AVICE READS A CHAPTER OF A NEW BOOK.
There was no reason for, and no wish to linger at Ems when the
necessary delay was over, and the necessary business accomplished. In
a week from the time of Mr. Wellfield’s death, Jerome and his sister
proposed to leave the place, on their way home. During this week, Avice
lived through more surprise, more wonder, and more emotion, compressed
into seven short days, than had been contained in seven long years of
her former life.
Her brother and his character formed to her a strange new book, which
she was never weary of studying. The outside of that book was of the
most alluring character; and she, of an intensely receptive nature, and
intensely sensitive, too, to beauty, delighted in that fair outside,
in those polished manners, in the smooth, calm, composed demeanour.
She delighted to go out with Jerome, to behold others turning to look
at him; in every proof that she was not alone in her sense of being
fascinated by him. They naturally went out little during those days
of waiting; when they did go, they went alone together, avoiding the
crowded gardens and the more public walks. They had, therefore, ample
opportunity of learning more of one another; and perhaps each modified
the estimate already formed of the other’s character. But the affection
increased. In their long walks to the _Concordia_, or along the white
country roads, Jerome told her about all their circumstances—told
her he did not know whether they would have any secure income, even
the smallest, upon which to live; asked her if she could reconcile
herself to existence with him, perhaps in a back parlour of some dingy
town-lodgings. To all of which questions her ‘yes, oh, yes!’ leaped out
with an eager readiness.
‘Now I begin to see what papa meant when he kept calling me a little
interloper, Jerome,’ she said one day. ‘If it were not for me, how much
easier everything would be for you. I have heard that a man, alone,
need never fear anything, even starvation; but that when he has a woman
with him it clogs him, and paralyses him, and unfits him——’
‘Hush, child!’ he said, putting his finger on her lip, and smiling at
the same time; ‘that is nothing less than blasphemy, and I know where
you learnt it.’
Avice hung her head. Presently she looked up again, remarking:
‘Living with papa first, and then with you, Jerome, is like going to
school first with one schoolmaster, and then with another; and one uses
the cane, and the other doesn’t.’
‘Is it?’
‘Sometimes, with papa, the sensation was just like what I could
imagine a child feeling on being told, “Hold out your hand.” Horrible!’
‘You don’t mean——’ he began sharply.
‘That papa was cruel? Oh no! He never meant to be, at any rate.
I suppose he could not help being cold and sarcastic and severe
in manner. What he hated most was what he called drivelling
sentimentality. I always knew in an instant when I had said something
sentimental. And I think, as long as I live, I shall never forget the
tone of his voice as he used to say, “That is your view of the case, is
it, mademoiselle? Suppose we look at it in the light in which persons
of judgment will see it.” And then, how foolish I was made to feel!
Papa certainly could put people down in a way I never saw anyone else
use.’
She sighed, and Jerome smiled rather bitterly, commiserating the young
creature who had been trained in such a school.
‘She must be naturally gentle, I suppose, or she would have been—good
heavens! who knows what she might have been at one-and-twenty?’
He could not but see, however, that she had much of his own intense
fastidiousness, and that she was proud, and that frequently a flash
of the sarcasm from which she had suffered would appear in her own
remarks. And he was in despair at the prospect of the future which lay
before her. Avice herself did not give much thought to that future. She
was happier in the present than she ever had been before.
The day came at last, the last day of their stay at Ems. In the morning
they were to leave. Jerome strolled into their sitting-room in the
evening, and found Avice there.
‘_Gott sei dank!_’ he remarked. ‘All the dismissals are over.’
He had been discharging his sister’s maid and his father’s valet. For
the future Avice was to learn to mend and perhaps make her own clothes,
dress her own hair, and otherwise become a useful and practical member
of society.
‘Then they are gone, Jerome?’
‘Yes, they are gone.’
‘Toinette came in floods of tears to say adieu. “Ah, mademoiselle!” she
exclaimed, “when I reflect upon your hair, and your desolation, without
me, I am _près à mourir_.”’
‘She will soon console herself. She was flirting atrociously with the
porter when I went downstairs.’
‘And, Jerome, it has suddenly occurred to me to ask you, at what hour
do we start in the morning, and by what route do we travel to England?’
There was a pause, as she looked at him, and saw that her brother’s
eyes were fixed upon a book upon the table, and that there was an
expression in his face which she did not quite understand. At last he
raised his eyes, and said, with, as she thought, some little constraint:
‘We must take the “cheapest and best” route from the Continent, I
suppose: Cologne, Rotterdam, and Harwich. I am sorry for you, my child,
but——’
‘Oh, sorry, nonsense! I am not made of white sugar, Jerome. Then, at
what time must we leave? Shall I have to get up very early?’
‘No earlier than usual, for I propose breaking the journey, and staying
all night at Elberthal.’
‘At Elberthal? Why there? It is not a pretty town, and Cologne is far
more interesting, though I am tired of it.’
‘I know Elberthal is not pretty. But there is some one there whom I
wish to see before I go to England.’
‘Oh, is it anyone I know?’
‘I think you have seen her once or twice. It is Miss Sara Ford.’
‘Miss Ford!’ repeated Avice, not at the first moment comprehending.
‘That beautiful Miss Ford who was with the Countess of Trockenau so
often? Is she a friend——’
Then, as she still continued looking at Jerome, she understood in a
moment, and stopped abruptly. This was a new phase of life, a fresh
complication in her circumstances, towards which her thoughts had
never before turned for a moment. For a few moments she sat quite
still, saying nothing, pondering upon it; then, rising quickly, she
went to Jerome, and put her arm round his neck.
‘Oh, Jerome,’ she murmured, in a half-tearful voice, ‘how much you must
have had to suffer! I never knew till now what “ruin” and having no
money might mean.’
He returned her kiss, saying gently, ‘Never mind, _Liebchen_! Things
may turn out well in the end. And meantime, before we face Manchester
and ruin, there is Elberthal to be passed.’
The following day they departed by the afternoon boat from
Ober-Lahnstein for Cologne, thence to take the train to Elberthal. It
was a gorgeous afternoon, at the very end of July. The sun was hot, the
river was smooth, the scenery was glowing, the boat was full of gay
parties of travellers of all nations, when Wellfield and his sister
went upon it. A little after six they arrived at Elberthal, and went to
an hotel.
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