Shirley

by Charlotte Bronte

  CHAPTER XXXVI.

  WRITTEN IN THE SCHOOLROOM.

  Louis Moore's doubts respecting the immediate evacuation of Fieldhead byMr. Sympson turned out to be perfectly well founded. The very next dayafter the grand quarrel about Sir Philip Nunnely a sort ofreconciliation was patched up between uncle and niece. Shirley, whocould never find it in her heart to be or to seem inhospitable (exceptin the single instance of Mr. Donne), begged the whole party to stay alittle longer. She begged in such earnest it was evident she wished itfor some reason. They took her at her word. Indeed, the uncle could notbring himself to leave her quite unwatched--at full liberty to marryRobert Moore as soon as that gentleman should be able (Mr. Sympsonpiously prayed this might never be the case) to reassert his supposedpretensions to her hand. They all stayed.

  In his first rage against all the house of Moore, Mr. Sympson had soconducted himself towards Mr. Louis that that gentleman--patient oflabour or suffering, but intolerant of coarse insolence--had promptlyresigned his post, and could now be induced to resume and retain it onlytill such time as the family should quit Yorkshire. Mrs. Sympson'sentreaties prevailed with him thus far; his own attachment to his pupilconstituted an additional motive for concession; and probably he had athird motive, stronger than either of the other two. Probably he wouldhave found it very hard indeed to leave Fieldhead just now.

  Things went on for some time pretty smoothly. Miss Keeldar's health wasre-established; her spirits resumed their flow. Moore had found means torelieve her from every nervous apprehension; and, indeed, from themoment of giving him her confidence, every fear seemed to have takenwing. Her heart became as lightsome, her manner as careless, as those ofa little child, that, thoughtless of its own life or death, trusts allresponsibility to its parents. He and William Farren--through whosemedium he made inquiries concerning the state of Phoebe--agreed inasserting that the dog was not mad, that it was only ill-usage which haddriven her from home; for it was proved that her master was in thefrequent habit of chastising her violently. Their assertion might ormight not be true. The groom and gamekeeper affirmed to thecontrary--both asserting that, if hers was not a clear case ofhydrophobia, there was no such disease. But to this evidence Louis Mooreturned an incredulous ear. He reported to Shirley only what wasencouraging. She believed him; and, right or wrong, it is certain thatin her case the bite proved innocuous.

  November passed; December came. The Sympsons were now really departing.It was incumbent on them to be at home by Christmas. Their packages werepreparing; they were to leave in a few days. One winter evening, duringthe last week of their stay, Louis Moore again took out his little blankbook, and discoursed with it as follows:--

  * * * * *

  "She is lovelier than ever. Since that little cloud was dispelled allthe temporary waste and wanness have vanished. It was marvellous to seehow soon the magical energy of youth raised her elastic and revived herblooming.

  "After breakfast this morning, when I had seen her, and listened to her,and, so to speak, felt her, in every sentient atom of my frame, I passedfrom her sunny presence into the chill drawing-room. Taking up a littlegilt volume, I found it to contain a selection of lyrics. I read a poemor two; whether the spell was in me or in the verse I know not, but myheart filled genially, my pulse rose. I glowed, notwithstanding thefrost air. I, too, am young as yet. Though she said she never consideredme young, I am barely thirty. There are moments when life, for no otherreason than my own youth, beams with sweet hues upon me.

  "It was time to go to the schoolroom. I went. That same schoolroom israther pleasant in a morning. The sun then shines through the lowlattice; the books are in order; there are no papers strewn about; thefire is clear and clean; no cinders have fallen, no ashes accumulated. Ifound Henry there, and he had brought with him Miss Keeldar. They weretogether.

  "I said she was lovelier than ever. She is. A fine rose, not deep butdelicate, opens on her cheek. Her eye, always dark, clear, and speaking,utters now a language I cannot render; it is the utterance, seen notheard, through which angels must have communed when there was 'silencein heaven.' Her hair was always dusk as night and fine as silk, her neckwas always fair, flexible, polished; but both have now a new charm. Thetresses are soft as shadow, the shoulders they fall on wear a goddessgrace. Once I only _saw_ her beauty, now I _feel_ it.

  "Henry was repeating his lesson to her before bringing it to me. One ofher hands was occupied with the book; he held the other. That boy getsmore than his share of privileges; he dares caress and is caressed. Whatindulgence and compassion she shows him! Too much. If this went on,Henry in a few years, when his soul was formed, would offer it on heraltar, as I have offered mine.

  "I saw her eyelid flitter when I came in, but she did not look up; _now_she hardly ever gives me a glance. She seems to grow silent too; to _me_she rarely speaks, and when I am present, she says little to others. Inmy gloomy moments I attribute this change to indifference, aversion,what not? In my sunny intervals I give it another meaning. I say, were Iher equal, I could find in this shyness coyness, and in that coynesslove. As it is, dare I look for it? What could I do with it if found?

  "This morning I dared at least contrive an hour's communion for her andme; I dared not only _wish_ but _will_ an interview with her. I daredsummon solitude to guard us. Very decidedly I called Henry to the door.Without hesitation I said, 'Go where you will, my boy; but, till I callyou, return not here.'

