he had never, during the twelve years she hadlived with him, spoken to her? That the thoughts were self-matured, thatshe had any recollections or speculations about her parents, he couldnot fancy.

  "Your father and mother? Who has been talking to you about them?"

  "Nobody; but I remember something of what papa was, and I pity mamma.Where is she?"

  This "Where is she?" had been on Caroline's lips hundreds of timesbefore, but till now she had never uttered it.

  "I hardly know," returned Mr. Helstone; "I was little acquainted withher. I have not heard from her for years: but wherever she is, shethinks nothing of you; she never inquires about you. I have reason tobelieve she does not wish to see you. Come, it is school-time. You go toyour cousin at ten, don't you? The clock has struck."

  Perhaps Caroline would have said more; but Fanny, coming in, informedher master that the churchwardens wanted to speak to him in the vestry.He hastened to join them, and his niece presently set out for thecottage.

  The road from the rectory to Hollow's Mill inclined downwards; she ran,therefore, almost all the way. Exercise, the fresh air, the thought ofseeing Robert, at least of being on his premises, in his vicinage,revived her somewhat depressed spirits quickly. Arriving in sight of thewhite house, and within hearing of the thundering mill and its rushingwatercourse, the first thing she saw was Moore at his garden gate. Therehe stood, in his belted Holland blouse, a light cap covering his head,which undress costume suited him. He was looking down the lane, not inthe direction of his cousin's approach. She stopped, withdrawing alittle behind a willow, and studied his appearance.

  "He has not his peer," she thought. "He is as handsome as he isintelligent. What a keen eye he has! What clearly-cut, spiritedfeatures--thin and serious, but graceful! I do like his face, I do likehis aspect, I do like him so much--better than any of those shufflingcurates, for instance--better than anybody; bonny Robert!"

  She sought "bonny Robert's" presence speedily. For his part, when shechallenged his sight, I believe he would have passed from before hereyes like a phantom, if he could; but being a tall fact, and no fiction,he was obliged to stand the greeting. He made it brief. It wascousin-like, brother-like, friend-like, anything but lover-like. Thenameless charm of last night had left his manner: he was no longer thesame man: or, at any rate, the same heart did not beat in his breast.Rude disappointment, sharp cross! At first the eager girl would notbelieve in the change, though she saw and felt it. It was difficult towithdraw her hand from his, till he had bestowed at least something likea kind pressure; it was difficult to turn her eyes from his eyes, tillhis looks had expressed something more and fonder than that coolwelcome.

  A lover masculine so disappointed can speak and urge explanation, alover feminine can say nothing; if she did, the result would be shameand anguish, inward remorse for self-treachery. Nature would brand suchdemonstration as a rebellion against her instincts, and wouldvindictively repay it afterwards by the thunderbolt of self-contemptsmiting suddenly in secret. Take the matter as you find it: ask noquestions, utter no remonstrances; it is your best wisdom. You expectedbread, and you have got a stone: break your teeth on it, and don'tshriek because the nerves are martyrized; do not doubt that your mentalstomach--if you have such a thing--is strong as an ostrich's; the stonewill digest. You held out your hand for an egg, and fate put into it ascorpion. Show no consternation: close your fingers firmly upon thegift; let it sting through your palm. Never mind; in time, after yourhand and arm have swelled and quivered long with torture, the squeezedscorpion will die, and you will have learned the great lesson how toendure without a sob. For the whole remnant of your life, if you survivethe test--some,
it is said, die under it--you will be stronger, wiser,less sensitive. This you are not aware of, perhaps, at the time, and socannot borrow courage of that hope. Nature, however, as has beenintimated, is an excellent friend in such cases, sealing the lips,interdicting utterance, commanding a placid dissimulation--adissimulation often wearing an easy and gay mien at first, settling downto sorrow and paleness in time, then passing away, and leaving aconvenient stoicism, not the less fortifying because it is half-bitter.

  Half-bitter! Is that wrong? No; it should be bitter: bitterness isstrength--it is a tonic. Sweet, mild force following acute suffering youfind nowhere; to talk of it is delusion. There may be apatheticexhaustion after the rack. If energy remains, it will be rather adangerous energy--deadly when confronted with injustice.

  Who has read the ballad of "Puir Mary Lee"--that old Scotch ballad,written I know not in what generation nor by what hand? Mary had beenill-used--probably in being made to believe that truth which wasfalsehood. She is not complaining, but she is sitting alone in thesnowstorm, and you hear her thoughts. They are not the thoughts of amodel heroine under her circumstances, but they are those of adeeply-feeling, strongly-resentful peasant-girl. Anguish has driven herfrom the ingle-nook of home to the white-shrouded and icy hills.Crouched under the "cauld drift," she recalls every image ofhorror--"the yellow-wymed ask," "the hairy adder," "the auld moon-bowingtyke," "the ghaist at e'en,", "the sour bullister," "the milk on thetaed's back." She hates these, but "waur she hates Robin-a-Ree."

