Desperate Remedies

by Thomas Hardy

  V. THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY

  1. AUGUST THE EIGHTH. MORNING AND AFTERNOON

  At post-time on that following Monday morning, Cytherea watched soanxiously for the postman, that as the time which must bring himnarrowed less and less her vivid expectation had only a degree lesstangibility than his presence itself. In another second his form cameinto view. He brought two letters for Cytherea.

  One from Miss Aldclyffe, simply stating that she wished Cytherea to comeon trial: that she would require her to be at Knapwater House by Mondayevening.

  The other was from Edward Springrove. He told her that she was thebright spot of his life: that her existence was far dearer to him thanhis own: that he had never known what it was to love till he had mether. True, he had felt passing attachments to other faces from time totime; but they all had been weak inclinations towards those facesas they then appeared. He loved her past and future, as well as herpresent. He pictured her as a child: he loved her. He pictured her ofsage years: he loved her. He pictured her in trouble; he loved her.Homely friendship entered into his love for her, without which all lovewas evanescent.

  He would make one depressing statement. Uncontrollable circumstances (along history, with which it was impossible to acquaint her at present)operated to a certain extent as a drag upon his wishes. He had felt thismore strongly at the time of their parting than he did now--and it wasthe cause of his abrupt behaviour, for which he begged her to forgivehim. He saw now an honourable way of freeing himself, and the perceptionhad prompted him to write. In the meantime might he indulge in thehope of possessing her on some bright future day, when by hard labourgenerated from her own encouraging words, he had placed himself in aposition she would think worthy to be shared with him?

  Dear little letter; she huddled it up. So much more important alove-letter seems to a girl than to a man. Springrove was unconsciouslyclever in his letters, and a man with a talent of that kind may writehimself up to a hero in the mind of a young woman who loves him withoutknowing much about him. Springrove already stood a cubit higher in herimagination than he did in his shoes.

  During the day she flitted about the room in an ecstasy of pleasure,packing the things and thinking of an answer which should be worthyof the tender tone of the question, her love bubbling from herinvoluntarily, like prophesyings from a prophet.

  In the afternoon Owen went with her to the railway-station, and put herin the train for Carriford Road, the station nearest to Knapwater House.

  Half-an-hour later she stepped out upon the platform, and found nobodythere to receive her--though a pony-carriage was waiting outside. In twominutes she saw a melancholy man in cheerful livery running towards herfrom a public-house close adjoining, who proved to be the servant sentto fetch her. There are two ways of getting rid of sorrows: one byliving them down, the other by drowning them. The coachman drowned his.

  He informed her that her luggage would be fetched by a spring-waggon inabout half-an-hour; then helped her into the chaise and drove off.

  Her lover's letter, lying close against her neck, fortified her againstthe restless timidity she had previously felt concerning this newundertaking, and completely furnished her with the confident ease ofmind which is required for the critical observation of surroundingobjects. It was just that stage in the slow decline of the summer days,when the deep, dark, and vacuous hot-weather shadows are beginning to bereplaced by blue ones that have a surface and substance to the eye. Theytrotted along the turnpike road for a distance of about a mile, whichbrought them just outside the village of Carriford, and then turnedthrough large lodge-gates, on the heavy stone piers of which stood apair of bitterns cast in bronze. They then entered the park and woundalong a drive shaded by old and drooping lime-trees, not arranged in theform of an avenue, but standing irregularly, sometimes leaving the trackcompletely exposed to the sky, at other times casting a shade over it,which almost approached gloom--the under surface of the lowest boughshanging at a uniform level of six feet above the grass--the extremeheight to which the nibbling mouths of the cattle could reach.

  'Is that the house?' said Cytherea expectantly, catching sight of a greygable between the trees, and losing it again.

  'No; that's the old manor-house--or rather all that's left of it. TheAldycliffes used to let it sometimes, but it was oftener empty. 'Tisnow divided into three cottages. Respectable people didn't care to livethere.'

  'Why didn't they?'

  'Well, 'tis so awkward and unhandy. You see so much of it has beenpulled down, and the rooms that are left won't do very well for a smallresidence. 'Tis so dismal, too, and like most old houses stands too lowdown in the hollow to be healthy.'

  'Do they tell any horrid stories about it?'

  'No, not a single one.'

  'Ah, that's a pity.'

