Two on a Tower

by Thomas Hardy

  III

  Mr. Torkingham trotted briskly onward to his house, a distance of about amile, each cottage, as it revealed its half-buried position by its singlelight, appearing like a one-eyed night creature watching him from anambush. Leaving his horse at the parsonage he performed the remainder ofthe journey on foot, crossing the park towards Welland House by a stileand path, till he struck into the drive near the north door of themansion.

  This drive, it may be remarked, was also the common highway to the lowervillage, and hence Lady Constantine's residence and park, as isoccasionally the case with old-fashioned manors, possessed none of theexclusiveness found in some aristocratic settlements. The parishionerslooked upon the park avenue as their natural thoroughfare, particularlyfor christenings, weddings, and funerals, which passed the squire'smansion with due considerations as to the scenic effect of the same fromthe manor windows. Hence the house of Constantine, when going out fromits breakfast, had been continually crossed on the doorstep for the lasttwo hundred years by the houses of Hodge and Giles in full cry to dinner.At present these collisions were but too infrequent, for though thevillagers passed the north front door as regularly as ever, they seldommet a Constantine. Only one was there to be met, and she had no zest foroutings before noon.

  The long, low front of the Great House, as it was called by the parish,stretching from end to end of the terrace, was in darkness as the vicarslackened his pace before it, and only the distant fall of waterdisturbed the stillness of the manorial precincts.

  On gaining admittance he found Lady Constantine waiting to receive him.She wore a heavy dress of velvet and lace, and being the only person inthe spacious apartment she looked small and isolated. In her left handshe held a letter and a couple of at-home cards. The soft dark eyeswhich she raised to him as he entered--large, and melancholy bycircumstance far more than by quality--were the natural indices of a warmand affectionate, perhaps slightly voluptuous temperament, languishingfor want of something to do, cherish, or suffer for.

  Mr. Torkingham seated himself. His boots, which had seemed elegant inthe farm-house, appeared rather clumsy here, and his coat, that was amodel of tailoring when he stood amid the choir, now exhibited decidedlystrained relations with his limbs. Three years had passed since hisinduction to the living of Welland, but he had never as yet found meansto establish that reciprocity with Lady Constantine which usually growsup, in the course of time, between parsonage and manor-house,--unless,indeed, either side should surprise the other by showing respectively aweakness for awkward modern ideas on landownership, or on churchformulas, which had not been the case here. The present meeting,however, seemed likely to initiate such a reciprocity.

  There was an appearance of confidence on Lady Constantine's face; shesaid she was so very glad that he had come, and looking down at theletter in her hand was on the point of pulling it from its envelope; butshe did not. After a moment she went on more quickly: 'I wanted youradvice, or rather your opinion, on a serious matter,--on a point ofconscience.' Saying which she laid down the letter and looked at thecards.

  It might have been apparent to a more penetrating eye than the vicar'sthat Lady Constantine, either from timidity, misgiving, or reconviction,had swerved from her intended communication, or perhaps decided to beginat the other end.

  The parson, who had been expecting a question on some local business orintelligence, at the tenor of her words altered his face to the higherbranch of his profession.

  'I hope I may find myself of service, on that or any other question,' hesaid gently.

  'I hope so. You may possibly be aware, Mr. Torkingham, that my husband,Sir Blount Constantine, was, not to mince matters, a mistaken--somewhatjealous man. Yet you may hardly have discerned it in the short time youknew him.'

  'I had some little knowledge of Sir Blount's character in that respect.'

  'Well, on this account my married life with him was not of the mostcomfortable kind.' (Lady Constantine's voice dropped to a more patheticnote.) 'I am sure I gave him no cause for suspicion though had I knownhis disposition sooner I should hardly have dared to marry him. But hisjealousy and doubt of me were not so strong as to divert him from apurpose of his,--a mania for African lion-hunting, which he dignified bycalling it a scheme of geographical discovery; for he was inordinatelyanxious to make a name for himself in that field. It was the one passionthat was stronger than his mistrust of me. Before going away he sat downwith me in this room, and read me a lecture, which resulted in a veryrash offer on my part. When I tell it to you, you will find that itprovides a key to all that is unusual in my life here. He bade meconsider what my position would be when he was gone; hoped that I shouldremember what was due to him,--that I would not so behave towards othermen as to bring the name of Constantine into suspicion and charged me toavoid levity of conduct in attending any ball, rout, or dinner to which Imight be invited. I, in some contempt for his low opinion of me,volunteered, there and then, to live like a cloistered nun during hisabsence; to go into no society whatever,--scarce even to a neighbour'sdinner-party; and demanded bitterly if that would satisfy him. He saidyes, held me to my word, and gave me no loophole for retracting it. Theinevitable fruits of precipitancy have resulted to me: my life has becomea burden. I get such invitations as these' (holding up the cards), 'butI so invariably refuse them that they are getting very rare. . . . I askyou, can I honestly break that promise to my husband?'

  Mr. Torkingham seemed embarrassed. 'If you promised Sir BlountConstantine to live in solitude till he comes back, you are, it seems tome, bound by that promise. I fear that the wish to be released from yourengagement is to some extent a reason why it should be kept. But yourown conscience would surely be the best guide, Lady Constantine?'

  'My conscience is quite bewildered with its responsibilities,' shecontinued, with a sigh. 'Yet it certainly does sometimes say to methat--that I ought to keep my word. Very well; I must go on as I amgoing, I suppose.'

  'If you respect a vow, I think you must respect your own,' said theparson, acquiring some further firmness. 'Had it been wrung from you bycompulsion, moral or physical, it would have been open to you to breakit. But as you proposed a vow when your husband only required a goodintention, I think you ought to adhere to it; or what is the pride worththat led you to offer it?'

  'Very well,' she said, with resignation. 'But it was quite a work ofsupererogation on my part.'

  'That you proposed it in a supererogatory spirit does not lessen yourobligation, having once put yourself under that obligation. St. Paul, inhis Epistle to the Hebrews, says, "An oath for confirmation is an end ofall strife." And you will readily recall the words of Ecclesiastes, "Paythat which thou hast vowed. Better is it that thou shouldest not vowthan that thou shouldest vow and not pay." Why not write to Sir Blount,tell him the inconvenience of such a bond, and ask him to release you?'

  'No; never will I. The expression of such a desire would, in his mind,be a sufficient reason for disallowing it. I'll keep my word.'

  Mr. Torkingham rose to leave. After she had held out her hand to him,when he had crossed the room, and was within two steps of the door, shesaid, 'Mr. Torkingham.' He stopped. 'What I have told you is only theleast part of what I sent for you to tell you.'

  Mr. Torkingham walked back to her side. 'What is the rest of it, then?'he asked, with grave surprise.

  'It is a true revelation, as far as it goes; but there is something more.I have received this letter, and I wanted to say--something.'

  'Then say it now, my dear lady.'

  'No,' she answered, with a look of utter inability. 'I cannot speak ofit now! Some other time. Don't stay. Please consider this conversationas private. Good-night.'