FOOTSTEPS IN THE CORRIDOR.
"Upon my word I am very sorry," said the judge. "But what made him go
off so suddenly? I hope there's nobody ill at The Cleeve!" And then
the judge took his first spoonful of soup.
"No, no; there is nothing of that sort," said Augustus. "His
grandfather wants him, and Orme thought he might as well start at
once. He was always a sudden harum-scarum fellow like that."
"He's a very pleasant, nice young man," said Lady Staveley; "and
never gives himself any airs. I like him exceedingly."
Poor Madeline did not dare to look either at her mother or her
brother, but she would have given much to know whether either of them
were aware of the cause which had sent Peregrine Orme so suddenly
away from the house. At first she thought that Augustus surely did
know, and she was wretched as she thought that he might probably
speak to her on the subject. But he went on talking about Orme and
his abrupt departure till she became convinced that he knew nothing
and suspected nothing of what had occurred.
But her mother said never a word after that eulogium which she had
uttered, and Madeline read that eulogium altogether aright. It said
to her ears that if ever young Orme should again come forward with
his suit, her mother would be prepared to receive him as a suitor;
and it said, moreover, that if that suitor had been already sent away
by any harsh answer, she would not sympathise with that harshness.
The dinner went on much as usual, but Madeline could not bring
herself to say a word. She sat between her brother-in-law, Mr.
Arbuthnot, on one side, and an old friend of her father's, of thirty
years' standing, on the other. The old friend talked exclusively to
Lady Staveley, and Mr. Arbuthnot, though he now and then uttered a
word or two, was chiefly occupied with his dinner. During the last
three or four days she had sat at dinner next to Peregrine Orme, and
it seemed to her now that she always had been able to talk to him.
She had liked him so much too! Was it not a pity that he should have
been so mistaken! And then as she sat after dinner, eating five or
six grapes, she felt that she was unable to recall her spirits and
look and speak as she was wont to do: a thing had happened which had
knocked the ground from under her--had thrown her from her equipoise,
and now she lacked the strength to recover herself and hide her
dismay.
After dinner, while the gentlemen were still in the dining-room, she
got a book, and nobody disturbed her as she sat alone pretending to
read it. There never had been any intimate friendship between her and
Miss Furnival, and that young lady was now employed in taking the
chief part in a general conversation about wools. Lady Staveley got
through a good deal of wool in the course of the year, as also did
the wife of the old thirty-years' friend; but Miss Furnival, short as
her experience had been, was able to give a few hints to them both,
and did not throw away the occasion. There was another lady there,
rather deaf, to whom Mrs. Arbuthnot devoted herself, and therefore
Madeline was allowed to be alone.
Then the men came in, and she was obliged to come forward and
officiate at the tea-table. The judge insisted on having the teapot
and urn brought into the drawing-room, and liked to have his cup
brought to him by one of his own daughters. So she went to work and
made the tea; but still she felt that she scarcely knew how to go
through her task. What had happened to her that she should be thus
beside herself, and hardly capable of refraining from open tears?
She knew that her mother was looking at her, and that now and again
little things were done to give her ease if any ease were possible.
"Is anything the matter with my Madeline?" said her father, looking
up into her face, and holding the hand from which he had taken his
cup.
"No, papa; only I have got a headache."
"A headache, dear; that's not usual with you."
"I have seen that she has not been well all the evening," said Lady
Staveley; "but I thought that perhaps she might shake it off. You had
better go, my dear, if you are suffering. Isabella, I'm sure, will
pour out the tea for us."
And so she got away, and skulked slowly up stairs to her own room.
She felt that it was skulking. Why should she have been so weak as to
have fled in that way? She had no headache--nor was it heartache that
had now upset her. But a man had spoken to her openly of love, and no
man had ever so spoken to her before.
She did not go direct to her own chamber, but passed along the
corridor towards her mother's dressing-room. It was always her custom
to remain there some half-hour before she went to bed, doing little
things for her mother, and chatting with any other girl who might be
intimate enough to be admitted there. Now she might remain there for
an hour alone without danger of being disturbed; and she thought to
herself that she would remain there till her mother came, and then
unburthen herself of the whole story.