  'Yes, that's what I say. 'Tis jest the house for a nice ghastlyhair-on-end story, that would make the parish religious. Perhaps it willhave one some day to make it complete; but there's not a word ofthe kind now. There, I wouldn't live there for all that. In fact, Icouldn't. O no, I couldn't.'

  'Why couldn't you?'

  'The sounds.'

  'What are they?'

  'One is the waterfall, which stands so close by that you can hear thatthere waterfall in every room of the house, night or day, ill or well.'Tis enough to drive anybody mad: now hark.'

  He stopped the horse. Above the slight common sounds in the air came theunvarying steady rush of falling water from some spot unseen on accountof the thick foliage of the grove.

  'There's something awful in the timing o' that sound, ain't there,miss?'

  'When you say there is, there really seems to be. You said there weretwo--what is the other horrid sound?'

  'The pumping-engine. That's close by the Old House, and sends water upthe hill and all over the Great House. We shall hear that directly....There, now hark again.'

  From the same direction down the dell they could now hear the whistlingcreak of cranks, repeated at intervals of half-a-minute, with a sousingnoise between each: a creak, a souse, then another creak, and so oncontinually.

  'Now if anybody could make shift to live through the other sounds, thesewould finish him off, don't you think so, miss? That machine goes onnight and day, summer and winter, and is hardly ever greased or visited.Ah, it tries the nerves at night, especially if you are not very well;though we don't often hear it at the Great House.'

  'That sound is certainly very dismal. They might have the wheel greased.Does Miss Aldclyffe take any interest in these things?'

  'Well, scarcely; you see her father doesn't attend to that sort of thingas he used to. The engine was once quite his hobby. But now he's gettenold and very seldom goes there.'

  'How many are there in family?'

  'Only her father and herself. He's a' old man of seventy.'

  'I had thought that Miss Aldclyffe was sole mistress of the property,and lived here alone.'

  'No, m--' The coachman was continually checking himself thus, beingabout to style her miss involuntarily, and then recollecting that he wasonly speaking to the new lady's-maid.

  'She will soon be mistress, however, I am afraid,' he continued, as ifspeaking by a spirit of prophecy denied to ordinary humanity. 'The poorold gentleman has decayed very fast lately.' The man then drew a longbreath.

  'Why did you breathe sadly like that?' said Cytherea.

  'Ah!... When he's dead peace will be all over with us old servants. Iexpect to see the old house turned inside out.'

  'She will marry, do you mean?'

  'Marry--not she! I wish she would. No, in her soul she's as solitaryas Robinson Crusoe, though she has acquaintances in plenty, ifnot relations. There's the rector, Mr. Raunham--he's a relation bymarriage--yet she's quite distant towards him. And people say that ifshe keeps single there will be hardly a life between Mr. Raunham and theheirship of the estate. Dang it, she don't care. She's an extraordinarypicture of womankind--very extraordinary.'

  'In what way besides?' />
  'You'll know soon enough, miss. She has had seven lady's-maids this lasttwelvemonth. I assure you 'tis one body's work to fetch 'em from thestation and take 'em back again. The Lord must be a neglectful party atheart, or he'd never permit such overbearen goings on!'

  'Does she dismiss them directly they come!'

  'Not at all--she never dismisses them--they go theirselves. Ye see 'tislike this. She's got a very quick temper; she flees in a passion withthem for nothing at all; next mornen they come up and say they aregoing; she's sorry for it and wishes they'd stay, but she's as proud asa lucifer, and her pride won't let her say, "Stay," and away they go.'Tis like this in fact. If you say to her about anybody, "Ah, poorthing!" she says, "Pooh! indeed!" If you say, "Pooh, indeed!" "Ah, poorthing!" she says directly. She hangs the chief baker, as mid be, andrestores the chief butler, as mid be, though the devil but Pharaohherself can see the difference between 'em.'

  Cytherea was silent. She feared she might be again a burden to herbrother.

  'However, you stand a very good chance,' the man went on, 'for Ithink she likes you more than common. I have never known her send thepony-carriage to meet one before; 'tis always the trap, but this timeshe said, in a very particular ladylike tone, "Roobert, gaow with thepony-kerriage."... There, 'tis true, pony and carriage too are gettenrather shabby now,' he added, looking round upon the vehicle as if tokeep Cytherea's pride within reasonable limits.

  ''Tis to be hoped you'll please in dressen her to-night.'

  'Why to-night?'

  'There's a dinner-party of seventeen; 'tis her father's birthday, andshe's very particular about her looks at such times. Now see; this isthe house. Livelier up here, isn't it, miss?'

