We have said that Minnie was in a state of the greatest consternation
when made acquainted with her uncle's stern resolution of coercion. At
first she was too much pained to think--all power of reasoning had given
way before the shock; she felt overwhelmed with shame, shame of
herself--that much to be dreaded feeling in a young girl's heart. In
Minnie's, after the power of memory returned, it created a sense of deep
degradation, followed by recklessness--two dangerous things with which
to start in that new phase in existence--love; for the latter would make
her care little for consequences, the former bid her oppressed heart
cling with double affection to the bosom where her head might lie in
peace, love, and a true appreciation of her worth, and indignation for
her wrongs. She sat and reviewed all her conduct, and then her swelling
heart revolted against her uncle's injustice; for, in point of fact, she
had but _once_ met Tremenhere by consent, on the fatal day in which they
were discovered. We have seen their first acquaintance through Mr.
Skaife; then in Mrs. Gillett's room; subsequently, Miles had watched for
her, 'tis true: but she was innocent of all, except concealing these
meetings--and to whom confide them, knowing well how unpopular he was?
Once or twice he had met her even in her uncle's grounds, as she sat
sketching; he took pleasure in directing her pencil. Then, when he
proposed to sketch her favourite old ruin for her, if she would come,
what harm could she see in the request? It was a fact, he ever seemed
more, to her mind's eye, as a dear brother, friend, playfellow of
childhood, than a man to be shunned for love's sake. Without a dream of
harm, she went there; and it was that day, for the first time, that her
heart awoke to its real state, and her own danger. We have seen how she
flew, in confidence and love, to repose all in the bosom of her beloved
aunt. We say all this, because we would plead Minnie's case with prudes
and worldly-wise folks, who might shake their heads in grave
reprehension, or accuse her of more error than, in honest truth, she was
guilty of. All these scenes she reviewed in her quiet chamber; and then,
the deep sense of wrong and degradation overwhelming her, she dropped on
her knees, and, compressing her throbbing temples with her hands, wept
long and bitterly. She was as a statue mourning over itself, as the base
of its pedestal from which it had been rudely hurled in scorn and
derision by some senseless mob. In this mood Dorcas visited her, and
endeavoured to soothe, though even she blamed, her. Then Sylvia came,
and inveighed against her brother's mad blindness; for, "Had not Dora
confessed?--to be sure she had. Minnie was too good a girl to deceive
any one, or compromise herself by meeting this Tremenhere!" Whereupon,
Minnie, taking Dora's part, declared that she alone was to blame for
all. Sylvia's anger arose at this "mock sentimentality," as she termed
it. "It is positively absurd," she cried, "endeavouring to screen Dora!
All, but my foolish brother, know that you are quite innocent in this
affair. A pretty thing, indeed, to accuse yourself of so disgraceful,
unpardonable, indelicate an act, as privately meeting any man!"
This certainly did not soothe her; but the crowning of all was when
Juvenal entered, and, reproaching her as a disgrace to them all,
declared she should not quit her room until she consented to marry
Marmaduke! Oh! then Minnie's spirit rebelled; she paced the room when he
was gone, and nothing scarcely could have been desperate enough to
satisfy her exasperation at that moment, by way of revenge! Poor girl,
revenge, like curses, sends its chickens home to roost! Thus passed the
first day, and the second something like it, and then evening came.
Juvenal, like other little bodies, was a great man in a brief temporary
power; he was master of Gatestone, and resolved to show all that he was
so. All this was Burton's counselling; consequently, when the second day
came, and Minnie still was obdurate, and firmly refused even to see
Marmaduke Burton, should he come, her uncle resolved to tighten her
chains, and so he forbade even Dorcas or Sylvia to see her, only Dame
Gillett and himself! Even the squire had confidence in the housekeeper,
he had made her frequent presents, for which she had been very grateful;
moreover, he knew she had favoured his suit with Minnie; he and
Juvenal--indeed all were more or less ignorant of her great error about
Miles's affections being placed on Lady Dora--and none knew that she had
not quite cast from her regards the "comely boy" Tremenhere. She
certainly urged _for_ Marmaduke, when she went to Minnie's room, and as
certainly did she ignorantly add fresh fuel to feed her love for his
cousin, by beguiling the time to the prisoner, relating how Master Miles
had come last night again to her room, frightening her out of her wits
for fear he should be seen, and how he was nearly mad himself to see
Minnie--poor young man! "just to speak, of course, of Lady Dora; and she
didn't think that lady had behaved well to him, and she pitied him from
the _very_ bottom of her heart," &c. &c. &c. Minnie was learning worldly
caution; she saw Mrs. Gillett's error. All her protestations to her aunt
Sylvia had been disregarded, in clearing her cousin of any imprudence,
and Mrs. Gillett was Sylvia's echo in all. She at first, from sheer
disheartenment, left this latter in her error, and then permitted her to
remain in it, as she seemed resolved to do so. This, too, Tremenhere was
doing, but with more active motives. Braving all risk the previous
evening to see Mrs. Gillett, and speaking of his love, incline this
woman to assist them to a meeting, provided Minnie would consent, he
found, after five minutes' conversation, on what an erroneous path the
housekeeper was walking, so he paused in his revelation of love. Might
not this serve him better than confiding the truth? Men are generally
less scrupulous than women in telling stories. Some rejoice in them;
for nothing would Minnie utter one wilfully--she abhorred them as mean,
and devil's snares too, ever leading somehow to sorrow; but Tremenhere
only thought of how to accomplish a meeting with her. Mrs. Gillett's
mistake might render it practicable; so he not only permitted her to
think him in love, and beloved by Dora, but favoured the deception of
judgment in every way! "Time will prove the real facts," he said to
himself. "It cannot injure Lady Dora; Mrs. Gillett I _know_ to be one to
confide in fearlessly, so let it pass!--'tis a straw of hope."