  "Oh, ance I lived happily by yon bonny burn-- The warld was in love wi' me; But now I maun sit 'neath the cauld drift and mourn, And curse black Robin-a-Ree!

  "Then whudder awa, thou bitter biting blast, And sough through the scrunty tree, And smoor me up in the snaw fu' fast, And n'er let the sun me see!

  "Oh, never melt awa, thou wreath o' snaw, That's sae kind in graving me; But hide me frae the scorn and guffaw O' villains like Robin-a-Ree!"

  But what has been said in the last page or two is not germane toCaroline Helstone's feelings, or to the state of things between her andRobert Moore. Robert had done her no wrong; he had told her no lie; itwas she that was to blame, if any one was. What bitterness her minddistilled should and would be poured on her own head. She had lovedwithout being asked to love--a natural, sometimes an inevitable chance,but big with misery.

  Robert, indeed, had sometimes seemed to be fond of her; but why? Becauseshe had made herself so pleasing to him, he could not, in spite of allhis efforts, help testifying a state of feeling his judgment did notapprove nor his will sanction. He was about to withdraw decidedly fromintimate communication with her, because he did not choose to have hisaffections inextricably entangled, nor to be drawn, despite his reason,into a marriage he believed imprudent. Now, what was she to do? To giveway to her feelings, or to vanquish them? To pursue him, or to turnupon herself? If she is weak, she will try the first expedient--willlose his esteem and win his aversion; if she has sense, she will be herown governor, and resolve to subdue and bring under guidance thedisturbed realm of her emotions. She will determine to look on lifesteadily, as it is; to begin to learn its severe truths seriously, andto study its knotty problems closely, conscientiously.

  It appeared she had a little sense, for she quitted Robert quietly,without complaint or question, without the alteration of a muscle or theshedding of a tear, betook herself to her studies under Hortense asusual, and at dinner-time went home without lingering.

  When she had dined, and found herself in the rectory drawing-room alone,having left her uncle over his temperate glass of port wine, thedifficulty that occurred to and embarrassed her was, "How am I to getthrough this day?"

  Last night she had hoped it would be spent as yesterday was, that theevening would be again passed with happiness and Robert. She had learnedher mistake this morning; and yet she could not settle down, convincedthat no chance would occur to recall her to Hollow's Cottage, or tobring Moore again into her society.

  He had walked up after tea more than once to pass an hour with heruncle. The door-bell had rung, his voice had been heard in the passagejust at twilight, when she little expected such a pleasure; and this hadhappened twice after he had treated her with peculiar reserve; andthough he rarely talked to her in her uncle's presence, he had looked ather relentingly as he sat opposite her work-table during his stay. Thefew words he had spoken to her were comforting; his manner on biddingher good-night was genial. Now, he might come this evening, said FalseHope. She almost knew it was False Hope which breathed the whisper, andyet she listened.

  She tried to read--her thoughts wandered; she tried to sew--every stitchshe put in was an _ennui_, the occupation was insufferably tedious; sheopened her desk and attempted to write a French composition--she wrotenothing but mistakes.

  Suddenly the door-bell sharply rang; her heart leaped; she sprang to thedrawing-room door, opened it softly, peeped through the aperture. Fannywas admitting a visitor--a gentleman--a tall man--just the height ofRobert. For one second she thought it was Robert--for one second sheexulted; but the voice asking for Mr. Helstone undeceived her. Thatvoice was an Irish voice, consequently not Moore's, but thecurate's--Malone's. He was ushered into the dining-room, where,doubtless, he speedily helped his rector to empty the decanters.

  It was a fact to be noted, that at whatever house in Briarfield,Whinbury, or Nunnely one curate dropped in to a meal--dinner or tea, as,the case might be--another presently followed, often two more. Not thatthey gave each other the rendezvous, but they were usually all on therun at the same time; and when Donne, for instance, sought Malone at hislodgings and found him not, he inquired whither he had posted, andhaving learned of the landlady his destination, hastened with all speedafter him. The same causes operated in the same way with Sweeting. Thusit chanced on that afternoon that Caroline's ears were three timestortured with the ringing of the bell and the advent of undesiredguests; for Donne followed Malone, and Sweeting followed Donne; and morewine was ordered up from the cellar into the dining-room (for though oldHelstone chid the inferior priesthood when he found them "carousing," ashe called it, in their own tents, yet at his hierarchical table he everliked to treat them to a glass of his best), and through the closeddoors Caroline heard their boyish laughter, and the vacant cackle oftheir voices. Her fear was lest they should stay to tea, for she had nopleasure in making tea for that particular trio. What distinctionspeople draw! These three were men--young men--educated men, like Moore;yet, for her, how great the difference! Their society was a bore--his adelight.