  They were now on rising ground, and had just emerged from a clump oftrees. Still a little higher than where they stood was situated themansion, called Knapwater House, the offices gradually losing themselvesamong the trees behind.

  2. EVENING

  The house was regularly and substantially built of clean grey freestonethroughout, in that plainer fashion of Greek classicism which prevailedat the latter end of the last century, when the copyists calleddesigners had grown weary of fantastic variations in the Roman orders.The main block approximated to a square on the ground plan, having aprojection in the centre of each side, surmounted by a pediment. Fromeach angle of the inferior side ran a line of buildings lower than therest, turning inwards again at their further end, and formingwithin them a spacious open court, within which resounded an echo ofastonishing clearness. These erections were in their turn backed byivy-covered ice-houses, laundries, and stables, the whole mass ofsubsidiary buildings being half buried beneath close-set shrubs andtrees.

  There was opening sufficient through the foliage on the right hand toenable her on nearer approach to form an idea of the arrangement of theremoter or lawn front also. The natural features and contour of thisquarter of the site had evidently dictated the position of thehouse primarily, and were of the ordinary, and upon the whole, mostsatisfactory kind, namely, a broad, graceful slope running from theterrace beneath the walls to the margin of a placid lake lying below,upon the surface of which a dozen swans and a green punt floated atleisure. An irregular wooded island stood in the midst of the lake;beyond this and the further margin of the water were plantations andgreensward of varied outlines, the trees heightening, by half veiling,the softness of the exquisite landscape stretching behind.

  The glimpses she had obtained of this portion were now checked by theangle of the building. In a minute or two they reached the side door, atwhich Cytherea alighted. She was welcomed by an elderly woman of lengthysmiles and general pleasantness, who announced herself to be Mrs.Morris, the housekeeper.

  'Mrs. Graye, I believe?' she said.

  'I am not--O yes, yes, we are all mistresses,' said Cytherea, smiling,but forcedly. The title accorded her seemed disagreeably like the firstslight scar of a brand, and she thought of Owen's prophecy.

  Mrs. Morris led her into a comfortable parlour called The Room. Heretea was made ready, and Cytherea sat down, looking, whenever occasionallowed, at Mrs. Morris with great interest and curiosity, to discover,if possible, something in her which should give a clue to the secretof her knowledge of herself, and the recommendation based upon it.But nothing was to be learnt, at any rate just then. Mrs. Morris wasperpetually getting up, feeling in her pockets, going to cupboards,leaving the room two or three minutes, and trotting back again.

  'You'll excuse me, Mrs. Graye,' she said, 'but 'tis the old gentleman'sbirthday, and they always have a lot of people to dinner on thatday, though he's getting up in years now. However, none of them aresleepers--she generally keeps the house pretty clear of lodgers (being alady with no intimate friends, though many acquaintances), which, thoughit gives us less to do, makes it all the duller for the younger maids inthe house.' Mrs. Morris then proceeded to give in fragmentary speechesan outline of the constitution and government of the estate.

  'Now, are you sure you have quite done tea? Not a bit or drop more? Why,you've eaten nothing, I'm sure.... Well, now, it is rather inconvenientthat the other maid is not here to show you the ways of the house alittle, but she left last Saturday, and Miss Aldclyffe has been makingshift with poor old clumsy me for a maid all yesterday and this morning.She is not come in yet. I expect she will ask for you, Mrs. Graye, thefirst thing.... I was going to say that if you have really done tea,I will take you upstairs, and show you through the wardrobes--MissAldclyffe's things are not laid out for to-night yet.'

  She preceded Cytherea upstairs, pointed out her own room, and then tookher into Miss Aldclyffe's dressing-room, on the first-floor; where,after explaining the whereabouts of various articles of apparel, thehousekeeper left her, telling her that she had an hour yet upon herhands before dressing-time. Cytherea laid out upon the bed in the nextroom all that she had been told would be required that evening, and thenwent again to the little room which had been appropriated to herself.