  "Henry, I could see, did not like his dismissal. That boy is young, buta thinker; his meditative eye shines on me strangely sometimes. He halffeels what links me to Shirley; he half guesses that there is a dearerdelight in the reserve with which I am treated than in all theendearments he is allowed. The young, lame, half-grown lion would growlat me now and then, because I have tamed his lioness and am her keeper,did not the habit of discipline and the instinct of affection hold himsubdued. Go, Henry; you must learn to take your share of the bitter oflife with all of Adam's race that have gone before or will come afteryou. Your destiny can be no exception to the common lot; be gratefulthat your love is overlooked thus early, before it can claim anyaffinity to passion. An hour's fret, a pang of envy, suffice to expresswhat you feel. Jealousy hot as the sun above the line, rage destructiveas the tropic storm, the clime of your sensations ignores--as yet.

  "I took my usual seat at the desk, quite in my usual way. I am blessedin that power to cover all inward ebullition with outward calm. No onewho looks at my slow face can guess the vortex sometimes whirling in myheart, and engulfing thought and wrecking prudence. Pleasant is it tohave the gift to proceed peacefully and powerfully in your coursewithout alarming by one eccentric movement. It was not my presentintention to utter one word of love to her, or to reveal one glimpse ofthe fire in which I wasted. Presumptuous I never have been; presumptuousI never will be. Rather than even _seem_ selfish and interested, I wouldresolutely rise, gird my loins, part and leave her, and seek, on theother side of the globe, a new life, cold and barren as the rock thesalt tide daily washes. My design this morning was to take of her a nearscrutiny--to read a line in the page of her heart. Before I left Idetermined to know _what_ I was leaving.

  "I had some quills to make into pens. Most men's hands would havetrembled when their hearts were so stirred; mine went to work steadily,and my voice, when I called it into exercise, was firm.

  "'This day week you will be alone at Fieldhead, Miss Keeldar.'

  "'Yes: I rather think my uncle's intention to go is a settled one now.'

  "'He leaves you dissatisfied.'

  "'He is not pleased with me.'

  "'He departs as he came--no better for his journey. This is mortifying.'

  "'I trust the failure of his plans will take from him all inclination tolay new ones.'

  "'In his way Mr. Sympson honestly wished you well. All he has done orintended to do he believed to be for the best.'

  "'You are kind to undertake the defence of a man who has permittedhimself to treat you wi
th so much insolence.'

  "'I never feel shocked at, or bear malice for, what is spoken incharacter; and most perfectly in character was that vulgar and violentonset against me, when he had quitted you worsted.'

  "'You cease now to be Henry's tutor?'

  "'I shall be parted from Henry for a while (if he and I live we shallmeet again somehow, for we love each other) and be ousted from the bosomof the Sympson family for ever. Happily this change does not leave mestranded; it but hurries into premature execution designs long formed.'

  "'No change finds you off your guard. I was sure, in your calm way, youwould be prepared for sudden mutation. I always think you stand in theworld like a solitary but watchful, thoughtful archer in a wood. And thequiver on your shoulder holds more arrows than one; your bow is providedwith a second string. Such too is your brother's wont. You two might goforth homeless hunters to the loneliest western wilds; all would be wellwith you. The hewn tree would make you a hut, the cleared forest yieldyou fields from its stripped bosom, the buffalo would feel yourrifle-shot, and with lowered horns and hump pay homage at your feet.'

  "'And any Indian tribe of Blackfeet or Flatheads would afford us abride, perhaps?'

  "'No' (hesitating), 'I think not. The savage is sordid. I think--thatis, I _hope_--you would neither of you share your hearth with that towhich you could not give your heart.'

  "'What suggested the wild West to your mind, Miss Keeldar? Have you beenwith me in spirit when I did not see you? Have you entered into myday-dreams, and beheld my brain labouring at its scheme of a future?'

  "She had separated a slip of paper for lighting tapers--a spill, as itis called--into fragments. She threw morsel by morsel into the fire, andstood pensively watching them consume. She did not speak.

  "'How did you learn what you seem to know about my intentions?'

  "'I know nothing. I am only discovering them now. I spoke at hazard.'

  "'Your hazard sounds like divination. A tutor I will never be again;never take a pupil after Henry and yourself; not again will I sithabitually at another man's table--no more be the appendage of a family.I am now a man of thirty; I have never been free since I was a boy often. I have such a thirst for freedom, such a deep passion to know herand call her mine, such a day-desire and night-longing to win her andpossess her, I will not refuse to cross the Atlantic for her sake; her Iwill follow deep into virgin woods. Mine it shall not be to accept asavage girl as a slave--she could not be a wife. I know no white womanwhom I love that would accompany me; but I am certain Liberty will awaitme, sitting under a pine. When I call her she will come to my loghouse,and she shall fill my arms.'

