When Isola came on the Thursday, and I obtained some little glimpse of
her, she expressed her joy in a thousand natural ways, well worth
feeling and seeing, not at all worth telling. I loved her for them more
and more. I never met a girl so warm of heart. Many women can sulk for
days; most women can sulk for an hour; I believe that no provocation
could have made Isola sulky for two minutes. She tried sometimes (at
least she said so), but it was no good.
And yet she felt as keenly as any of the very sulkiest women can do; but
she had too much warmth of heart and imagination to live in the folds of
that cold-blooded snake. Neither had she the strong selfishness, on
which that serpent feeds.
In the afternoon, as we still sat together, in rushed Mrs. Shelfer with
her bonnet on, quite out of breath, and without her usual ceremony of
knocking at the door. I could not think where she had been all the day;
and she had made the greatest mystery of it in the morning, and wanted
to have it noticed. Up she ran to me now, and pushed Isola out of the
way.
"Got 'em at last, Miss. Got 'em at last, and no mistake. No more Dr.
Franks, nor bandages, nor curtains down, nor nothing. Save a deal of
trouble and do it in no time. But what a job I had to get them to be
sure; if the cook's mate hadn't knowed Charley, they would not have let
me had 'em, after going all the way to Wapping." She holds up something
in triumph.
"What is it, Mrs. Shelfer? I am sorry to say I cannot see."
"And right down glad of it, I am, my good friend. Yes, yes. Or I should
have had all my journey for nothing. But Miss Idols knows, I'll be
bound she does, or it's no good going to College."
"Let me look at it first," says Isola, "we learn almost everything at
college, Mrs. Shelfer; but even we senior sophists don't know every
thing without seeing it yet."
"Then put your pretty eyes on them, Miss Idols; I'll be bound it will
make them caper. I never see such fine ones, nor the cook's mate
either. Why they're as big as young whelks."
"Mollusca, or Crustacea, or something!" exclaims Isola, with more pride
than accuracy, "what queer little things. I must take them to my papa."
"Now, young ladies," cried Mrs. Shelfer in her grandest style, "I see I
must explain them to you after all. Them's the blessed shells the poor
sailors put in their eyes to scour them out, and keep them bright, and
make them see in the dark against the wind. Only see how they crawls.
There now, Miss Valence, I'll pick you out two big lively fellows, and
pop one for you in the corner of each eye; the cook's mate showed me how
to lift your eyelids."
"How kind of him, to be sure!'
"And it will crawl about under the lid, you must not mind its hurting a
bit; and it won't come out till to-morrow when the clock strikes twelve,
and then it will have eaten up every bit, and your eyes will be brighter
than diamonds. Charley has seen them do it ever so many times, and he
says it's bootiful, and they don't mind giving five shillings a piece
for them, when they are scarce."
"Did Mr. Shelfer ever try them? His eyes are so sharp: perhaps that is
the reason."
"No. I never heard that he did, Miss. But bless you he never tells me
half he does; no, nor a quarter of half." At this recollection, she
fetches a little short sigh, her nearest approach to melancholy, for she
is not sentimental. "Care killed the cat," is her favourite aphorism.
"Then when he comes home, Mrs. Shelfer, pop one of these shells, a good
big one, into each of his eyes; and let us know the effect to-morrow
morning, and I'll give you a kiss, if you do it well."
This is the bribe Isola finds most potent with everybody.
"Lor, Miss Idols, bless your innocent heart, do you suppose he would let
me? Why he thinks it a great thing to let me tie his shoe, and he won't
only when he has had a good dinner."
"Well," cries Isola, "I am astonished! Catch me tying my husband's
shoes! I shall expect him to tie mine, I know; and he shall only do
that when he is very good."
With a regal air, she puts out the prettiest foot ever seen. Mrs.
Shelfer laughs.
"Lor, Miss, it's all very well for girls to talk; and they all does it,
till they knows better. Though for the likes of you, any one would do
anything a most. Pray, Miss Idols, if I may make so bold, how many
offers of marriage have you received?"
