A CRISIS.
Marian, whom her mother tenderly put to sleep that night, as if she had
been a child, yet who lay awake in the long cold hours before the dawn
in a vague and indescribable emotion, her heart stirring within her like
something which did not belong to her--a new and strange
existence--slept late the next morning, exhausted and worn out with all
this sudden and stormy influx of unknown feelings. Mamma, who, on the
contrary, was very early astir, came into the bed-chamber of her
daughters at quite an unusual hour, and, thankfully perceiving Marian’s
profound youthful slumber, stood gazing at the beautiful sleeper with
tears in her eyes. Paler than usual, with a shadow under her closed
eyelids, and still a little dew upon the long lashes--with one hand laid
in childish fashion under her cheek, and the other lying, with its
pearly rose-tipped fingers, upon the white coverlid, Marian, but for the
moved and human agitation which evidently had worn itself into repose,
might have looked like the enchanted beauty of the tale--but indeed she
was rather more like a child who had wept itself to sleep. Her sister,
stealing softly from her side, left her sleeping, and they put the door
ajar that they might hear when she stirred before they went, with hushed
steps and speaking in a whisper, down stairs.
Mrs Atheling was disturbed more than she would tell; what she did say,
as Agnes and she sat over their silent breakfast-table, was an expedient
which herself had visibly no faith in. “My dear, we must try to prevent
him saying anything,” said Mrs Atheling, with her anxious brow: it was
not necessary to name names, for neither of them could forget the scene
of last night.
Then by-and-by Mamma spoke again. “I almost fancy we should go home; she
might forget it if she were away. Agnes, my love, you must persuade him
not to say anything; he pays great attention to what you say.”
“But, mamma--Marian?” said Agnes.
“Oh, Agnes, Agnes, my dear beautiful child,” said Mrs Atheling, with a
sudden access of emotion, “it was only friendship, sympathy--her kind
heart; she will think no more of it, if nothing occurs to put it into
her head.”
Agnes did not say anything, though she was extremely doubtful on this
subject; but then it was quite evident that Mamma had no faith in her
own prognostications, and regarded this first inroad into the family
with a mixture of excitement, dread, and agitation which it was not
comfortable to see.
After their pretended breakfast, mother and daughter once more stole
up-stairs. They had not been in the room a moment, when Marian
woke--woke--started with fright and astonishment to see Agnes dressed,
and her mother standing beside her; and beginning to recollect, suddenly
blushed, and turning away her face, burning with that violent suffusion
of colour, exclaimed, “I could not help it--I could not help it; would
you stand by and see them drive him mad? Oh mamma, mamma!”
“My darling, no one thinks of blaming you,” said Mrs Atheling, who
trembled a good deal, and looked very anxious. “We were all very sorry
for him, poor fellow; and you only did what you should have done, like a
brave little friend--what I should have done myself, had I been next to
him,” said Mamma, with great gravity and earnestness, but decidedly
overdoing her part.
This did not seem quite a satisfactory speech to Marian. She turned away
again petulantly, dried her eyes, and with a sidelong glance at Agnes,
asked, “Why did you not wake me?--it looks quite late. I am not ill, am
I? I am sure I do not understand it--why did you let me sleep?”
“Hush, darling! because you were tired and late last night,” said Mamma.
Now this sympathy and tenderness seemed rather alarming than soothing to
Marian. Her colour varied rapidly, her breath came quick, tears gathered
to her eyes. “Has anything happened while I have been sleeping?” she
asked hastily, and in a very low tone.
“No, no, my love, nothing at all,” said Mamma tenderly, “only we thought
you must be tired.”
“Both you and Agnes were as late as me,--why were not you tired?” said
Marian, still with a little jealous fear. “Please, mamma, go away; I
want to get dressed and come down stairs.”
They left her to dress accordingly, but still with some anxiety and
apprehension, and Mamma waited for Marian in her own room, while Agnes
went down to the parlour--just in time, for as she took her seat, Louis,
flushed and impatient, burst in at the door.
