"Oh, here you are," said Lucy when shortly after breakfast next morning
she found Everard enjoying a cigar in the piazza. "You needn't think to
escape by going off in that unceremonious manner last night, so you may
as well listen now, for I intend to express my sentiments some time or
other."
"I am all attention Miss Lucy, only I hope you don't object to my
cigar."
"Not at all, it will make you more patient perhaps."
"Shouldn't wonder, as I'm afraid from your preamble it is nothing I care
to hear."
"Everard!" then with a shrug. "Of course you don't."
Everard laughed. "You stupid fellow, won't you be quiet and hear what I
have to say."
"Oh certainly."
"I wish to remind you, that you need not go goodness knows how many
hundred miles to find people to convert, as there are plenty nearer
home."
"No doubt, and also, others near home anxious to convert them."
"And do you think, that no one but yourself would go to that outlandish
place."
"Very few, comparatively; of course there are some."
"Mighty few I expect."
"Then you see an additional reason, why I should."
"I have not seen any yet, so of course cant't see additional ones" she
answered saucily. "I tell you what you had better do, stay and convert
me, and that will take you a precious long time I promise you."
"Lucy!"
"Oh, how grave you are, I wish you could see your face."
"You forget what you are talking about, Lucy, or you would not speak so"
he said gravely, "I cannot believe that you are in earnest."
"Of course I don't mean half I say, I never do, I did not think you
would take it so seriously."
"It is a bad way to get into, Lucy."
"Don't be alarmed" cried Lucy laughing, "I'm not so awfully wicked as
you imagine. I know, that I am very wild, and thoughtless, and that that
school did not do me any good, but for all that, I'm not quite a
heathen."
"Be merry and wise," he said kindly but gravely."
"That is not so easy" returned Lucy with a gulp, "you may think so, you
are so mild tempered; but with one, so impulsive, and high spirited as I
am, it is very hard, almost impossible; that's always the way with you
quiet, easy going people, you have no sympathy with us."
"Oh, Lucy, how apt we are to form wrong opinions, you think me quiet,
easy, gentle, I may be so, but I am also passionate, determined, and you
say selfish; be that as it may, I cannot give up without a very hard
struggle, not even then usually. I am unyielding. Persevering and firm,
Emily would say, self-willed and obstinate, Grace would call me."
"I can't believe you."
"It is true."
"But to resume our discussion; it is really too provoking to take Isabel
off to that outlandish place."
"It is settled, all the talking in the world can't make any difference,"
he said with the quiet smile, and languid manner, that made it so hard
to believe that he was indeed what he had described.
In the evening Susan brought a note to Isabel, as she and Everard were
walking on the terrace. Isabel turned deadly pale on observing the
handwriting, "it is from Dr. Tachereau" she exclaimed.
"Let me open it" said Everard seeing her agitation.
"A poisoned letter perhaps."
"Oh Everard, such things only happen in story books, but if you really
think so, it had better go at the back of the fire."
"The fire is the right place for it no doubt, but I have a curiosity to
see the inside first, some impertinence you may be sure."
"Perhaps to inform us, that he will bring his pistols to the church, if
we dare to venture there, said Isabel breaking the seal. She opened it,
but a sickening faintness overpowered her, and she was unable to read.
He had now succeeded in making her fear him, while his vindictiveness
had been solely against herself, she had defied him, but now, that
another was menaced she trembled for his safety.
"Let me see this madman's effusion" said Everard soothingly, "Why I
declare you are quite ill, take this seat and I will read for our mutual
edification."
Casting an anxious glance towards Isabel occasionally to ascertain if
she was recovering from her agitation, he read a follow's:
DEAR ISABEL,--(cool muttered Everard). What a fool I was the other
night, can you, will you, forgive me. Could you know the remorse
and misery I have suffered since, or the feeling of thankfulness
with which I heard that I had not seriously injured either of you;
I think you would. What a reward for your kindness to my poor
Natalie; what a return for your sympathy in my trouble. When had
you rejoiced at my misfortune, I could scarcely have been
surprised. But I loved myself, and my own way, and you thwarted me
twice; but enough of the past. I dare not contemplate it. Let me
however say a few words in extenuation of my folly. You can never
know what I endured that evening, to see the regard once bestowed
on me, transferred to another, to see that I was nothing,--that I
was entirely, unmistakeably forgotten,--perhaps detested; for you
treated me with unnecessary coldness. All this so worked upon my
unhappy temperament until nearly mad with anger and jealousy,
I did that, for which I now beseech you to forgive me. I shall
never see you again, as the thought of your marrying another is so
hateful to me that I dare not trust myself in your presence after
the dark glimpse I have had of my evil nature. I did not think I
could be so wicked. Farewell, I still remain your loving, though
now unloved--LOUIS.
Everard deliberately tore the note into fragments, with the same
expression that Dr. Heathfield had remarked, while an angry flush
suffused his countenance. But there was more of pity, than of anger, in
Isabel's mind, and she did not notice his displeasure. And as Rose at
this moment came to call them in, to see Mrs. Arnold, of course no
comment was passed on the letter; though Everard's unusual gloominess
that evening, proved that he had not forgotten it.
Mrs. Arnold was very fussy as usual, and told many amusing anecdotes
regarding her journey, and also gave an immense amount of good advice to
both Everard and Isabel, for which of course they were duly grateful.
"Really my dear Mabel" said Mrs. Arnold, "I never was more glad in my
life, than when I heard of this match, I was positively delighted. But
you must not suppose for a moment, that I had any such idea; when I got
her the situation."
Isabel looked annoyed, "naughty girl" said Mrs. Arlington, and then it
came out, how foolishly sensitive, (as Mrs. Arlington termed it,) Isabel
had always been, regarding her position. "Never mind, dear," said Mrs.
Arnold kindly, "It is all over now, but still I should have thought that
you had been a governess long enough to get used to it."
"Please don't pleaded Isabel, resolutely forcing back the tears which
invariably came, at any allusion to the distasteful subject. And
Everard, who until now had been unaware of her extreme dislike of being
a governess admired her the more, that while hating her position so
much, she had so determinately refused him, as long as she felt, that
she did not return his affection.
"How is it my dear" inquired Mrs. Arnold, who seemed destined to-night
to hit upon the wrong topic, "that you have never been to visit any of
your old friends, Mrs. Price, Mrs. Vernon, Miss Carding, and hosts of
others, told me repeatedly, that time after time, they have sent you the
most pressing invitations, all to no purpose."
Isabel reddened painfully, Emily and Lucy laughed.
"That is another of Isabel's 'weaknesses'." Everard looked annoyed.
"Sing some of your comic songs, Harry," he said, wishing to change the
subject. And Harry sung, to the great amusement of the party generally,
and of Mrs. Arnold in particular.
Before they separated, a moonlight excursion to the romantic dell, the
scene of the memorable picnic four years ago, was arranged for the next
evening, and met with universal approbation. All agreeing that the
water-fall could only be seen to perfection by moonlight.