  "She could not hear me speak so unmoved, and she _was_ moved. It wasright--I meant to move her. She could not answer me, nor could she lookat me. I should have been sorry if she could have done either. Her cheekglowed as if a crimson flower through whose petals the sun shone hadcast its light upon it. On the white lid and dark lashes of her downcasteye trembled all that is graceful in the sense of half-painful,half-pleasing shame.

  "Soon she controlled her emotion, and took all her feelings undercommand. I saw she had felt insurrection, and was waking to empire. Shesat down. There was that in her face which I could read. It said, I seethe line which is my limit; nothing shall make me pass it. I feel--Iknow how far I may reveal my feelings, and when I must clasp the volume.I have advanced to a certain distance, as far as the true and sovereignand undegraded nature of my kind permits; now here I stand rooted. Myheart may break if it is baffled; let it break. It shall never dishonourme; it shall never dishonour my sisterhood in me. Suffering beforedegradation! death before treachery!

  "I, for my part, said, 'If she were poor, I would be at her feet; if shewere lowly, I would take her in my arms. Her gold and her station aretwo griffins that guard her on each side. Love looks and longs, anddares not; Passion hovers round, and is kept at bay; Truth and Devotionare scared. There is nothing to lose in winning her, no sacrifice tomake. It is all clear gain, and therefore unimaginably difficult.'

  "Difficult or not, something must be done, something must be said. Icould not, and would not, sit silent with all that beauty modestly mutein my presence. I spoke thus, and still I spoke with calm. Quiet as mywords were, I could hear they fell in a tone distinct, round, and deep.

  "'Still, I know I shall be strangely placed with that mountain nymphLiberty. She is, I suspect, akin to that Solitude which I once wooed,and from which I now seek a divorce. These Oreads are peculiar. Theycome upon you with an unearthly charm, like some starlight evening; theyinspire a wild but not warm delight; their beauty is the beauty ofspirits; their grace is not the grace of life, but of seasons or scenesin nature. Theirs is the dewy bloom of morning, the languid flush ofevening, the peace of the moon, the changefulness of clouds. I want andwill have something different. This elfish splendour looks chill to myvision, and feels frozen to my touch. I am not a poet; I cannot livewith abstractions. You, Miss Keeldar, have sometimes, in your laughingsatire, called me a material philosopher, and implied that I livesufficiently for the substantial. Certainly I feel material from head tofoot; and glorious as Nature is, and deeply as I worship her with thesolid powers of a solid heart, I would rather behold her through thesoft human eyes of a loved and lovely wife than through the wild orbs ofthe highest goddess of Olympus.'

  "'Juno could not cook a buffalo steak as you like it,' said she.

  "'She could not; but I will tell you who could--some young, penniless,friendless orphan girl. I wish I could find such a one--pretty enoughfor me to love, with something of the mind and heart suited to my taste;not uneducated--honest and modest. I care nothing for attainments, but Iwould fain have the germ of those sweet natural powers which nothingacquired can rival; any temper Fate wills--I can manage the hottest. Tosuch a creature as this I should like to be first tutor and thenhusband. I would teach her my language, my habits and my principles, andthen I would reward her with my love.'

  "'_Reward_ her, lord of the creation--_reward_ her!'" ejaculated she,with a curled lip.

  "'And be repaid a thousandfold.'

  "'If she willed it, monseigneur.'

  "'And she _should_ will it.'

  "'You have stipulated for any temper Fate wills. Compulsion is flint anda blow to the metal of some souls.'

  "'And love the spark it elicits.'

  "'Who cares for the love that is but a spark--seen, flown upward, andgone?'

  "'I must find my orphan girl. Tell me how, Miss Keeldar.'

  "'Advertise; and be sure you add, when you describe the qualifications,she must be a good plain cook.'

  "'I must find her; and when I do find her I shall marry her.'

  "'Not you!' and her voice took a sudden accent of peculiar scorn.

  "I liked this. I had roused her from the pensive mood in which I hadfirst found her. I would stir her further.

  "'Why doubt it?'

  "'_You_ marry!'

  "'Yes, of course; nothing more evident than that I can and shall.'

  "'The contrary is evident, Mr. Moore.'

  "She charmed me in this mood--waxing disdainful, half insulting; pride,temper, derision, blent in her large fine eye, that had just now thelook of a merlin's.

  "'Favour me with your reasons for such an opinion, Miss Keeldar.'

  "'How will _you_ manage to marry, I wonder?'

  "'I shall manage it with ease and speed when I find the proper person.'

  "'Accept celibacy!' (and she made a gesture with her hand as if she gaveme something) 'take it as your doom!'

  "'No; you cannot give what I already have. Celibacy has been mine forthirty years. If you wish to offer me a gift, a parting present, akeepsake, you must change the boon.'

  "'Take worse, then!'

  "'How--what?'

  "I now felt, and looked, and spoke eagerly. I was unwise to quit mysheet-anchor of calm even for an instant; it deprived me of an advantageand transferred it to her. The little spark of temper dissolved insarcasm, and eddied over her
countenance in the ripples of a mockingsmile.

  "'Take a wife that has paid you court to save your modesty, and thrustherself upon you to spare your scruples.'