  Not only was she destined to be favoured with their clerical company,but Fortune was at this moment bringing her four other guests--ladyguests, all packed in a pony-phaeton now rolling somewhat heavily alongthe road from Whinbury: an elderly lady and three of her buxom daughterswere coming to see her "in a friendly way," as the custom of thatneighbourhood was. Yes, a fourth time the bell clanged. Fanny broughtthe present announcement to the drawing-room,--

  "Mrs. Sykes and the three Misses Sykes."

  When Caroline was going to receive company, her habit was to wring herhands very nervously, to flush a little, and come forward hurriedly yethesitatingly, wishing herself meantime at Jericho. She was, at suchcrises, sadly deficient in finished manner, though she had once been atschool a year. Accordingly, on this occasion, her small white handssadly maltreated each other, while she stood up, waiting the entrance ofMrs. Sykes.

  In stalked that lady, a tall, bilious gentlewoman, who made an ample andnot altogether insincere profession of piety, and was greatly given tohospitality towards the clergy. In sailed her three daughters, a showytrio, being all three well-grown, and more or less handsome.

  In English country ladies there is this point to be remarked. Whetheryoung or old, pretty or plain, dull or sprightly, they all (or almostall) have a certain expression stamped on their features, which seems tosay, "I know--I do not boast of it, but I _know_ that I am the standardof what i
s proper; let every one therefore whom I approach, or whoapproaches me, keep a sharp lookout, for wherein they differ from me--bethe same in dress, manner, opinion, principle, or practice--therein theyare wrong."

  Mrs. and Misses Sykes, far from being exceptions to this observation,were pointed illustrations of its truth. Miss Mary--a well-looked,well-meant, and, on the whole, well-dispositioned girl--wore hercomplacency with some state, though without harshness. Miss Harriet--abeauty--carried it more overbearingly; she looked high and cold. MissHannah, who was conceited, dashing, pushing, flourished hers consciouslyand openly. The mother evinced it with the gravity proper to her age andreligious fame.

  The reception was got through somehow. Caroline "was glad to see them"(an unmitigated fib), hoped they were well, hoped Mrs. Sykes's cough wasbetter (Mrs. Sykes had had a cough for the last twenty years), hoped theMisses Sykes had left their sisters at home well; to which inquiry theMisses Sykes, sitting on three chairs opposite the music-stool, whereonCaroline had undesignedly come to anchor, after wavering for someseconds between it and a large arm-chair, into which she at lengthrecollected she ought to induct Mrs. Sykes--and indeed that lady savedher the trouble by depositing herself therein--the Misses Sykes repliedto Caroline by one simultaneous bow, very majestic and mighty awful. Apause followed. This bow was of a character to ensure silence for thenext five minutes, and it did. Mrs. Sykes then inquired after Mr.Helstone, and whether he had had any return of rheumatism, and whetherpreaching twice on a Sunday fatigued him, and if he was capable oftaking a full service now; and on being assured he was, she and all herdaughters, combining in chorus, expressed their opinion that he was "awonderful man of his years."

  Pause second.

  Miss Mary, getting up the steam in her turn, asked whether Caroline hadattended the Bible Society meeting which had been held at Nunnely lastThursday night. The negative answer which truth compelled Caroline toutter--for last Thursday evening she had been sitting at home, reading anovel which Robert had lent her--elicited a simultaneous expression ofsurprise from the lips of the four ladies.

  "We were all there," said Miss Mary--"mamma and all of us. We evenpersuaded papa to go. Hannah would insist upon it. But he fell asleepwhile Mr. Langweilig, the German Moravian minister, was speaking. I feltquite ashamed, he nodded so."

  "And there was Dr. Broadbent," cried Hannah--"such a beautiful speaker!You couldn't expect it of him, for he is almost a vulgar-looking man."

  "But such a dear man," interrupted Mary.

  "And such a good man, such a useful man," added her mother.

  "Only like a butcher in appearance," interposed the fair, proud Harriet."I couldn't bear to look at him. I listened with my eyes shut."

  Miss Helstone felt her ignorance and incompetency. Not having seen Dr.Broadbent, she could not give her opinion. Pause third came on. Duringits continuance, Caroline was feeling at her heart's core what adreaming fool she was, what an unpractical life she led, how littlefitness there was in her for ordinary intercourse with the ordinaryworld. She was feeling how exclusively she had attached herself to thewhite cottage in the Hollow, how in the existence of one inmate of thatcottage she had pent all her universe. She was sensible that this wouldnot do, and that some day she would be forced to make an alteration. Itcould not be said that she exactly wished to resemble the ladies beforeher, but she wished to become superior to her present self, so as tofeel less scared by their dignity.