  Here she sat down by the open window, leant out upon the sill likeanother Blessed Damozel, and listlessly looked down upon the brilliantpattern of colours formed by the flower-beds on the lawn--now richlycrowded with late summer blossom. But the vivacity of spirit which hadhitherto enlivened her, was fast ebbing under the pressure of prosaicrealities, and the warm scarlet of the geraniums, glowing mostconspicuously, and mingling with the vivid cold red and green of theverbenas, the rich depth of the dahlia, and the ripe mellowness of thecalceolaria, backed by the pale hue of a flock of meek sheep feeding inthe open park, close to the other side of the fence, were, to a greatextent, lost upon her eyes. She was thinking that nothing seemed worthwhile; that it was possible she might die in a workhouse; and what didit matter? The petty, vulgar details of servitude that she had justpassed through, her dependence upon the whims of a strange woman, thenecessity of quenching all individuality of character in herself, andrelinquishing her own peculiar tastes to help on the wheel of this alienestablishment, made her sick and sad, and she almost longed to pursuesome free, out-of-doors employment, sleep under trees or a hut, and knowno enemy but winter and cold weather, like shepherds and cowkeepers, andbirds and animals--ay, like the sheep she saw there under her window.She looked sympathizingly at them for several minutes, imagining theirenjoyment of the rich grass.

  'Yes--like those sheep,' she said aloud; and her face reddened withsurprise at a discovery she made that very instant.

  The flock consisted of some ninety or a hundred young stock ewes: thesurface of their fleece was as rounded and even as a cushion, and whiteas milk. Now she had just observed that on the left buttock of every oneof them were marked in distinct red letters the initials 'E. S.'

  'E. S.' could bring to Cytherea's mind only one thought; but thatimmediately and for ever--the name of her lover, Edward Springrove.

  'O, if it should be--!' She interrupted her words by a resolve. MissAldclyffe's carriage at the same moment made its appearance in thedrive; but Miss Aldclyffe was not her object now. I
t was to ascertain towhom the sheep belonged, and to set her surmise at rest one way or theother. She flew downstairs to Mrs. Morris.

  'Whose sheep are those in the park, Mrs. Morris?'

  'Farmer Springrove's.'

  'What Farmer Springrove is that?' she said quickly.

  'Why, surely you know? Your friend, Farmer Springrove, the cider-maker,and who keeps the Three Tranters Inn; who recommended you to me when hecame in to see me the other day?'

  Cytherea's mother-wit suddenly warned her in the midst of her excitementthat it was necessary not to betray the secret of her love. 'O yes,'she said, 'of course.' Her thoughts had run as follows in that shortinterval:--

  'Farmer Springrove is Edward's father, and his name is Edward too.

  'Edward knew I was going to advertise for a situation of some kind.

  'He watched the Times, and saw it, my address being attached.

  'He thought it would be excellent for me to be here that we might meetwhenever he came home.

  'He told his father that I might be recommended as a lady's-maid; and heknew my brother and myself.

  'His father told Mrs. Morris; Mrs. Morris told Miss Aldclyffe.'

  The whole chain of incidents that drew her there was plain, and therewas no such thing as chance in the matter. It was all Edward's doing.

  The sound of a bell was heard. Cytherea did not heed it, and stillcontinued in her reverie.

  'That's Miss Aldclyffe's bell,' said Mrs. Morris.

  'I suppose it is,' said the young woman placidly.

  'Well, it means that you must go up to her,' the matron continued, in atone of surprise.

  Cytherea felt a burning heat come over her, mingled with a suddenirritation at Mrs. Morris's hint. But the good sense which hadrecognized stern necessity prevailed over rebellious independence; theflush passed, and she said hastily--

  'Yes, yes; of course, I must go to her when she pulls the bell--whetherI want to or no.'

  However, in spite of this painful reminder of her new position in life,Cytherea left the apartment in a mood far different from the gloomysadness of ten minutes previous. The place felt like home to hernow; she did not mind the pettiness of her occupation, because Edwardevidently did not mind it; and this was Edward's own spot. She foundtime on her way to Miss Aldclyffe's dressing-room to hurriedly glide outby a side door, and look for a moment at the unconscious sheep bearingthe friendly initials. She went up to them to try to touch one of theflock, and felt vexed that they all stared sceptically at her kindadvances, and then ran pell-mell down the hill. Then, fearing any oneshould discover her childish movements, she slipped indoors again,and ascended the staircase, catching glimpses, as she passed, ofsilver-buttoned footmen, who flashed about the passages like lightning.

  Miss Aldclyffe's dressing-room was an apartment which, on a casualsurvey, conveyed an impression that it was available for almost anypurpose save the adornment of the feminine person. In its hours ofperfect order nothing pertaining to the toilet was visible; even theinevitable mirrors with their accessories were arranged in a roomyrecess not noticeable from the door, lighted by a window of its own,called the dressing-window.