  "'Only show me where.'

  "'Any stout widow that has had a few husbands already, and can managethese things.'

  "'She must not be rich, then. Oh these riches!'

  "'Never would you have gathered the produce of the gold-bearing garden.You have not courage to confront the sleepless dragon; you have notcraft to borrow the aid of Atlas.'

  "'You look hot and haughty.'

  "'And you far haughtier. Yours is the monstrous pride which counterfeitshumility.'

  "'I am a dependant; I know my place.'

  "'I am a woman; I know mine.'

  "'I am poor; I must be proud.'

  "'I have received ordinances, and own obligations stringent as yours.'

  "We had reached a critical point now, and we halted and looked at eachother. _She_ would not give in, I felt. Beyond this I neither felt norsaw. A few moments yet were mine. The end was coming--I heard itsrush--but not come. I would dally, wait, talk, and when impulse urged Iwould act. I am never in a hurry; I never was in a hurry in my wholelife. Hasty people drink the nectar of existence scalding hot; I tasteit cool as dew. I proceeded: 'Apparently, Miss Keeldar, you are aslittle likely to marry as myself. I know you have refused three--nay,four--advantageous offers, and, I believe, a fifth. Have you rejectedSir Philip Nunnely?'

  "I put this question suddenly and promptly.

  "'Did you think I should take him?'

  "'I thought you might.'

  "'On what grounds, may I ask?'

  "'Conformity of rank, age, pleasing contrast of temper--for _he_ is mildand amiable--harmony of intellectual tastes.'

  "'A beautiful sentence! Let us take it to pieces. "Conformity of rank."He is quite above me. Compare my grange with his palace, if you please.I am disdained by his kith and kin. "Suitability of age." We were bornin the same year; consequently he is still a boy, while I am awoman--ten years his senior to all intents and purposes. "Contrast oftemper." Mild and amiable, is he; I--what? Tell me.'

  "'Sister of the spotted, bright, quick, fiery leopard.'

  "'And you would mate me with a kid--the millennium being yet millions ofcenturies from mankind; being yet, indeed, an archangel high in theseventh heaven, uncommissioned to descend? Unjust barbarian! "Harmony ofintellectual tastes." He is fond of poetry, and I hate it----'

  "'Do you? That is news.'

  "'I absolutely shudder at the sight of metre or at the sound of rhymewhenever I am at the priory or Sir Philip at Fieldhead. Harmony,indeed! When did I whip up syllabub sonnets or string stanzas fragile asfragments of glass? and when did I betray a belief that thosepenny-beads were genuine brilliants?'

  "'You might have the satisfaction of leading him to a higher standard,of improving his tastes.'

  "'Leading and improving! teaching and tutoring! bearing and forbearing!Pah! my husband is not to be my baby. I am not to set him his dailylesson and see that he learns it, and give him a sugar-plum if he isgood, and a patient, pensive, pathetic lecture if he is bad. But it islike a tutor to talk of the "satisfaction of teaching." I suppose _you_think it the finest employment in the world. I don't. I reject it.Improving a husband! No. I shall insist upon my husband improving me, orelse we part.'

  "'God knows it is needed!'

  "'What do you mean by that, Mr. Moore?'

  "'What I say. Improvement is imperatively needed.'

  "'If you were a woman you would school _monsieur, votre mari_,charmingly. It would just suit you; schooling is your vocation.'

  "'May I ask whether, in your present just and gentle mood, you mean totaunt me with being a tutor?'

  "'Yes, bitterly; and with anything else you please--any defect of whichyou are painfully conscious.'

  "'With being poor, for instance?'

  "'Of course; that will sting you. You are sore about your poverty; youbrood over that.'

  "'With having nothing but a very plain person to offer the woman who maymaster my heart?'

  "'Exactly. You have a habit of calling yourself plain. You are sensitiveabout the cut of your features because they are not quite on an Apollopattern. You abase them more than is needful, in the faint hope thatothers may say a word in their behalf--which won't happen. Your face isnothing to boast of, certainly--not a pretty line nor a pretty tint tobe found therein.'

  "'Compare it with your own.'

  "'It looks like a god of Egypt--a great sand-buried stone head; orrather I will compare it to nothing so lofty. It looks like Tartar. Youare my mastiff's cousin. I think you as much like him as a man can belike a dog.'

  "'Tartar is your dear companion. In summer, when you rise early, andrun out into the fields to wet your feet with the dew, and freshen yourcheek and uncurl your hair with the breeze, you always call him tofollow you. You call him sometimes with a whistle that you learned fromme. In the solitude of your wood, when you think nobody but Tartar islistening, you whistle the very tunes you imitated from my lips, or singthe very songs you have caught up by ear from my voice. I do not askwhence flows the feeling which you pour into these songs, for I know itflows out of your heart, Miss Keeldar. In the winter evenings Tartarlies at your feet. You suffer him to rest his head on your perfumed lap;you let him couch on the borders of your satin raiment. His rough hideis familiar with the contact of your hand. I once saw you kiss him onthat snow-white beauty spot which stars his broad forehead. It isdangerous to say I am like Tartar; it suggests to me a claim to betreated like Tartar.'