  The sole means she found of reviving the flagging discourse was byasking them if they would all stay to tea; and a cruel struggle it costher to perform this piece of civility. Mrs. Sykes had begun, "We aremuch obliged to you, but----" when in came Fanny once more.

  "The gentlemen will stay the evening, ma'am," was the message shebrought from Mr. Helstone.

  "What gentlemen have you?" now inquired Mrs. Sykes. Their names werespecified; she and her daughters interchanged glances. The curates werenot to them what they were to Caroline. Mr. Sweeting was quite afavourite with them; even Mr. Malone rather so, because he was aclergyman. "Really, since you have company already, I think we willstay," remarked Mrs. Sykes. "We shall be quite a pleasant little party.I always like to meet the clergy."

  And now Caroline had to usher them upstairs, to help them to unshawl,smooth their hair, and make themselves smart; to reconduct them to thedrawing-room, to distribute amongst them books of engravings, or oddthings purchased from the Jew-basket. She was obliged to be a purchaser,though she was but a slack contributor; and if she had possessed plentyof money, she would rather, when it was brought to the rectory--an awfulincubus!--have purchased the whole stock than contributed a singlepin-cushion.

  It ought perhaps to be explained in passing, for the benefit of thosewho are not _au fait_ to the mysteries of the "Jew-basket" and"missionary-basket," that these _meubles_ are willow repositories, ofthe capacity of a good-sized family clothes-basket, dedicated to thepurpose of conveying from house to house a monster collection ofpin-cushions, needle-books, card-racks, workbags, articles of infantwear, etc., etc., etc., made by the willing or reluctant hands of theChristian ladies of a parish, and sold perforce to the heathenishgentlemen thereof, at prices unblushingly exorbitant. The proceeds ofsuch compulsory sales are applied to the conversion of the Jews, theseeking up of the ten missing tribes, or to the regeneration of theinteresting coloured population of the globe. Each lady contributortakes it in her turn to keep the basket a month, to sew for it, and tofoist off its contents on a shrinking male public. An exciting time itis when that turn comes round. Some active-minded woman, with a goodtrading spirit, like it, and enjoy exceedingly the fun of makinghard-handed worsted-spinners cash up, to the tune of four or fivehundred per cent. above cost price, for articles quite useless to them;other feebler souls object to it, and would rather see the prince ofdarkness himself at their door any morning than that phantom basket,brought with "Mrs. Rouse's compliments; and please, ma'am, she says it'syour turn now."

  Miss Helstone's duties of hostess performed, more anxiously thancheerily, she betook herself to the kitchen, to hold a briefprivy-council with Fanny and Eliza about the tea.

  "What a lot on 'em!" cried Eliza, who was cook. "And I put off thebaking to-day because I thought there would be bread plenty to fit whilemorning. We shall never have enow."

  "Are there any tea-cakes?" asked the young mistress.

  "Only three and a loaf. I wish these fine folk would stay at home tillthey're asked; and I want to finish trimming my hat" (bonnet she meant).

  "Then," suggested Caroline, to whom the importance of the emergency gavea certain energy, "Fanny must run down to Briarfield and buy somemuffins and crumpets and some biscuits. And don't be cross, Eliza; wecan't help it now."

  "And which tea-things are we to have?"

  "Oh, the best, I suppose. I'll get out the silver service." And she ranupstairs to the plate-closet, and presently brought down teapot,cream-ewer, and sugar-basin.

  "And mun we have th' urn?"

  "Yes; and now get it ready as quickly as you can, for the sooner we havetea over the sooner they will go--at least, I hope so. Heigh-ho! I wishthey were gone," she sighed, as she returned to the drawing-room."Still," she thought, as she paused at the door ere opening it, "ifRobert would but come even now how bright all would be! Howcomparatively easy the task of amusing these people if he were present!There would be an interest in hearing him talk (though he never saysmuch in company) and in talking in his presence. There can be nointerest in hearing any of them, or in speaking to them. How they willgabble when the curates come in, and how weary I shall grow withlistening to them! But I suppose I am a selfish fool. These are veryrespectable gentlefolks. I ought, no doubt, to be proud of theircountenance. I don't say they are not as good as I am--far from it--butthey are different from me."

  She went in.

  Yorkshire people in those days took their tea round the table, sittingwell into it, with their knees duly introduced under the mahogany. Itwas essential to have a multitude of plates of b
read and butter, variedin sorts and plentiful in quantity. It was thought proper, too, that onthe centre plate should stand a glass dish of marmalade. Among theviands was expected to be found a small assortment of cheesecakes andtarts. If there was also a plate of thin slices of pink ham garnishedwith green parsley, so much the better.