  The washing-stand figured as a vast oak chest, carved with grotesqueRenaissance ornament. The dressing table was in appearance somethingbetween a high altar and a cabinet piano, the surface being richlyworked in the same style of semi-classic decoration, but theextraordinary outline having been arrived at by an ingenious joiner anddecorator from the neighbouring town, after months of painful toil incutting and fitting, under Miss Aldclyffe's immediate eye; the materialsbeing the remains of two or three old cabinets the lady had found in thelumber-room. About two-thirds of the floor was carpeted, the remainingportion being laid with parquetry of light and dark woods.

  Miss Aldclyffe was standing at the larger window, away from thedressing-niche. She bowed, and said pleasantly, 'I am glad you havecome. We shall get on capitally, I dare say.'

  Her bonnet was off. Cytherea did not think her so handsome as on theearlier day; the queenliness of her beauty was harder and less warm.But a worse discovery than this was that Miss Aldclyffe, with the usualobliviousness of rich people to their dependents' specialities, seemedto have quite forgotten Cytherea's inexperience, and mechanicallydelivered up her body to her handmaid without a thought of details, andwith a mild yawn.

  Everything went well at first. The dress was removed, stockings andblack boots were taken off, and silk stockings and white shoes wereput on. Miss Aldclyffe then retired to bathe her hands and face, andCytherea drew breath. If she could get through this first evening, allwould be right. She felt that it was unfortunate that such a crucialtest for her powers as a birthday dinner should have been applied on thethreshold of her arrival; but set to again.

  Miss Aldclyffe was now arrayed in a white dressing-gown, and droppedlanguidly into an easy-chair, pushed up before the glass. The instinctsof her sex and her own practice told Cytherea the next movement. She letMiss Aldclyffe's hair fall about her shoulders, and began to arrange it.It proved to be all real; a satisfaction.

  Miss Aldclyffe was musingly looking on the floor, and the operation wenton for some minutes in silence. At length her thoughts seemed to turn tothe present, and she lifted her eyes to the glass.

  'Why, what on earth are you doing with my head?' she exclaimed, withwidely opened eyes. At the words she felt the back of Cytherea's littlehand tremble against her neck.

  'Perhaps you prefer it done the other fashion, madam?' said the maiden.

  'No, no; that's the fashion right enough, but you must make more show ofmy hair than that, or I shall have to buy some, which God forbid!'

  'It is how I do my own,' said Cytherea naively, and with a sweetnessof tone that would have pleased the most acrimonious under favourablecircumstances; but tyranny was in the ascendant with Miss Aldclyffeat this moment, and she was assured of palatable food for her vice byhaving felt the trembling of Cytherea's hand.

  'Yours, indeed! _Your_ hair! Come, go on.' Considering that Cythereapossessed at least five times as much of that valuable auxiliary towoman's beauty as the lady before her, there was at the same time someexcuse for Miss Aldclyffe's outburst. She remembered herself, however,and said more quietly, 'Now then, Graye--By-the-bye, what do they callyou downstairs?'

  'Mrs. Graye,' said the handmaid.

  'Then tell them not to do any such absurd thing--not but that it isquite according to usage; but you are too young yet.'

  This dialogue tided Cytherea safely onward through the hairdressingtill the flowers and diamonds were to be placed upon the lady's brow.Cytherea began arranging them tastefully, and to the very best of herjudgment.

  'That won't do,' said Miss Aldclyffe harshly.

  'Why?'

  'I look too young--an old dressed doll.'

  'Will that, madam?'

  'No, I look a fright--a perfect fright!'

  'This way, perhaps?'

  'Heavens! Don't worry me so.' She shut her lips like a trap.

  Having once worked herself up to the belief that her head-dress was tobe a failure that evening, no cleverness of Cytherea's in arrangingit could please her. She continued in a smouldering passion during theremainder of the performance, keeping her lips firmly closed, and themuscles of her body rigid. Finally, snatching up her gloves, and takingher handkerchief and fan in her hand, she silently sailed out of theroom, without betraying the least consciousness of another woman'spresence behind her.

  Cytherea's fears that at the undressing this suppressed anger would finda vent, kept her on thorns throughout the evening. She tried to read;she could not. She tried to sew; she could not. She tried to muse; shecould not do that connectedly. 'If this is the beginning, what willthe end be!' she said in a whisper, and felt many misgivings as to thepolicy of being overhasty in establishing an independence at the expenseof congruity with a cherished past.

