A DISCLOSURE.
"Well, young ladies!" said Mrs. Sam Hurst, "I left you very quiet, but
there seems to be plenty going on now-a-days. What a beautiful moon
there was last night! I put up my window to look at it, and all at once
I found there was a party going on below. Quite a _fête champêtre_. I
have newly come from abroad, you know, and it seemed quite congenial. I
actually rubbed my eyes, and said to myself, 'I can't have come home.
It's Boulogne still, it isn't Carlingford!'"
"There was no company," said Ursula with dignity; "there was only our
own party. A friend of Reginald's and a friend of mine join us often in
the evening, and there is papa's pupil--if you call that a party. We are
just as quiet as when you went away. We never invite strangers. We are
as much by ourselves as ever."
"With a friend of Reginald's, and a friend of yours, and papa's pupil!"
said Mrs. Hurst, laughing; "double your own number, Ursula! and I don't
suppose Janey counts yet. Why, there is a young man too many. How dare
you waste the gifts of Providence, you prodigal child? And now let me
hear who they are."
"You may say Janey doesn't count," cried that young woman in person.
"Oh, Mrs. Hurst, what a bore they are! If that's society, I don't care
for society. One always following Ursula about whenever she moves, so
that you can't say a word to her; and the others pulling poor Phoebe to
pieces, who hates them, I am sure. Phoebe was so jolly at first. She
would talk to you, or she would play for you! Why, she taught Johnnie
and me a part-song to sing with her, and said he had a delightful
voice; but she never has any time to look at us now," said Janey,
stopping in this breathless enumeration of wrongs. "She is always taken
up with those horrible men."
"I suppose you call Reginald a horrible man?" said Ursula, with rising
colour. "If that was my opinion of my own brother, I should take care
not to say it, at least."
"Oh, Reginald isn't the worst! There's your Mr. Northcote, and there's
that Copperhead--Woodenhead, we call him in the nursery. Oh, how papa
can put up with him, I can't tell! he never had any patience with us.
You can't think how dull he is, Mrs. Hurst! I suppose girls don't mind
when a man _goes on_, whether he's stupid or not. I never heard Mr.
Northcote say much that was interesting either; but he looks clever, and
that is always something."
"So Mr. Northcote is Ursula's one," said Mrs. Hurst, laughing. "You are
a perfect jewel, Janey, and I don't know how I should ever find out
anything that's going on, but for you. Northcote! it is a new name in
Carlingford. I wonder I have not heard of him already; or have you kept
him entirely to yourself, and let nobody know that there was a new man
in the place?"
There was a little pause here. The girls knew nothing about Northcote,
except the one fact that he was a Dissenter; but as Mrs. Hurst was an
excellent Churchwoman, much better than they were, who had, perhaps,
been brought up too completely under the shadow of the Church to believe
in it implicitly, they hesitated before pronouncing before her that
unfortunate name.
"I don't know whether you are aware," Ursula said at last, with some
slowness and reluctance, "that papa's pupil is of a Dissenting family.
He is related, through his mother, to our cousins, the Dorsets." (This
fact Ursula put forth with a little triumph, as refuting triumphantly
any ready conclusion as to the social standing of Dissenters.) "I think
Mr. Northcote came first to the house with Mr. Copperhead. He is a
Dissenter too."
"Why, Ursula," cried Mrs. Hurst, "not the man who attacked Reginald in
the Meeting? It was all in the papers. He made a frightful violent
speech about the College and the sinecure, and what a disgraceful thing
it was that your brother, a young man, could accept it. You don't mean
him?"
Ursula was struck dumb. She looked up at her questioner with her lips
falling apart a little, with a look of mingled consternation and fear.
"Of course it can't be," said the gossip, who was not ill-natured. "You
never read the papers, but your papa does, and so does Reginald. Oh,
you may be sure it is some other Northcote, though I don't know the
name."
"Ursula doesn't like to tell you," said Janey; "but he's the Dissenting
Minister, I know he is. Well! I don't care! He is just as good as
anybody else. I don't go in for your illiberal ways of thinking, as if
no one was worth talking to except in the Church. Mr. Northcote is very
nice. I don't mind what you say. Do you mean to tell me that all those
curates and people who used to plague our lives out were nicer? Mr.