  Eliza, the rector's cook, fortunately knew her business as provider. Shehad been put out of humour a little at first, when the invaders came sounexpectedly in such strength; but it appeared that she regained hercheerfulness with action, for in due time the tea was spread forth inhandsome style, and neither ham, tarts, nor marmalade were wanting amongits accompaniments.

  The curates, summoned to this bounteous repast, entered joyous; but atonce, on seeing the ladies, of whose presence they had not beenforewarned, they came to a stand in the doorway. Malone headed theparty; he stopped short and fell back, almost capsizing Donne, who wasbehind him. Donne, staggering three paces in retreat, sent littleSweeting into the arms of old Helstone, who brought up the rear. Therewas some expostulation, some tittering. Malone was desired to mind whathe was about, and urged to push forward, which at last he did, thoughcolouring to the top of his peaked forehead a bluish purple. Helstone,advancing, set the shy curates aside, welcomed all his fair guests,shook hands and passed a jest with each, and seated himself snuglybetween the lovely Harriet and the dashing Hannah. Miss Mary herequested to move to the seat opposite to him, that he might see her ifhe couldn't be near her. Perfectly easy and gallant, in his way, werehis manners always to young ladies, and most popular was he amongstthem; yet at heart he neither respected nor liked the sex, and such ofthem as circumstances had brought into intimate relation with him hadever feared rather than loved him.

  The curates were left to shift for themselves. Sweeting, who was theleast embarrassed of the three, took refuge beside Mrs. Sykes, who, heknew, was almost as fond of him as if he had been her son. Donne, aftermaking his general bow with a grace all his own, and saying in a high,pragmatical voice, "How d'ye do, Miss Helstone?" dropped into a seat atCaroline's elbow, to her unmitigated annoyance, for she had a peculiarantipathy to Donne, on account of his stultified and immovableself-conceit and his incurable narrowness of mind. Malone, grinning mostunmeaningly, inducted himself into the corresponding seat on the otherside. She was thus blessed in a pair of supporters, neither of whom, sheknew, would be of any mortal use, whether for keeping up theconversation, handing cups, circulating the muffins, or even lifting theplate from the slop-basin. Little Sweeting, small and boyish as he was,would have been worth twenty of them.

  Malone, though a ceaseless talker when there were only men present, wasusually tongue-tied in the presence of ladies. Three phrases, however,he had ready cut and dried, which he never failed to produce:--

  1stly. "Have you had a walk to-day, Miss Helstone?"

  2ndly. "Have you seen your cousin Moore lately?"

  3rdly. "Does your class at the Sunday school keep up its number?"

  These three questions being put and responded to, between Caroline andMalone reigned silence.

  With Donne it was otherwise; he was troublesome, exasperating. He had astock of small-talk on hand, at once the most trite and perverse thatcan well be imagined--abuse of the people of Briarfield; of the nativesof Yorkshire generally; complaints of the want of high society; of thebackward state of civilization in these districts; murmurings againstthe disrespectful conduct of the lower orders in the north toward theirbetters; silly ridicule of the manner of living in these parts--the wantof style, the absence of elegance, as if he, Donne, had been accustomedto very great doings indeed, an insinuation which his somewhat underbredmanner and aspect failed to bear out. These strictures, he seemed tothink, must raise him in the estimation of Miss Helstone or of any otherlady who heard him; whereas with her, at least, they brought him to alevel below contempt, though sometimes, indeed, they incensed her; for,a Yorkshire girl herself, she hated to hear Yorkshire abused by such apitiful prater; and when wrought up to a certain pitch, she would turnand say something of which neither the matter nor the manner recommendedher to Mr. Donne's good-will. She would tell him it was no proof ofrefinement to be ever scolding others for vulgarity, and no sign of agood pastor to be eternally censuring his flock. She would ask him whathe had entered the church for, since he complained there were onlycottages to visit, and poor people to preach to--whether he had beenordained to the ministry merely to wear soft clothing and sit in king'shouses. These questions were considered by all the curates as, to thelast degree, audacious and impious.

  Tea was a long time in progress; all the guests gabbled as their hostesshad expected they would. Mr. Helstone, being in excellent spirits--when,indeed, was he ever otherwise in society, attractive female society? itbeing only with the one lady of his own family that he maintained a grimtaciturnity--kept up a brilliant flow of easy prattle with hisright-hand and left-hand neighbours, and even with his _vis-a-vis_, MissMary; though, as Mary was the most sensible, the least coquettish, ofthe three, to her the elderly widower was the least attentive. At hearthe could not abide sense in women. He liked to see them as silly, aslight-headed, as vain, as open to ridicule as possible, because theywere then in reality what he held them to be, and wished them tobe--inferior, toys to play with, to amuse a vacant hour, and to bethrown away.