As she went along the corridor she would have to pass the room which
had been given up to Felix Graham. She saw that the door was ajar,
and as she came close up to it, she found the nurse in the act of
coming out from the room. Mrs. Baker had been a very old servant in
the judge's family, and had known Madeline from the day of her birth.
Her chief occupation for some years had been nursing when there was
anybody to nurse, and taking a general care and surveillance of the
family's health when there was no special invalid to whom she could
devote herself. Since Graham's accident she had been fully employed,
and had greatly enjoyed the opportunities it had given her.
Mrs. Baker was in the doorway as Madeline attempted to pass by on
tiptoe. "Oh, he's a deal better now, Miss Madeline, so that you
needn't be afeard of disturbing;--ain't you, Mr. Graham?" So she was
thus brought into absolute contact with her friend, for the first
time since he had hurt himself.
[Illustration: Footsteps in the corridor.]
"Indeed I am," said Felix; "I only wish they'd let me get up and go
down stairs. Is that Miss Staveley, Mrs. Baker?"
"Yes, sure. Come, my dear, he's got his dressing-gown on, and you may
just come to the door and ask him how he does."
"I am very glad to hear that you are so much better, Mr. Graham,"
said Madeline, standing in the doorway with averted eyes, and
speaking with a voice so low that it only just reached his ears.
"Thank you, Miss Staveley; I shall never know how to express what I
feel for you all."
"And there's none of 'em have been more anxious about you than she,
I can tell you; and none of 'em ain't kinder-hearteder," said Mrs.
Baker.
"I hope you will be up soon and be able to come down to the
drawing-room," said Madeline. And then she did glance round, and for
a moment saw the light of his eye as he sat upright in the bed. He
was still pale and thin, or at least she fancied so, and her heart
trembled within her as she thought of the danger he had passed.
"I do so long to be able to talk to you again; all the others come
and visit me, but I have only heard the sounds of your footsteps as
you pass by."
"And yet she always walks like a mouse," said Mrs. Baker.
"But I have always heard them," he said. "I hope Marian thanked you
for the books. She told me how you had gotten them for me."
"She should not have said anything about them; it was Augustus who
thought of them," said Madeline.
"Marian comes to me four or five times a day," he continued; "I do
not know what I should do without her."
"I hope she is not noisy," said Madeline.
"Laws, miss, he don't care for noise now, only he ain't good at
moving yet, and won't be for some while."
"Pray take care of yourself, Mr. Graham," she said; "I need not
tell you how anxious we all are for your recovery. Good night, Mr.
Graham." And then she passed on to her mother's dressing-room, and
sitting herself down in an arm-chair opposite to the fire began to
think--to think, or else to try to think.
And what was to be the subject of her thoughts? Regarding Peregrine
Orme there was very little room for thinking. He had made her an
offer, and she had rejected it as a matter of course, seeing that she
did not love him. She had no doubt on that head, and was well aware
that she could never accept such an offer. On what subject then was
it necessary that she should think?
How odd it was that Mr. Graham's room door should have been open
on this especial evening, and that nurse should have been standing
there, ready to give occasion for that conversation! That was the
idea that first took possession of her brain. And then she recounted
all those few words which had been spoken as though they had had some
special value--as though each word had been laden with interest. She
felt half ashamed of what she had done in standing there and speaking
at his bedroom door, and yet she would not have lost the chance for
worlds. There had been nothing in what had passed between her and the
invalid. The very words, spoken elsewhere, or in the presence of her
mother and sister, would have been insipid and valueless; and yet she
sat there feeding on them as though they were of flavour so rich that
she could not let the sweetness of them pass from her. She had been
stunned at the idea of poor Peregrine's love, and yet she never asked
herself what was this new feeling. She did not inquire--not yet at
least--whether there might be danger in such feelings.
She remained there, with eyes fixed on the burning coals, till her
mother came up. "What, Madeline," said Lady Staveley, "are you here
still? I was in hopes you would have been in bed before this."
"My headache is gone now, mamma; and I waited because--"
"Well, dear; because what?" and her mother came and stood over her
and smoothed her hair. "I know very well that something has been the
matter. There has been something; eh, Madeline?"
"Yes, mamma."