  "'Perhaps, sir, you can extort as much from your penniless andfriendless young orphan girl, when you find her.'

  "'Oh could I find her such as I image her! Something to tame first, andteach afterwards; to break in, and then to fondle. To lift the destituteproud thing out of poverty; to establish power over and then to beindulgent to the capricious moods that never were influenced and neverindulged before; to see her alternately irritated and subdued abouttwelve times in the twenty-four hours; and perhaps, eventually, when hertraining was accomplished, to behold her the exemplary and patientmother of about a dozen children, only now and then lending little Louisa cordial cuff by way of paying the interest of the vast debt she oweshis father. Oh' (I went on), 'my orphan girl would give me many a kiss;she would watch on the threshold for my coming home of an evening; shewould run into my arms; she would keep my hearth as bright as she wouldmake it warm. God bless the sweet idea! Find her I must.'

  "Her eyes emitted an eager flash, her lips opened; but she reclosedthem, and impetuously turned away.

  "'Tell me, tell me where she is, Miss Keeldar!'

  "Another movement, all haughtiness and fire and impulse.

  "'I must know. You _can_ tell me; you _shall_ tell me.'

  "'I _never will_.'

  "She turned to leave me. Could I now let her part as she had alwaysparted from me? No. I had gone too far not to finish; I had come toonear the end not to drive home to it. All the encumbrance of doubt, allthe rubbish of indecision, must be removed at once, and the plain truthmust be ascertained. She must take her part, and tell me what it was; Imust take mine and adhere to it.

  "'A minute, madam,' I said, keeping my hand on the door-handle before Iopened it. 'We have had a long conversation this morning, but the lastword has not been spoken yet. It is yours to speak it.'

  "'May I pass?'

  "'No; I guard the door. I would almost rather die than let you leave mejust now, without speaking the word I demand.'

  "'What dare you expect me to say?'

  "'What I am dying and perishing to hear; what I _must_ and _will_ hear;what you dare not now suppress.'

  "'Mr. Moore, I hardly know what you mean. You are not like yourself.'

  "I suppose I hardly was like my usual self, for I scared her--that Icould see. It was right: she must be scared to be won.

  "'You _do_ know what I mean, and for the first time I stand before you_myself_. I ha
ve flung off the tutor, and beg to introduce you to theman. And remember, he is a gentleman.'

  "She trembled. She put her hand to mine as if to remove it from thelock. She might as well have tried to loosen, by her soft touch, metalwelded to metal. She felt she was powerless, and receded; and again shetrembled.

  "What change I underwent I cannot explain, but out of her emotion passedinto me a new spirit. I neither was crushed nor elated by her lands andgold; I thought not of them, cared not for them. They werenothing--dross that could not dismay me. I saw only herself--her youngbeautiful form, the grace, the majesty, the modesty of her girlhood.

  "'My pupil,' I said.

  "'My master,' was the low answer.

  "'I have a thing to tell you.'

  "She waited with declined brow and ringlets drooped.

  "'I have to tell you that for four years you have been growing intoyour tutor's heart, and that you are rooted there now. I have to declarethat you have bewitched me, in spite of sense, and experience, anddifference of station and estate. You have so looked, and spoken, andmoved; so shown me your faults and your virtues--beauties rather, theyare hardly so stern as virtues--that I love you--love you with my lifeand strength. It is out now.'

  "She sought what to say, but could not find a word. She tried to rally,but vainly. I passionately repeated that I loved her.

  "'Well, Mr. Moore, what then?' was the answer I got, uttered in a tonethat would have been petulant if it had not faltered.

  "'Have you nothing to say to me? Have you no love for me?'

  "'A little bit.'

  "'I am not to be tortured. I will not even play at present.'

  "'I don't want to play; I want to go.'

  "'I wonder you dare speak of going at this moment. _You_ go! What! withmy heart in your hand, to lay it on your toilet and pierce it with yourpins? From my presence you do not stir, out of my reach you do notstray, till I receive a hostage--pledge for pledge--your heart formine.'

  "'The thing you want is mislaid--lost some time since. Let me go andseek it.'

  "'Declare that it is where your keys often are--in my possession.'

  "'You ought to know. And where are my keys, Mr. Moore? Indeed and trulyI have lost them again; and Mrs. Gill wants some money, and I have none,except this sixpence.'

  "She took the coin out of her apron pocket, and showed it in her palm. Icould have trifled with her, but it would not do; life and death were atstake. Mastering at once the sixpence and the hand that held it, Idemanded, 'Am I to die without you, or am I to live for you?'

  "'Do as you please. Far be it from me to dictate your choice.'

  "'You shall tell me with your own lips whether you doom me to exile orcall me to hope.'

  "'Go; I can bear to be left.'

  "'Perhaps I too _can_ bear to leave you. But reply, Shirley, my pupil,my sovereign--reply.'

  "'Die without me if you will; live for me if you dare.'