Saunders, for instance; he is a real good Churchman, I have always heard
people say--"
"Hold your tongue, Janey; you don't know anything about it," said Mrs.
Hurst, whom this wonderful disclosure elevated into authority. "A
Dissenting Minister! Ah, me! what a thing it is for you poor girls to
have no mother. I did not think your papa would have had so little
consideration as to expose you to society like that. But men are so
thoughtless."
"I don't know what right you have to speak of exposing us to society
like that," cried Ursula, quivering all over with sudden excitement.
She felt as if some one had dug a knife into her, and turned it round in
the wound.
"Men have so little consideration," repeated Mrs. Hurst, "especially
when a girl is concerned. Though how your papa could have received a man
who made such an assault upon him--even if he had passed over the attack
upon Reginald, he was attacked himself."
"It must be a mistake," said Ursula, growing pale. Her hands came
together half-unconsciously, and clasped in a mute gesture of appeal.
"It is not possible; it cannot be true."
"Well, it is very odd that your papa should show such charity, I allow.
I don't think it is in human nature. And Reginald, what does Reginald
say? If it is that man, it will be the strangest thing I ever heard of.
But there could not be two Northcotes, Dissenting Ministers in
Carlingford, could there? It is very strange. I can't think what your
papa can have had in his head. He is a man who would do a thing for a
deep reason, whether he liked it or not. How did this Mr. Northcote come
first here?"
"Oh, it was through Mr. Copperhead," said Janey. "It was the first
dinner-party we had. You should have seen the fright Ursula was in! And
papa would not let me come to dinner, which was a horrid shame. I am
sure I am big enough, bigger than Ursula."
"If he came with the pupil, that makes it all quite plain. I suppose
your papa did not want to quarrel with his pupil. What a predicament for
him, if that was the case! Poor Mr. May! Of course, he did not want to
be uncivil. Why, it was in the 'Gazette,' and the 'Express,' and all the
papers; an account of the Meeting, and that speech, and then a leading
article upon it. I always file the 'Express,' so you can see it if you
like. But what an embarrassment for your poor papa, Ursula, that you
should have taken this man up! And Reginald, how could he put up with
it, a touchy young man, always ready to take offence? You see now the
drawback of not paying a little attention to what is going on round you.
How uncomfortable you must have made them! It might be very well to look
over an offence, not to be unpleasant to the stranger; but that you
should have thoughtlessly led this man on into the position of an
intimate--"
"I did nothing of the sort," cried Ursula, growing red and growing pale,
starting up from her work with a sense of the intolerable which she
could not restrain. "What have I done to be spoken of so? I never led
him on, or any one. What you say is cruel, very cruel! and it is not
true."
"Isn't it true that he was here last night, following you about, as
Janey says? Oh, I know how these sort of things go on. But you ought to
think of your papa's position, and you ought to think of Reginald. If it
was to come to the Bishop's ears that St. Roque's Parsonage was a refuge
for Dissenters! For I know who _your_ friend is, Ursula! That Tozer
girl, another of them! Indeed, I assure you, it makes me feel very
uncomfortable. And Reginald, just at the very beginning of his career."
Ursula did not make any reply. She bent her head down over her work, so
low that her flushed cheeks could scarcely be seen, and went on
stitching with energy and passion such as needles and thread are seldom
the instruments of; and yet how much passion is continually worked away
through needles and thread! Mrs. Hurst sat still for some time, looking
at her, very little satisfied to keep silence, but feeling that she had
discharged an efficient missile, and biting her lips not to say more to
weaken its effect. When some time had passed in this way, and it was
apparent that Ursula had no intention of breaking the silence, her
visitor got up and shook out her skirts with a little flutter of
indignation.
"You are offended," she said, "though I must say it is very ill on your
part to be offended. What motive can I have but your good, and regard
for your poor dear papa? It is he that is always the victim, poor man,
whether it is your vagaries he has to pay for, or Reginald's
high-flying. Oh, yes; you may be as angry as you like, Ursula; but you
will find out the difference if your encouragement of this Dissenter
interferes with something better--a living for Reginald, perhaps, or
better preferment for your poor papa."