"And you have remained up that we may talk about it. Is that it,
dearest?"
"I did not quite mean that, but perhaps it will be best. I can't be
doing wrong, mamma, in telling you."
"Well; you shall judge of that yourself;" and Lady Staveley sat down
on the sofa so that she was close to the chair which Madeline still
occupied. "As a general rule I suppose you could not be doing wrong;
but you must decide. If you have any doubt, wait till to-morrow."
"No, mamma; I will tell you now. Mr. Orme--"
"Well, dearest. Did Mr. Orme say anything specially to you before he
went away?"
"He--he--"
"Come to me, Madeline, and sit here. We shall talk better then."
And the mother made room beside her on the sofa for her daughter,
and Madeline, running over, leaned with her head upon her mother's
shoulder. "Well, darling; what did he say? Did he tell you that he
loved you?"
"Yes, mamma."
"And you answered him--"
"I could only tell him--"
"Yes, I know. Poor fellow! But, Madeline, is he not an excellent
young man;--one, at any rate, that is lovable? Of course in such a
matter the heart must answer for itself. But I, looking at the offer
as a mother--I could have been well pleased--"
"But, mamma, I could not--"
"Well, love, there shall be an end of it; at least for the present.
When I heard that he had gone suddenly away I thought that something
had happened."
"I am so sorry that he should be unhappy, for I know that he is
good."
"Yes, he is good; and your father likes him, and Augustus. In such a
matter as this, Madeline, I would never say a word to persuade you. I
should think it wrong to do so. But it may be, dearest, that he has
flurried you by the suddenness of his offer; and that you have not
yet thought much about it."
"But, mamma, I know that I do not love him."
"Of course. That is natural. It would have been a great misfortune if
you had loved him before you had reason to know that he loved you;--a
great misfortune. But now,--now that you cannot but think of him, now
that you know what his wishes are, perhaps you may learn--"
"But I have refused him, and he has gone away."
"Young gentlemen under such circumstances sometimes come back again."
"He won't come back, mamma, because--because I told him so plainly--I
am sure he understands that it is all to be at an end."
"But if he should, and if you should then think differently towards
him--"
"Oh, no!"
"But if you should, it may be well that you should know how all your
friends esteem him. In a worldly view the marriage would be in all
respects prudent; and as to disposition and temper, which I admit are
much more important, I confess I think that he has all the qualities
best adapted to make a wife happy. But, as I said before, the heart
must speak for itself."
"Yes; of course. And I know that I shall never love him;--not in that
way."
"You may be sure, dearest, that there will be no constraint put
upon you. It might be possible that I or your papa should forbid a
daughter's marriage, if she had proposed to herself an imprudent
match; but neither he nor I would ever use our influence with a child
to bring about a marriage because we think it prudent in a worldly
point of view." And then Lady Staveley kissed her daughter.
"Dear mamma, I know how good you are to me." And she answered her
mother's embrace by the pressure of her arm. But nevertheless she did
not feel herself to be quite comfortable. There was something in
the words which her mother had spoken which grated against her most
cherished feelings;--something, though she by no means knew what.
Why had her mother cautioned her in that way, that there might be a
case in which she would refuse her sanction to a proposed marriage?
Isabella's marriage had been concluded with the full agreement of
the whole family; and she, Madeline, had certainly never as yet
given cause either to father or mother to suppose that she would
be headstrong and imprudent. Might not the caution have been
omitted?--or was it intended to apply in any way to circumstances as
they now existed?
"You had better go now, dearest," said Lady Staveley, "and for
the present we will not think any more about this gallant young
knight." And then Madeline, having said good night, went off rather
crestfallen to her own room. In doing so she again had to pass
Graham's door, and as she went by it, walking not quite on tiptoe,
she could not help asking herself whether or no he would really
recognise the sound of her footsteps.
It is hardly necessary to say that Lady Staveley had conceived
to herself a recognised purpose in uttering that little caution
to her daughter; and she would have been quite as well pleased
had circumstances taken Felix Graham out of her house instead of
Peregrine Orme. But Felix Graham must necessarily remain for the next
fortnight, and there could be no possible benefit in Orme's return,
at any rate till Graham should have gone.