  "'I am not afraid of you, my leopardess. I _dare_ live for and with you,from this hour till my death. Now, then, I have you. You are mine. Iwill never let you go. Wherever my home be, I have chosen my wife. If Istay in England, in England you will stay; if I cross the Atlantic, youwill cross it also. Our lives are riveted, our lots intertwined.'

  "'And are we equal, then, sir? are we equal at last?'

  "'You are younger, frailer, feebler, more ignorant than I.'

  "'Will you be good to me, and never tyrannize?'

  "'Will you let me breathe, and not bewilder me? You must not smile atpresent. The world swims and changes round me. The sun is a dizzyingscarlet blaze, the sky a violet vortex whirling over me.'

  "I am a strong man, but I staggered as I spoke. All creation wasexaggerated. Colour grew more vivid, motion more rapid, life itself morevital. I hardly saw her for a moment, but I heard her voice--pitilesslysweet. She would not subdue one of her charms in compassion. Perhaps shedid not know what I felt.

  "'You name me leopardess. Remember, the leopardess is tameless,' saidshe.

  "'Tame or fierce, wild or subdued, you are _mine_.'

  "'I am glad I know my keeper and am used to him. Only his voice will Ifollow; only his hand shall manage me; only at his feet will I repose.'

  "I took her back to her seat, and sat down by her side. I wanted to hearher speak again. I could never have enough of her voice and her words.

  "'How much do you love me?' I asked.

  "'Ah! you know. I will not gratify you--I will not flatter.'

  "'I don't know half enough; my heart craves to be fed. If you knew howhungry and ferocious it is, you would hasten to stay it with a kind wordor two.'

  "'Poor Tartar!' said she, touching and patting my hand--'poor fellow,stalwart friend, Shirley's pet and favourite, lie down!'

  "'But I will not lie down till I am fed with one sweet word.'

  "And at last she gave it.

  "'Dear Louis, be faithful to me; never leave me. I don't care for lifeunless I may pass it at your side.'

  "'Something more.'

  "She gave me a change; it was not her way to offer the same dish twice.

  "'Sir,' she said, starting up, 'at your peril you ever again name suchsordid things as money, or poverty, or inequality. It will be absolutelydangerous to torment me with these maddening scruples. I defy you to doit.'

  "My face grew hot. I did once more wish I were not so poor or she werenot so rich. She saw the transient misery; and then, indeed, shecaressed me. Blent with torment, I experienced rapture.

  "'Mr. Moore,' said she, looking up with a sweet, open, earnestcountenance, 'teach me and help me to be good. I do not ask you to takeoff my shoulders all the cares and duties of property, but I ask you toshare the burden, and to show me how to sustain my part well. Yourjudgment is well balanced, your heart is kind, your principles aresound. I know you are wise; I feel you are benevolent; I believe you areconscientious. Be my companion through life; be my guide where I amignorant; be my master where I am faulty; be my friend always!'

  "'So help me God, I will!'"

  * * * * *

  Yet again a passage from the blank book if you like, reader; if youdon't like it, pass it over:--

  "The Sympsons are gone, but not before discovery and explanation. Mymanner must have betrayed something, or my looks. I was quiet, but Iforgot to be guarded sometimes. I stayed longer in the room than usual;I could not bear to be out of her presence; I returned to it, and baskedin it, like Tartar in the sun. If she left the oak parlour,instinctively I rose and left it too. She chid me for this proceduremore than once. I did it with a vague, blundering idea of getting a wordwith her in the hall or elsewhere. Yesterday towards dusk I had her tomyself for five minutes by the hall fire. We stood side by side; she wasrailing at me, and I was enjoying the sound of her voice. The youngladies passed, and looked at us; we did not separate. Ere long theyrepassed, and again looked. Mrs. Sympson came; we did not move. Mr.Sympson opened the dining-room door. Shirley flashed him back fullpayment for his spying gaze. She curled her lip and tossed her tresses.The glance she gave was at once explanatory and defiant. It said: 'Ilike Mr. Moore's society, and I dare you to find fault with my taste.'

  "I asked, 'Do you mean him to understand how matters are?'

  "'I do,' said she; 'but I leave the development to chance. There will bea scene. I neither invite it nor fear it; only, you must be present, forI am inexpressibly tired of facing him solus. I don't like to see him ina rage. He then puts off all his fine proprieties and conventionaldisguises, and the real human being below is what you would call_commun, plat, bas--vilain et un peu mechant_. His ideas are not clean,Mr. Moore; they want scouring with soft soap and fuller's earth. Ithink, if he could add his imagination to the contents of Mrs. Gill'sbucking-basket, and let her boil it in her copper, with rain-water andbleaching-powder (I hope you think me a tolerable laundress), it woulddo him incalculable good.'

  "This morning, fancying I heard her descend somewhat early, I was downinstantly. I had no
t been deceived. There she was, busy at work in thebreakfast-parlour, of which the housemaid was completing the arrangementand dusting. She had risen betimes to finish some little keepsake sheintended for Henry. I got only a cool reception, which I accepted tillthe girl was gone, taking my book to the window-seat very quietly. Evenwhen we were alone I was slow to disturb her. To sit with her in sightwas happiness, and the proper happiness, for early morning--serene,incomplete, but progressive. Had I been obtrusive, I knew I should haveencountered rebuff. 'Not at home to suitors' was written on her brow.Therefore I read on, stole now and then a look, watched her countenancesoften and open as she felt I respected her mood, and enjoyed the gentlecontent of the moment.