  Hannah was his favourite. Harriet, though beautiful, egotistical, andself-satisfied, was not quite weak enough for him. She had some genuineself-respect amidst much false pride, and if she did not talk like anoracle, neither would she babble like one crazy; she would not permitherself to be treated quite as a doll, a child, a plaything; sheexpected to be bent to like a queen.

  Hannah, on the contrary, demanded no respect, only flattery. If heradmirers only _told_ her that she was an angel, she would let them_treat_ her like an idiot. So very credulous and frivolous was she, sovery silly did she become when besieged with attention, flattered andadmired to the proper degree, that there were moments when Helstoneactually felt tempted to commit matrimony a second time, and to try theexperiment of taking her for his second helpmeet; but fortunately thesalutary recollection of the _ennuis_ of his first marriage, theimpression still left on him of the weight of the millstone he had onceworn round his neck, the fixity of his feelings respecting theinsufferable evils of conjugal existence, operated as a check to histenderness, suppressed the sigh heaving his old iron lungs, andrestrained him from whispering to Hannah proposals it would have beenhigh fun and great satisfaction to her to hear.

  It is probable she would have married him if he had asked her; herparents would have quite approved the match. To them his fifty-fiveyears, his bend-leather heart, could have presented no obstacles; and ashe was a rector, held an excellent living, occupied a good house, andwas supposed even to have private property (though in that the world wasmistaken; every penny of the L5,000 inherited by him from his father hadbeen devoted to the building and endowing of a new church at his nativevillage in Lancashire--for he could show a lordly munificence when hepleased, and if the end was to his liking, never hesitated about makinga grand sacrifice to attain it)--her parents, I say, would havedelivered Hannah over to his lovingkindness and his tender mercieswithout one scruple; and the second Mrs. Helstone, inverting the naturalorder of insect existence, would have fluttered through the honeymoon abright, admired butterfly, and crawled the rest of her days a sordid,trampled worm.

  Little Mr. Sweeting, seated between Mrs. Sykes and Miss Mary, both ofwhom were very kind to him, and having a dish of tarts before him, andmarmalade and crumpet upon his plate, looked and felt more content thanany monarch. He was fond of all the Misses Sykes; they were all fond ofhim. He thought them magnificent girls, quite proper to mate with one ofhis inches. If he had a cause of regret at this blissful moment, it wasthat Miss Dora happened to be absent--Dora being the one whom hesecretly hoped one day to call Mrs. David Sweeting, with whom he dreamtof taking stately walks, leading her like an empress through the villageof Nunnely; and an empress
she would have been, if size could make anempress. She was vast, ponderous. Seen from behind, she had the air of avery stout lady of forty; but withal she possessed a good face, and nounkindly character.

  The meal at last drew to a close. It would have been over long ago ifMr. Donne had not persisted in sitting with his cup half full of coldtea before him, long after the rest had finished and after he himselfhad discussed such allowance of viands as he felt competent toswallow--long, indeed, after signs of impatience had been manifestedall round the board, till chairs were pushed back, till the talkflagged, till silence fell. Vainly did Caroline inquire repeatedly if hewould have another cup, if he would take a little hot tea, as that mustbe cold, etc.; he would neither drink it nor leave it. He seemed tothink that this isolated position of his gave him somehow a certainimportance, that it was dignified and stately to be the last, that itwas grand to keep all the others waiting. So long did he linger, thatthe very urn died; it ceased to hiss. At length, however, the old rectorhimself, who had hitherto been too pleasantly engaged with Hannah tocare for the delay, got impatient.

  "For whom are we waiting?" he asked.

  "For me, I believe," returned Donne complacently, appearing to think itmuch to his credit that a party should thus be kept dependent on hismovements.

  "Tut!" cried Helstone. Then standing up, "Let us return thanks," saidhe; which he did forthwith, and all quitted the table. Donne, nothingabashed, still sat ten minutes quite alone, whereupon Mr. Helstone rangthe bell for the things to be removed. The curate at length saw himselfforced to empty his cup, and to relinquish the _role_ which, he thought,had given him such a felicitous distinction, drawing upon him suchflattering general notice.

  And now, in the natural course of events (Caroline, knowing how it wouldbe, had opened the piano, and produced music-books in readiness), musicwas asked for. This was Mr. Sweeting's chance for showing off. He waseager to commence. He undertook, therefore, the arduous task ofpersuading the young ladies to favour the company with an air--a song._Con amore_ he went through the whole business of begging, praying,resisting excuses, explaining away difficulties, and at last succeededin persuading Miss Harriet to allow herself to be led to the instrument.Then out came the pieces of his flute (he always carried them in hispocket, as unfailingly as he carried his handkerchief). They werescrewed and arranged, Malone and Donne meanwhile herding together andsneering at him, which the little man, glancing over his shoulder, saw,but did not heed at all. He was persuaded their sarcasm all arose fromenvy. They could not accompany the ladies as he could; he was about toenjoy a triumph over them.