  3. MIDNIGHT

  The clock struck twelve. The Aldclyffe state dinner was over. Thecompany had all
gone, and Miss Aldclyffe's bell rang loudly andjerkingly.

  Cytherea started to her feet at the sound, which broke in upon a fitfulsleep that had overtaken her. She had been sitting drearily in her chairwaiting minute after minute for the signal, her brain in that stateof intentness which takes cognizance of the passage of Time as a realmotion--motion without matter--the instants throbbing past in thecompany of a feverish pulse. She hastened to the room, to find thelady sitting before the dressing shrine, illuminated on both sides, andlooking so queenly in her attitude of absolute repose, that the youngerwoman felt the awfullest sense of responsibility at her Vandalism inhaving undertaken to demolish so imposing a pile.

  The lady's jewelled ornaments were taken off in silence--some by her ownlistless hands, some by Cytherea's. Then followed the outer stratum ofclothing. The dress being removed, Cytherea took it in her hand andwent with it into the bedroom adjoining, intending to hang it in thewardrobe. But on second thoughts, in order that she might not keep MissAldclyffe waiting a moment longer than necessary, she flung it down onthe first resting-place that came to hand, which happened to be thebed, and re-entered the dressing-room with the noiseless footfall of akitten. She paused in the middle of the room.

  She was unnoticed, and her sudden return had plainly not been expected.During the short time of Cytherea's absence, Miss Aldclyffe had pulledoff a kind of chemisette of Brussels net, drawn high above the throat,which she had worn with her evening dress as a semi-opaque covering toher shoulders, and in its place had put her night-gown round her.Her right hand was lifted to her neck, as if engaged in fastening hernight-gown.

  But on a second glance Miss Aldclyffe's proceeding was clearer toCytherea. She was not fastening her night-gown; it had been carelesslythrown round her, and Miss Aldclyffe was really occupied in holding upto her eyes some small object that she was keenly scrutinizing. Andnow on suddenly discovering the presence of Cytherea at the back of theapartment, instead of naturally continuing or concluding her inspection,she desisted hurriedly; the tiny snap of a spring was heard, her handwas removed, and she began adjusting her robes.

  Modesty might have directed her hasty action of enwrapping hershoulders, but it was scarcely likely, considering Miss Aldclyffe'stemperament, that she had all her life been used to a maid, Cytherea'syouth, and the elder lady's marked treatment of her as if she were amere child or plaything. The matter was too slight to reason about, andyet upon the whole it seemed that Miss Aldclyffe must have a practicalreason for concealing her neck.

  With a timid sense of being an intruder Cytherea was about to step backand out of the room; but at the same moment Miss Aldclyffe turned, sawthe impulse, and told her companion to stay, looking into her eyes as ifshe had half an intention to explain something. Cytherea felt certainit was the little mystery of her late movements. The other withdrew hereyes; Cytherea went to fetch the dressing-gown, and wheeled roundagain to bring it up to Miss Aldclyffe, who had now partly removed hernight-dress to put it on the proper way, and still sat with her backtowards Cytherea.

  Her neck was again quite open and uncovered, and though hidden from thedirect line of Cytherea's vision, she saw it reflected in the glass--thefair white surface, and the inimitable combination of curves betweenthroat and bosom which artists adore, being brightly lit up by the lightburning on either side.

  And the lady's prior proceedings were now explained in the simplestmanner. In the midst of her breast, like an island in a sea of pearl,reclined an exquisite little gold locket, embellished with arabesquework of blue, red, and white enamel. That was undoubtedly what MissAldclyffe had been contemplating; and, moreover, not having been putoff with her other ornaments, it was to be retained during the night--aslight departure from the custom of ladies which Miss Aldclyffe had atfirst not cared to exhibit to her new assistant, though now, on furtherthought, she seemed to have become indifferent on the matter.

  'My dressing-gown,' she said, quietly fastening her night-dress as shespoke.

  Cytherea came forward with it. Miss Aldclyffe did not turn her head, butlooked inquiringly at her maid in the glass.

  'You saw what I wear on my neck, I suppose?' she said to Cytherea'sreflected face.

  'Yes, madam, I did,' said Cytherea to Miss Aldclyffe's reflected face.

  Miss Aldclyffe again looked at Cytherea's reflection as if she wereon the point of explaining. Again she checked her resolve, and saidlightly--

  'Few of my maids discover that I wear it always. I generally keep ita secret--not that it matters much. But I was careless with you, andseemed to want to tell you. You win me to make confidences that....'