  "The distance between us shrank, and the light hoar-frost thawedinsensibly. Ere an hour elapsed I was at her side, watching her sew,gathering her sweet smiles and her merry words, which fell for meabundantly. We sat, as we had a right to sit, side by side; my armrested on her chair; I was near enough to count the stitches of herwork, and to discern the eye of her needle. The door suddenly opened.

  "I believe, if I had just then started from her, she would havedespised me. Thanks to the phlegm of my nature, I rarely start. When Iam well-off, _bien_, comfortable, I am not soon stirred. _Bien_ Iwas--_tres bien_--consequently immutable. No muscle moved. I hardlylooked to the door.

  "'Good-morning, uncle,' said she, addressing that personage, who pausedon the threshold in a state of petrifaction.

  "'Have you been long downstairs, Miss Keeldar, and alone with Mr.Moore?'

  "'Yes, a very long time. We both came down early; it was scarcelylight.'

  "'The proceeding is improper----'

  "'It was at first, I was rather cross, and not civil; but you willperceive that we are now friends.'

  "'I perceive more than you would wish me to perceive.'

  "'Hardly, sir,' said I; 'we have no disguises. Will you permit me tointimate that any further observations you have to make may as well beaddressed to me? Henceforward I stand between Miss Keeldar and allannoyance.'

  "'_You!_ What have _you_ to do with Miss Keeldar?'

  "'To protect, watch over, serve her.'

  "'You, sir--you, the tutor?'

  "'Not one word of insult, sir,' interposed she; 'not one syllable ofdisrespect to Mr. Moore in this house.'

  "'Do you take his part?'

  "'_His_ part? oh yes!'

  "She turned to me with a sudden fond movement, which I met by circlingher with my arm. She and I both rose.

  "'Good Ged!' was the cry from the morning-gown standing quivering at thedoor. _Ged_, I think, must be the cognomen of Mr. Sympson's Lares. Whenhard pressed he always invokes this idol.

  "'Come forward, uncle; you shall hear all.--Tell him all, Louis.'

  "'I dare him to speak--the beggar! the knave! the specious hypocrite!the vile, insinuating, infamous menial!--Stand apart from my niece, sir.Let her go!'

  "She clung to me with energy. 'I am near my future husband,' she said.'Who dares touch him or me?'

  "'Her husband!' He raised and spread his hands. He dropped into a seat.

  "'A while ago you wanted much to know whom I meant to marry. Myintention was then formed, but not mature for communication. Now it isripe, sun-mellowed, perfect. Take the crimson peach--take Louis Moore!'

  "'But' (savagely) 'you _shall not_ have him; he _shall not_ have you.'

  "'I would die before I would have another. I would die if I might nothave him.'

  "He uttered words with which this page shall never be polluted.

  "She turned white as death; she shook all over; she lost her strength. Ilaid her down on the sofa; just looked to ascertain that she had notfainted--of which, with a divine smile, she assured me. I kissed her;and then, if I were to perish, I cannot give a clear account of whathappened in the course of the next five minutes. She has since--throughtears, laughter, and trembling--told me that I turned terrible, and gavemyself to the demon. She says I left her, made one bound across theroom; that Mr. Sympson vanished through the door as if shot from acannon. I also vanished, and she heard Mrs. Gill scream.

  "Mrs. Gill was still screaming when I came to my senses. I was then inanother apartment--the oak parlour, I think. I held Sympson before mecrushed into a chair, and my hand was on his cravat. His eyes rolled inhis head; I was strangling him, I think. The housekeeper stood wringingher hands, entreating me to desist. I desisted that moment, and felt atonce as cool as stone. But I told Mrs. Gill to fetch the Red-House Innchaise instantly, and informed Mr. Sympson he must depart from Fieldheadthe instant it came. Though half frightened out of his wits, he declaredhe would not. Repeating the former order, I added a commission to fetcha constable. I said, 'You _shall_ go, by fair means or foul.'

  "He threatened prosecution; I cared for nothing. I had stood over himonce before, not quite so fiercely as now, but full as austerely. It wasone night when burglars attempted the house at Sympson Grove, and in hiswretched cowardice he would have given a vain alarm, without daring tooffer defence. I had then been obliged to protect his family and hisabode by mastering himself--and I had succeeded. I now remained with himtill the chaise came. I marshalled him to it, he scolding all the way.He was terribly bewildered, as well as enraged. He would have resistedme, but knew not how. He called for his wife and daughters to come. Isaid they should follow him as soon as they could prepare. The smoke,the fume, the fret of his demeanour was inexpressible, but it was a furyincapable of producing a deed. That man, properly handled, must everremain impotent. I know he will never touch me with the law. I know hiswife, over whom he tyrannizes in trifles, guides him in matters ofimportance. I have long since earned her undying mother's gratitude bymy devotion to her boy. In some of Henry's ailments I have nursedhim--better, she said, than any woman could nurse. She will never forgetthat. She and her daughters quitted me to-day, in mute wrath andconsternation; but she respects me. When Henry clung to my neck as Ilifted him into the carriage and placed him by her side, when I arrangedher own wrapping to make her warm, though she turned her head from me, Isaw the tears start to her eyes. She will but the more zealouslyadvocate my cause because she has left me in anger. I am glad ofthis--not for my own sake, but for that of my life and idol--myShirley."