Louis made a most hasty salutation, and was a great deal too eager and
hurried to be very well bred. He looked round the room with sudden
anxiety and disappointment. “Where is she?--I must see Marian,” cried
Louis. “What! you do not mean to say she is ill, after last night?”
“Not ill, but in her own room,” said Agnes, somewhat confused by the
question.
“I will wait as long as you please, if I must wait,” said Louis
impatiently; “but, Agnes! why should you be against me? Of course, I
forget myself; do you grudge that I should? I forget everything except
last night; let me see Marian. I promise you I will not distress her,
and if she bids me, I will go away.”
“No, it is not that,” said Agnes with hesitation; “but, Louis, nothing
happened last night--pray do not think of it. Well, then,” she said
earnestly, as his hasty gesture denied what she said, “mamma begs you,
Louis, not to say anything to-day.”
He turned round upon her with a blank but haughty look. “I
understand--my disgrace must not come here,” he said; “but _she_ did not
mind it; she, the purest lily upon earth! Ah! so that was a dream, was
it? And her mother--her mother says I am to go away?”
“No, indeed--no,” said Agnes, almost crying. “No, Louis, you know
better; do not misunderstand us. She is so young, so gentle, and tender.
Mamma only asked, for all our sakes, if you would consent not to say
anything _now_.”
To this softened form of entreaty the eager young man paid not the
slightest attention. He began to use the most unblushing cajolery to
win over poor Agnes. It did not seem to be Louis; so entirely changed
was his demeanour. It was only an extremely eager and persevering
specimen of the genus “lover,” without any personal individuality at
all.
“What! not say anything? Could anybody ask such a sacrifice?” cried this
wilful and impetuous youth. “It might, as you say, be nothing at all,
though it seems life--existence, to me. Not know whether that hand is
mine or another’s--that hand which saved me, perhaps from murder?--for
he is an old man, though he is a fiend incarnate, and I might have
killed him where he stood.”
“Louis! Louis!” cried Agnes, gazing at him in terror and excitement. He
grew suddenly calm as he caught her eye.
“It is quite true,” he said with a grave and solemn calmness. “This man,
who has cursed my life, and made it miserable--this man, who dared
insult me before _her_ and you--do you think I could have been a man,
and still have borne that intolerable crown of wrong?”
As he spoke, he began to pace the little parlour with impatient steps
and a clouded brow. Mrs Atheling, who had heard his voice, but had
restrained her anxious curiosity as long as possible, now came down
quietly, unable to keep back longer. Louis sprang to her side, took her
hand, led her about the room, pleading, reasoning, persuading. Mamma,
whose good heart from the first moment had been an entire and perfect
traitor, was no match at all for Louis. She gave in to him unresistingly
before half his entreaties were over; she did not make even half so good
a stand as Agnes, who secretly was in the young lover’s interest too.
But when they had just come to the conclusion that he should be
permitted to see Marian, Marian herself, whom no one expected, suddenly
entered the room. The young beauty’s pretty brow was lowering more than
any one before had ever seen it lower; a petulant contraction was about
her red lips, and a certain angry dignity, as of an offended child, in
her bearing. “Surely something very strange has happened this morning,”
said Marian, with a little heat; “even mamma looks as if she knew some
wonderful secret. I suppose every one is to hear of it but me.”
At this speech the dismayed conspirators against Marian’s peace fell
back and separated. The other impetuous principal in the matter hastened
at once to the angry Titania, who only bowed, and did not even look at
him. The truth was, that Marian, much abashed at thought of her own
sudden impulse, was never in a mood less propitious; she felt as if she
herself had not done quite right--as if somehow she had betrayed a
secret of her own, and, now found out and detected, was obliged to use
the readiest means to cover it up again; and, besides, the hasty little
spirit, which had both pride and temper of its own, could not at all
endure the idea of having been petted and excused this morning, as if
“something had happened” last night. Now that it was perfectly evident
nothing had happened--now that Louis stood before her safe, handsome,
and eager, Marian concluded that it was time for her to stand upon her
defence.