  She ceased, took Cytherea's hand in her own, lifted the locket with theother, touched the spring and disclosed a miniature.

  'It is a handsome face, is it not?' she whispered mournfully, and eventimidly.

  'It is.'

  But the sight had gone through Cytherea like an electric shock, andthere was an instantaneous awakening of perception in her, so thrillingin its presence as to be well-nigh insupportable. The face in theminiature was the face of her own father--younger and fresher than shehad ever known him--but her father!

  Was this the woman of his wild and unquenchable early love? And was thisthe woman who had figured in the gate-man's story as answering the nameof Cytherea before her judgment was awake? Surely it was. And if so,here was the tangible outcrop of a romantic and hidden stratum of thepast hitherto seen only in her imagination but as far as her scopeallowed, clearly defined therein by reason of its strangeness.

  Miss Aldclyffe's eyes and thoughts were so intent upon the miniaturethat she had not been conscious of Cytherea's start of surprise. Shewent on speaking in a low and abstracted tone.

  'Yes, I lost him.' She interrupted her words by a short meditation, andwent on again. 'I lost him by excess of honesty as regarded my past. Butit was best that it should be so.... I was led to think rather morethan usual of the circumstances to-night because of your name. It ispronounced the same way, though differently spelt.'

  The only means by which Cytherea's surname could have been spelt toMiss Aldclyffe must have been by Mrs. Morris or Farmer Springrove. Shefancied Farmer Springrove would have spelt it properly if Edward was hisinformant, which made Miss Aldclyffe's remark obscure.

  Women make confidences and then regret them. The impulsive rush offeeling which had led Miss Aldclyffe to indulge in this revelation,trifling as it was, died out immediately her words were beyond recall;and the turmoil, occasioned in her by dwelling upon that chapter of herlife, found vent in another kind of emotion--the result of a trivialaccident.

  Cytherea, after letting down Miss Aldclyffe's hair, adopted some planwith it to which the lady had not been accustomed. A rapid revulsionto irritation ensued. The maiden's mere touch seemed to discharge thepent-up regret of the lady as if she had been a jar of electricity.

  'How strangely you treat my hair!' she exclaimed.

  A silence.

  'I have told you what I never tell my maids as a rule; of course_nothing_ that I say in this room is to be mentioned outside it.' Shespoke crossly no less than emphatically.

  'It shall not be, madam,' said Cytherea, agitated and vexed that thewoman of her romantic wonderings should be so disagreeable to her.

  'Why on earth did I tell you of my past?' she went on.

  Cytherea made no answer.

  The lady's vexation with herself, and the accident which had led to thedisclosure swelled little by little till it knew no bounds. But what wasdone could not be undone, and though Cytherea had shown a most winningresponsiveness, quarrel Miss Aldclyffe must. She recurred to the subjectof Cytherea's want of expertness, like a bitter reviewer, who findingthe sentiments of a poet unimpeachable, quarrels with his rhymes.

  'Never, never before did I serve myself such a trick as this in engaginga maid!' She waited for an expostulation: none came. Miss Aldclyffetried again.

  'The idea of my taking a girl without asking her more than threequestions, or having a single refer
ence, all because of her good l--,the shape of her face and body! It _was_ a fool's trick. There, I amserved right, quite right--by being deceived in such a way.'

  'I didn't deceive you,' said Cytherea. The speech was an unfortunateone, and was the very 'fuel to maintain its fires' that the other'spetulance desired.

  'You did,' she said hotly.

  'I told you I couldn't promise to be acquainted with every detail ofroutine just at first.'

  'Will you contradict me in this way! You are telling untruths, I say.'

  Cytherea's lip quivered. 'I would answer the remark if--if--'

  'If what?'

  'If it were a lady's!'

  'You girl of impudence--what do you say? Leave the room this instant, Itell you.'

  'And I tell you that a person who speaks to a lady as you do to me, isno lady herself!'

  'To a lady? A lady's-maid speaks in this way. The idea!'

  'Don't "lady's-maid" me: nobody is my mistress I won't have it!'

  'Good Heavens!'

  'I wouldn't have come--no--I wouldn't! if I had known!'

  'What?'

  'That you were such an ill-tempered, unjust woman!'

  'Possest beyond the Muse's painting,' Miss Aldclyffe exclaimed--

  'A Woman, am I! I'll teach you if I am a Woman!' and lifted her hand asif she would have liked to strike her companion. This stung the maideninto absolute defiance.