  Once again he writes, a week after:--"I am now at Stilbro'. I have takenup my temporary abode with a friend--a professional man, in whosebusiness I can be useful. Every day I ride over to Fieldhead. How longwill it be before I can call that place my home, and its mistress mine?I am not easy, not tranquil; I am tantalized, sometimes tortured. To seeher now, one would think she had never pressed her cheek to my shoulder,or clung to me with tenderness or trust. I feel unsafe; she renders memiserable. I am shunned when I visit her; she withdraws from my reach.Once this day I lifted her face, resolved to get a full look down herdeep, dark eyes. Difficult to describe what I read there! Pantheress!beautiful forest-born! wily, tameless, peerless nature! She gnaws herchain; I see the white teeth working at the steel! She has dreams of herwild woods and pinings after virgin freedom. I wish Sympson would comeagain, and oblige her again to entwine her arms about me. I wish therewas danger she should lose me, as there is risk I shall lose her. No;final loss I do not fear, but long delay----

  "It is now night--midnight. I have spent the afternoon and evening atFieldhead. Some hours ago she passed me, coming down the oak staircaseto the hall. She did not know I was standing in the twilight, near thestaircase window, looking at the frost-bright constellations. Howclosely she glided against the banisters! How shyly shone her large eyesupon me! How evanescent, fugitive, fitful she looked--slim and swift asa northern streamer!

  "I followed her into the drawing-room. Mrs. Pryor and Caroline Helstonewere both there; she has summoned them to bear her company awhile. Inher white evening dress, with her long hair flowing full and wavy, withher noiseless step, her pale cheek, her eye full of night and lightning,she looked, I thought, spirit-like--a thing made of an element, thechild of a breeze and a flame, the daughter of ray
and raindrop--a thingnever to be overtaken, arrested, fixed. I wished I could avoid followingher with my gaze as she moved here and there, but it was impossible. Italked with the other ladies as well as I could, but still I looked ather. She was very silent; I think she never spoke to me--not even whenshe offered me tea. It happened that she was called out a minute by Mrs.Gill. I passed into the moonlit hall, with the design of getting a wordas she returned; nor in this did I fail.

  "'Miss Keeldar, stay one instant,' said I, meeting her.

  "'Why? the hall is too cold.'

  "'It is not cold for me; at my side it should not be cold for you.'

  "'But I shiver.'

  "'With fear, I believe. What makes you fear me? You are quiet anddistant. Why?'

  "'I may well fear what looks like a great dark goblin meeting me in themoonlight.'

  "'_Do not--do not_ pass! Stay with me awhile. Let us exchange a fewquiet words. It is three days since I spoke to you alone. Such changesare cruel.'

  "'I have no wish to be cruel,' she responded, softly enough. Indeedthere was softness in her whole deportment--in her face, in her voice;but there was also reserve, and an air fleeting, evanishing, intangible.

  "'You certainly give me pain,' said I. 'It is hardly a week since youcalled me your future husband and treated me as such. Now I am once morethe tutor for you. I am addressed as Mr. Moore and sir. Your lips haveforgotten Louis.'

  "'No, Louis, no. It is an easy, liquid name--not soon forgotten.'

  "'Be cordial to Louis, then; approach him--let him approach.'

  "'I _am_ cordial,' said she, hovering aloof like a white shadow.

  "'Your voice is very sweet and very low,' I answered, quietly advancing.'You seem subdued, but still startled.'

  "'No--quite calm, and afraid of nothing,' she assured me.

  "'Of nothing but your votary.'

  "I bent a knee to the flags at her feet.

  "'You see I am in a new world, Mr. Moore. I don't know myself; I don'tknow you. But rise. When you do so I feel troubled and disturbed.'

  "I obeyed. It would not have suited me to retain that attitude long. Icourted serenity and confidence for her, and not vainly. She trusted andclung to me again.

  "'Now, Shirley,' I said, 'you can conceive I am far from happy in mypresent uncertain, unsettled state.'

  "'Oh yes, you _are_ happy!' she cried hastily. 'You don't know how happyyou are. Any change will be for the worse.'

  "'Happy or not, I cannot bear to go on so much longer. You are toogenerous to require it.'

  "'Be reasonable, Louis; be patient! I like you because you are patient.'

  "'Like me no longer, then; love me instead. Fix our marriage day; thinkof it to-night, and decide.'

  "She breathed a murmur, inarticulate yet expressive; darted, or melted,from my arms--and I lost her."