"Oh!" cried Janey, awe-stricken; "but after all, it was not Ursula; it
was papa himself. I think he must have done it to please Mr. Copperhead;
for, Mrs. Hurst, you know Mr. Copperhead is very important. We have all
to give in to him. He pays papa three hundred a-year."
"Three thousand wouldn't make up for it if it spoilt all your career,"
cried the indignant woman, and she swept away without saying any more to
Ursula, who kept quite still over her work without budging. Janey went
downstairs meekly after her to open the door, whispering an entreaty
that she would not be angry.
"No, no, I am not angry," said Mrs. Hurst, "but I shall keep it up for a
day or two. It is the best thing for her. I think she was struck with
what I said."
Janey stole upstairs again, feeling rather guilty; but Ursula took
little notice of her. The dinner was ordered and everything settled for
the day. She was busy with her week's mending and darning, with the
stockings and other things in a big basket beside her. When she came to
some articles belonging to Janey, she threw them out with great
impatience.
"You may surely mend your things yourself, you are big enough. You can
talk for yourself and me too," cried Ursula with sudden impetuosity; and
then she sat and worked, her needle flying through the meshes of her
darning, though it is hard to darn stockings in that impassioned way.
They were socks of Johnnie's, however, with holes in the heels that you
could put your fist through, and the way in which the big spans filled
themselves up under this influence was wonderful to see. Janey, who was
not fond of mending, set to work quite humbly under the influence of
this example, and made two or three attempts to begin a conversation but
without avail.
The girls were seated thus in a disturbed and restless silence, working
as if for their lives, when the usual little jar of the gate and sound
of the bell downstairs announced a visitor. On ordinary occasions, they
were both in the habit of rushing to the window when the gate was opened
to see who was coming, and Janey had thrown aside her work to do so when
a look from Ursula stopped her. High-spirited as Janey was, she did not
dare to disobey that look. By right of the passion that had got
possession of her, Ursula took the absolute command of the situation in
a way she had never done before, and some sudden intuition made her
aware who it was who was coming. The girls both sat there still and
breathless, waiting for his appearance. He never came in the day, never
had been seen in the Parsonage at that hour before, and yet Ursula was
as certain who it was as if she had seen him a mile off. He came into
the room, himself looking a little breathless and disturbed, and gave a
quick impatient look at Janey as he went up to her sister. Ursula saw it
and understood well enough. Janey was in his way; he had come this
morning with a special purpose. Her heart sank down to her very shoes,
and then rose again with a feverish and unreal leap. Was it not her duty
to take the initiative, to cut away the very ground from beneath his
feet? He took a seat, not far from where she was sitting, and made an
effort to begin a little ordinary conversation, throwing frequent
glances at Janey. He said it was a fine day, which was self-evident;
that he almost feared they would be out; that he had come to--to
tell her something he had forgotten last night, about--yes,
about--Cassiopeia's chair, to correct what he said about Orion--yes,
that was it; and again he looked at Janey, who saw his looks, and
wondered much what she ought to do--go away, as he evidently wished her,
or stay and listen, which was the eager desire of her mind. When Ursula
lifted her head from her darning, and looked at him with cheeks
alternately white and crimson, Janey felt herself grow hot and
breathless with kindred excitement, and knew that the moment had come.
"Mr. Northcote," said Ursula, looking at him fixedly, so fixedly that a
nervous trembling ran over him, "I have a question to ask you. You have
been coming to us very often, and perhaps papa may know, but I don't. Is
it true that you made a speech about Reginald when you first came here?"
Janey, looking eagerly on, saw Northcote grow pale, nay, grey in the
fresh daylight. The colour seemed to ebb out of him. He started very
slightly, as if waking up, when she began to speak, and then sat looking
at her, growing greyer and greyer. A moment elapsed before he made any
reply.
"Yes, I did," he said, with a half-groan of pain in his voice.
"You did! really you did! Oh!" cried Ursula, the hot tears falling
suddenly out of her eyes, while she still looked at him, "I was hoping
that it was all some horrible mistake, that you would have laughed. I
hoped you would laugh and say no."