  'I dare you to touch me!' she cried. 'Strike me if you dare, madam! I amnot afraid of you--what do you mean by such an action as that?'

  Miss Aldclyffe was disconcerted at this unexpected show of spirit, andashamed of her unladylike impulse now it was put into words. She sankback in the chair. 'I was not going to strike you--go to your room--Ibeg you to go to your room!' she repeated in a husky whisper.

  Cytherea, red and panting, took up her candlestick and advanced tothe table to get a light. As she stood close to them the rays from thecandles struck sharply on her face. She usually bore a much strongerlikeness to her mother than to her father, but now, looking with agrave, reckless, and angered expression of countenance at the kindlingwick as she held it slanting into the other flame, her father's featureswere distinct in her. It was the first time Miss Aldclyffe had seen herin a passionate mood, and wearing that expression which was invariablyits concomitant. It was Miss Aldclyffe's turn to start now; and theremark she made was an instance of that sudden change of tone fromhigh-flown invective to the pettiness of curiosity which so often makeswomen's quarrels ridiculous. Even Miss Aldclyffe's dignity had notsufficient power to postpone the absorbing desire she now felt to settlethe strange suspicion that had entered her head.

  'You spell your name the common way, G, R, E, Y, don't you?' she said,with assumed indifference.

  'No,' said Cytherea, poised on the side of her foot, and still lookinginto the flame.

  'Yes, surely? The name was spelt that way on your boxes: I looked andsaw it myself.'

  The enigma of Miss Aldclyffe's mistake was solved. 'O, was it?' saidCytherea. 'Ah, I remember Mrs. Jackson, the lodging-house keeper atBudmouth, labelled them. We spell our name G, R, A, Y, E.'

  'What was your father's trade?'

  Cytherea thought it would be useless to attempt to conceal facts anylonger. 'His was not a trade,' she said. 'He was an architect.'

  'The idea of your being an architect's daughter!'

  'There's nothing to offend you in that, I hope?'

  'O no.'

  'Why did you say "the idea"?'

  'Leave that alone. Did he ever visit in Gower Street, Bloomsbury, oneChristmas, many years ago?--but you would not know that.'

  'I have heard him say that Mr. Huntway, a curate somewhere in that partof London, and who died there, was an old college friend of his.'

  'What is your Christian name?'

  'Cytherea.'

  'No! And is it really? And you knew that face I showed you? Yes, I seeyou did.' Miss Aldclyffe stopped, and closed her lips impassibly. Shewas a little agitated.

  'Do you want me any longer?' said Cytherea, standing candle in hand andlooking quietly in Miss Aldclyffe's face.

  'Well--no: no longer,' said the other lingeringly.

  'With your permission, I will leave the house to morrow morning, madam.'

  'Ah.' Miss Aldclyffe had no notion of what she was saying.

  'And I know you will be so good as not to intrude upon me during theshort remainder of my stay?'

  Saying this Cytherea left the room before her companion had answered.Miss Aldclyffe, then, had recognized her at last, and had been curiousabout her name from the beginning.

  The other members of the household had retired to rest. As Cytherea wentalong the passage leading to her room her skirts rustled against thepartition. A door on her left opened, and Mrs. Morris looked out.

  'I waited out of bed till you came up,' she said, 'it being your firstnight, in case you should be at a loss for anything. How have you got onwith Miss Aldclyffe?'

  'Pretty well--though not so well as I could have wished.'

  'Has she been scolding?'

  'A little.'

  'She's a very odd lady--'tis all one way or the other with her. She'snot bad at heart, but unbearable in close quarters. Those of us whodon't have much to do with her personally, stay on for years and years.'

  'Has Miss Aldclyffe's family always been rich?' said Cytherea.

  'O no. The property, with the name, came from her mother's uncle. Herfamily is a branch of the old Aldclyffe family on the maternal side. Hermother married a Bradleigh--a mere nobody at that time--and was on thataccount cut by her relations. But very singularly the other branch ofthe family died out one by one--three of them, and Miss Aldclyffe'sgreat-uncle then left all his property, including this estate, toCaptain Bradleigh and his wife--Miss Aldclyffe's father and mother--oncondition that they took the old family name as well. There's all aboutit in the "Landed Gentry." 'Tis a thing very often done.'

  'O, I see. Thank you. Well, now I am going. Good-night.'