  The triumph began. Malone, much chagrined at hearing him pipe up in mostsuperior style, determined to earn distinction too, if possible, andall at once assuming the character of a swain (which character he hadendeavoured to enact once or twice before, but in which he had nothitherto met with the success he doubtless opined his merits deserved),approached a sofa on which Miss Helstone was seated, and depositing hisgreat Irish frame near her, tried his hand (or rather tongue) at a finespeech or two, accompanied by grins the most extraordinary andincomprehensible. In the course of his efforts to render himselfagreeable, he contrived to possess himself of the two long sofa cushionsand a square one; with which, after rolling them about for some timewith strange gestures, he managed to erect a sort of barrier betweenhimself and the object of his attentions. Caroline, quite willing thatthey should be sundered, soon devised an excuse for stepping over to theopposite side of the room, and taking up a position beside Mrs. Sykes,of which good lady she entreated some instruction in a new stitch inornamental knitting, a favour readily granted; and thus Peter Augustuswas thrown out.

  Very sullenly did his countenance lower when he saw himselfabandoned--left entirely to his own resources, on a large sofa, with thecharge of three small cushions on his hands. The fact was, he feltdisposed seriously to cultivate acquaintance with Miss Helstone, becausehe thought, in common with others, that her uncle possessed money, andconcluded that, since he had no children, he would probably leave it tohis niece. Gerard Moore was better instructed on this point: he had seenthe neat church that owed its origin to the rector's zeal and cash, andmore than once, in his inmost soul, had cursed an expensive capricewhich crossed his wishes.

  The evening seemed long to one person in that room. Caroline atintervals dropped her knitting on her lap, and gave herself up to a sortof brain-lethargy--closing her eyes and depressing her head--caused bywhat seemed to her the unmeaning hum around her,--the inharmonious,tasteless rattle of the piano keys, the squeaking and gasping notes ofthe flute, the laughter and mirth of her uncle, and Hannah, and Mary,she could not tell whence originating, for she heard nothing comic orgleeful in their discourse; and more than all, by the interminablegossip of Mrs. Sykes murmured close at her ear, gossip which rang thechanges on four subjects--her own health and that of the variousmembers of her family; the missionary and Jew baskets and theircontents; the late meeting at Nunnely, and one which was expected tocome off next week at Whinbury.

  Tired at length to exhaustion, she embraced the opportunity of Mr.Sweeting coming up to speak to Mrs. Sykes to slip quietly out of theapartment, and seek a moment's respite in solitude. She repaired to thedining-room, where the clear but now low remnant of a fire still burnedin the grate. The place was empty and quiet, glasses and decanters werecleared from the table, the chairs were put back in their places, allwas orderly. Caroline sank into her uncle's large easy-chair, half shuther eyes, and rested herself--rested at least her limbs, her senses, herhearing, her vision--weary with listening to nothing, and gazing onvacancy. As to her mind, that flew directly to the Hollow. It stood onthe threshold of the parlour there, then it passed to thecounting-house, and wondered which spot was blessed by the presence ofRobert. It so happened that neither locality had that honour; for Robertwas half a mile away from both, and much nearer to Caroline than herdeadened spirit suspected. He was at this moment crossing thechurchyard, approaching the rectory garden-gate--not, however, coming tosee his cousin, but intent solely on communicating a brief piece ofintelligence to the rector.

  Yes, Caroline; you hear the wire of the bell vibrate; it rings again forthe fifth time this afternoon. You start, and you are certain now thatthis must be he of whom you dream. Why you are so certain you cannotexplain to yourself, but you know it. You lean forward, listeningeagerly as Fanny opens the door. Right! That is _the_ voice--low, withthe slight foreign accent, but so sweet, as you fancy. You half rise."Fanny will tell him Mr. Helstone is with company, and then he will goaway." Oh! she cannot let him go. In spite of herself, in spite of herreason, she walks half across the room; she stands ready to dart out incase the step should retreat; but he enters the passage. "Since yourmaster is engaged," he says, "just show me into the dining-room. Bringme pen and ink. I will write a short note and leave it for him."

  Now, having caught these words, and hearing him advance, Caroline, ifthere was a door within the dining-room, would glide through it anddisappear. She feels caught, hemmed in; she dreads her unexpectedpresence may annoy him. A second since she would have flown to him;that second past, she would flee from him. She cannot. There is no wayof escape. The dining-room has but one door, through which now entersher cousin. The look of troubled surprise she expected to see in hisface has appeared there, has shocked her, and is gone. She has stammereda sort of apology:--

  "I only left the drawing-room a minute for a little quiet."