"Let me think! Oh I know! it's one more than I am years old. Eighteen
altogether, Mrs. Shelfer; if you count the apothecary's boy, and the
nephew of the library; but then they were all of them boys, papa's
pupils and that, a deal too young for me. They were all going to die,
when I refused them; but they are all alive so far, at any rate. Isn't
it too bad of them?"
"Well, Miss Idols, if you get as good a husband as you deserve, and that
is saying a deal, he'll tie your shoe may be for a month, and then he'll
look for you to tie his."
"And long he may look, even if he has shellfish in his eyes. Why look,
Mrs. Shelfer, they're all crawling about!"
"Bootiful, isn't it? Bootiful! I wish Miss Valence could see them.
And look at the horns they goes routing about with! How they must
tickle your eyelids. And what coorious eyes they has! Ah, I often
think, Miss Idols, I likes this sort of thing so much, what a pity it is
as I wasn't born in the country. I should never be tired of watching
the snails, and the earywigs, and the tadpoles. Why, I likes nothing
better than to see them stump-legged things come to table in the
cabbage. I have not seen one now for ever so long. Oh that Charley,
what dreadful lies he do tell!"
"What about, Mrs. Shelfer?"
"Why, my good friend, he says them green things with stripes on, and
ever so many legs, turns to live butterflies, after they be dead. But I
was too many for him there. Yes, yes. The last one as I boiled, I did
not say a word about it to him, but I put it by in a chiney-teacup, with
the saucer over, in case it should fly away. Bless your heart, young
ladies, there it is now, as quiet as anything, and no signs of a
butterfly. And when he tells me any lies, about where he was last night,
I just goes to the cupboard, and shows him that; and never another word
can he say. And so, Miss Valence, you won't try these little snails,
after my journey and all!"
"Of course I won't, Mrs. Shelfer. But I am sincerely obliged to you for
your trouble, as well as for all your kind nursing, which I can never
forget. Now let me buy those shellfish from you, and Miss Isola will
take them as a present to her papa."
"No, no, unless he will put them in his eyes, Miss. I won't have them
wasted. Charley will sell them again in no time. He knows lots of
sailors. Most likely he'll get up a raffle for them, and win them
himself."
Away she hurries to take off the bonnet she has been so proud of, for
the last two and twenty years. Though I declined the services of the
ophthalmist snails, my sight returned very rapidly. How delicious it
was to see more and more every day! Plenty of cold water was the
present regimen. Vision is less a vision, every time I use it. In a
week more, I can see quite well, though obliged to wear a shade.
One morning, dear Isola runs upstairs, out of breath as usual; but, what
is most unusual, actually frowning. Has Cora tyrannised, or what?
Through the very shade of her frown, comes her sunny smile, as she
kisses me.
"Oh, I am so vexed. I have brought him to the door; and now he won't
come in!"
"Who, my darling?"
"Why, Conny, to be sure. My brother Conrad. I had set my heart on
showing him to you, directly you could see."
"Why won't he come in?"
"Because he thinks that you ought not to see strangers, until you are
quite well. He has not got to the corner yet. I can run like a deer.
Send word by me, that you are dying to see him."
"Not quite that. But say how glad I shall be."
"I'll say that you won't get well till you do."
"Say what you like. He will know it's only your nonsense."
Off she darts; she is quick as light in her movements, and soon returns
with her brother.
I lift my weak eyes to his bright ones, and recognise at once the
preserver of my mother and myself. But I see, in a moment, that he has
not the faintest remembrance of me. My whole face is altered by my
accident, and even my voice affected by the long confinement. When he
met me in the wood, he seemed very anxious not to look at me; when he
saved my life from the rushing mountain, he had little opportunity.
Very likely he would not have known me, under another name; even without
this illness. So let it be. I will not reveal myself. I thanked him
once, and he repulsed me; no doubt he had a reason, for I see that he is
a gentleman. Let that reason hold good: I will not trespass on it.