Northcote cleared his throat; they were waiting for him to defend
himself. Janey, holding herself on the leash, as it were, keeping
herself back from springing upon him like a hound. Ursula gazed at him
with great blazing reproachful eyes; and all he could do was to give
that sign of embarrassment, of guilt, and confusion. He could not utter
a word. By the time he had got himself wound up to the point of speech,
Ursula, impatient, had taken the words out of his mouth.
"Reginald is my brother," she said. "Whatever is against him is against
us all; we have never had any separate interests. Didn't you think it
strange, Mr. Northcote, to come to this house, among us all, when you
had been so unkind to him?"
"Miss May--"
He made a broken sort of outcry and motion of his head, and then cleared
his throat nervously once more.
"Did you think how your own brothers and sisters would have stood up for
you? that it would have been an offence to them if anybody had come to
the house who was not a friend to you? that they would have had a
right--"
"Miss May," said the culprit; "all this I have felt to the bottom of my
heart; that I was here on false pretences--that I had no right to be
here. But this painful feeling was all quenched and extinguished, and
turned into gratitude by the goodness of your father and brother. I did
not even know that you had not been told. I thought you were aware from
the beginning. You were colder than they were, and I thought it was
natural, quite natural, for it is easier to forgive for one's self than
for those one loves; and then I thought you melted and grew kinder to
me, that you saw how all my ideas were changed, all my feelings--my mind
itself; changed by the great charity, the wonderful goodness I have
found here!"
"Mr. Northcote!" Ursula had been struggling to break in all the time;
but while he spoke her words dispersed, her feelings softened, and at
the end she found nothing but that startled repetition of his name with
which to answer him. No doubt if he had given her time the eloquence
would have come back; but he was too much in earnest to be guilty of
such a mistake.
"What can I say about it?" cried the young man. "It has filled me with
shame and with happiness. I have been taken in my own trap--those whom I
attacked as you say--went out of my way to attack, and abused like a
fool because I knew nothing about them--have shown me what the Bible
means. Your father and brother knew what I had done, they met me
separately, quite independent of each other, and both of them held out
their hands to me; why, except that I had offended them, I cannot tell.
A stranger, belonging to an obscure class, I had no claim upon them
except that I had done what ought to have closed their house against
me. And you know how they have interpreted that. They have shown me what
the Bible means."
The two girls sat listening, both with their heads bent towards him, and
their eyes fixed upon his face. When he stopped, Janey got up with her
work in her lap, and coming a little nearer to Ursula, addressed her in
a wondering voice.
"Is it _papa_ he is talking of like that?" she said, under her breath.
"Yes," he said, fervently, turning to her. "It is your father. He has
made charity and kindness real things to me."
"Poor papa!" said Ursula, whose tears were arrested in her eyes by the
same surprised sensation, half-pleasure, half-pain, which hushed even
Janey's voice. They were "struck," as Mrs. Hurst had said, but by such a
strange mingling of feelings that neither knew what to make of them.
Northcote did not understand what they meant; their words conveyed a
slight shock of surprise, but no distinct idea to him; and when Janey,
too much impressed to settle down again, went away after a while
musingly, carrying her work in the upper skirt of her gown, held like a
market-woman's apron by her elbow against her side; and he found himself
to have attained in the very confusion of his intentions to what he
wished, i.e., an interview with Ursula by herself, he was almost too
much agitated to take advantage of it. As for Ursula, she had floated a
hundred miles away from that sensation of last night which, had no
stronger feeling come in to bewilder her, would have made his errand
very plain to her mind. She had ceased to think about him, she was
thinking with a certain tenderness, and wondering, half-awed,
half-amused, self-questioning, about her father. Was he so good as this?
had he done this Christian action? were they all perhaps doing papa
injustice? She was recalled to herself by Northcote's next proceeding.
He went to the door and closed it after Janey, who had left it open, of
course, and then he came to the back of the chair on which stood the
great basket of darning. His voice was tremulous, his eyes liquid and
shining with emotion.
"Will you forgive me, since they have forgiven me? and may I ask _you_
something?" he said.