  There was something so diffident and downcast in the air and tone withwhich she said this, any one might perceive that some saddening changehad lately passed over her prospects, and that the faculty of cheerfulself-possession had left her. Mr. Moore, probably, remembered how shehad formerly been accustomed to meet him with gentle ardour and hopefulconfidence. He must have seen how the check of this morning hadoperated. Here was an opportunity for carrying out his new system witheffect, if he chose to improve it. Perhaps he found it easier topractise that system in broad daylight, in his mill-yard, ami
dst busyoccupations, than in a quiet parlour, disengaged, at the hour ofeventide. Fanny lit the candles, which before had stood unlit on thetable, brought writing materials, and left the room. Caroline was aboutto follow her. Moore, to act consistently, should have let her go;whereas he stood in the doorway, and, holding out his hand, gently kepther back. He did not ask her to stay, but he would not let her go.

  "Shall I tell my uncle you are here?" asked she, still in the samesubdued voice.

  "No; I can say to you all I had to say to him. You will be mymessenger?"

  "Yes, Robert."

  "Then you may just inform him that I have got a clue to the identity ofone, at least, of the men who broke my frames; that he belongs to thesame gang who attacked Sykes and Pearson's dressing-shop, and that Ihope to have him in custody to-morrow. You can remember that?"

  "Oh yes!" These two monosyllables were uttered in a sadder tone thanever; and as she said them she shook her head slightly and sighed. "Willyou prosecute him?"

  "Doubtless."

  "No, Robert."

  "And why no, Caroline?"

  "Because it will set all the neighbourhood against you more than ever."

  "That is no reason why I should not do my duty, and defend my property.This fellow is a great scoundrel, and ought to be incapacitated fromperpetrating further mischief."

  "But his accomplices will take revenge on you. You do not know how thepeople of this country bear malice. It is the boast of some of them thatthey can keep a stone in their pocket seven years, turn it at the end ofthat time, keep it seven years longer, and hurl it and hit their mark'at last.'"

  Moore laughed.

  "A most pithy vaunt," said he--"one that redounds vastly to the creditof your dear Yorkshire friends. But don't fear for me, Lina. I am on myguard against these lamb-like compatriots of yours. Don't make yourselfuneasy about me."

  "How can I help it? You are my cousin. If anything happened----" Shestopped.

  "Nothing will happen, Lina. To speak in your own language, there is aProvidence above all--is there not?"

  "Yes, dear Robert. May He guard you!"

  "And if prayers have efficacy, yours will benefit me. You pray for mesometimes?"

  "Not _sometimes_, Robert. You, and Louis, and Hortense are _always_remembered."

  "So I have often imagined. It has occurred to me when, weary and vexed,I have myself gone to bed like a heathen, that another had askedforgiveness for my day, and safety for my night. I don't suppose suchvicarial piety will avail much, but the petitions come out of a sincerebreast, from innocent lips. They should be acceptable as Abel'soffering; and doubtless would be, if the object deserved them."

  "Annihilate that doubt. It is groundless."

  "When a man has been brought up only to make money, and lives to makeit, and for nothing else, and scarcely breathes any other air than thatof mills and markets, it seems odd to utter his name in a prayer, or tomix his idea with anything divine; and very strange it seems that agood, pure heart should take him in and harbour him, as if he had anyclaim to that sort of nest. If I could guide that benignant heart, Ibelieve I should counsel it to exclude one who does not profess to haveany higher aim in life than that of patching up his broken fortune, andwiping clean from his _bourgeois_ scutcheon the foul stain ofbankruptcy."

  The hint, though conveyed thus tenderly and modestly (as Carolinethought), was felt keenly and comprehended clearly.

  "Indeed, I only think--or I _will only_ think--of you as my cousin," wasthe quick answer. "I am beginning to understand things better than Idid, Robert, when you first came to England--better than I did a week, aday ago. I know it is your duty to try to get on, and that it won't dofor you to be romantic; but in future you must not misunderstand me if Iseem friendly. You misunderstood me this morning, did you not?"

  "What made you think so?"

  "Your look--your manner."

  "But look at me now----"

  "Oh! you are different now. At present I dare speak to you."

  "Yet I am the same, except that I have left the tradesman behind me inthe Hollow. Your kinsman alone stands before you."

  "My cousin Robert--not Mr. Moore."

  "Not a bit of Mr. Moore. Caroline----"

  Here the company was heard rising in the other room. The door wasopened; the pony-carriage was ordered; shawls and bonnets were demanded;Mr. Helstone called for his niece.

  "I must go, Robert."

  "Yes, you must go, or they will come in and find us here; and I, ratherthan meet all that host in the passage, will take my departure throughthe window. Luckily it opens like a door. One minute only--put down thecandle an instant--good-night. I kiss you because we are cousins, and,being cousins, one--two--three kisses are allowable. Caroline,good-night."