He took my hand with a smile, the counterpart of Isola's. He had heard
of me so constantly, that I must excuse the liberty. A dear friend of
his sister's could be no stranger to him. A thrill shot through me at
the touch of his hand, and my eyes were weak. He saw it, and placed a
chair for me further from the light. On his own face, not the sun, for
the "drawing-room" windows look north, but the strong reflection of the
noon-day light was falling.
How like he is to Isola, and yet how different! So much stronger, and
bolder, and more decided, so tall and firm of step. His countenance
open as the noon, incapable of concealment; yet if he be the same (and,
how can I doubt it?), then at least there seemed to be some mystery
about him.
Isola, with the quickness of a girl, saw how intently I observed him,
and could not hide her delight.
"There now, Clara dear, I knew you would like him. But you must not look
at him so much, or your poor eyes will be sore."
Little stupid! As I felt my pale cheeks colouring, I could almost have
been angry, even with my Isola. But she meant no harm. In spite of
lectures and "college," she was gentle nature personified; and no
Professors could make anything else of her. All these things run in the
grain. If there is anything I hate, I am sure I hate affectation. But
there is a difference between us.
Probably it is this: I am of pure English blood, and she is not. That I
know by instinct. What blood she is of, I am sure I cannot tell.
Gentle blood at any rate, or I could not have loved her so. How
horribly narrow-minded, after all my objectivity! Well, what I mean is,
that I can like and love many people who are not of gentle, but (I
suppose) of ferocious blood; still, as a general rule, culture and
elegance are better matches for nature, after some generations of
training. My father used to say so about his pointers and setters. The
marvel is that I, who belong to this old streak, seem to have got some
twist in it. My grandmother would have swooned at the names of some
people I love more than I could have loved her. My mother would not.
But then she was a Christian. Probably that is the secret of my twist.
All this has passed through my mind, before I can frown at Isola. And
now I cannot frown at all. Dear little thing, she is not eighteen, and
she knows no better. I have attained that Englishwoman's majority three
weeks ago; and I am sorry for Isola.
To break the awkwardness, her brother starts off into subjects of art.
He has heard of my drawings, may he see them some day? I ask him about
the magnificent stag. Yes, that is his, and I have no idea how long it
took him to do. He speaks of it with no conceit whatever; neither with
any depreciation, for the purpose of tempting praise. As he speaks, I
observe some peculiarity in his accent. Isola's accent is as pure as
mine, or purer. Her brother speaks very good English, and never
hesitates for a word; but the form of his sentences often is not
English; especially when he warms to his subject; and (what struck me
first, for I am no purist as to collocation of words) his accent, his
emphasis is not native. The difference is very slight, and quite
indescribable; but a difference there is. Perhaps it is rather a
difference of the order of thought than of language, as regards the cast
of the sentence; but that will not account for the accent; and if it
would, it still shows another nationality.
There is a loud knock at the door. I am just preparing (with Isola's
help) my little hospitalities. If London visits mean much talk and no
food, I hold by Gloucestershire and Devon. I have a famous North Devon
ham, and am proud of its fame. Surely no more visitors for me.
No; but one for Mrs. Shelfer. The Professor has heard of the eyeshells;
and what politeness, humanity, love of his daughter failed to do,
science has effected. He is come to see and secure them. His children
hear his voice. Of course, we must ask him to come up. Mr. Conrad
rises. Isola runs to fetch her father. Isola loves everybody. I do
believe she loves old Cora. Conrad is of sterner stuff: but surely he
loves his father. As for me--we were just getting on so well--I wanted
no Professor. Isola's brother will not tell a lie. He does not
remember, all at once, any pressing engagement. He holds out his hand,
saying simply,
"Miss Valence, I heartily beg your pardon for leaving so suddenly; and
just when we were giving you so much trouble. It would be impertinence
for me to tell you the reason. It is a domestic matter. I trust you
will believe me, that no light reason would make me rude. May I come
again with Isola, to see your drawings soon?"
He meets the Professor on the stairs. The latter enters the room, under
evil auspices for my good opinion.