We are not, reader, painting a _rara avis_ in Tremenhere; but a
noble-hearted, generous man--headstrong, full of wild passions--but
honourable in every dictate of his soul. Still, a mere mortal man,
driven to desperation by various causes; and resolved, however it might
be done, to _see_ Minnie, and know his fate from her own lips. If she
loved him--then all would be clear before him. Mrs. Gillett, however,
was too much alarmed then, to second any interview, but she gave him
leave to come again in the dusk; no one was near, and she pitied the
poor fellow! What _real_ woman is deaf to a tale of love and locksmiths?
if she can give nothing more, she awards her sincere sympathy. Mr.
Tremenhere left, and stealthily crept through the garden and shrubbery,
gaining the fields beyond unperceived. Next evening he again sallied
forth towards his confidant's. It must not be supposed that Mrs. Gillett
felt annoyed at being thus sought--far from it; it increased her
consequence, giving her _power_, which no one totally despises. She felt
sometimes as much embarrassed with all these various plots and plans in
hand, as a charioteer in a ring, driving a dozen wild horses at once.
The only thing to prevent concussion, was the keeping them well in hand,
with perfect self-possession; and these things she always kept in view.
Besides, she was not wronging her master's confidence in her: he was in
error, and she felt she should rather be obliging him, by removing all
fear about Miss Minnie, by favouring the loves of this man and Lady
Dora. On this evening, Tremenhere, at ten o'clock, was to bring her a
letter for Minnie, which she faithfully promised and purposed giving to
her; all relating to lady Dora, of course, understood. At a quarter to
ten, Miles stole through the shrubbery gate, of which she had given him
a key. It was a lovely starlight night in June--no moon to betray his
wandering--just light enough to lead him onward in safety. He closed the
gate, and stood for a moment looking around--then a lover's thought--a
perfect lover's one, arose in his mind, to go and look at Minnie's
window. We always like to know the aspect of such things, in such cases.
He had learned from Minnie herself, which were her's. In a few moments
he stood before them, on the soft turf, looking upwards. There was a
light within, but the window was open--'twas a lattice; for Gatestone
was not a modern built structure, but a good old family seat, like so
many we meet with in the north of England, especially in Yorkshire. It
was the sort of lattice window from which one could have fancied a dame
in the olden time, waving a snowy scarf to a departing warrior! Before
this comfortable-looking, homely window, hung a curtain. This side of
the house was facing the south, and a wide-spreading vine mingled with
the ivy on the wall, creeping around it. There are many cruel
temptations in life, thrown in our path. Now Tremenhere had merely,
lover-like, stolen round to look upon his "ladye's" window; but whilst
gazing upwards at it, something against the wall attracted his
attention. He drew nearer, cautiously. This temptation was a ladder,
which John Gardener had left, after nailing the vines. In an instant, a
thought--a desire, crept into Miles's heart; this was naturally, to make
use of this ladder! It was an impulse--an irresistible one. Cautiously
he moved it nearer Minnie's window, and crept half-way upwards. A voice
struck on his ear!--then another!--the first was Juvenal's, the last
Minnie's. This latter seemed scarcely able to articulate distinctly from
emotion. Some would have mounted higher, and listened. Miles's
conscience forbade this. Though tricking's all fair in love, he felt it
would not be strictly honourable; so down he crept again. The man's
voice rose--the woman's seemed scarcely a breath--then a door closed
violently, and all was for a moment still within that chamber, or
rather, the little music-room; for this it was. Then the voice rose
higher, and the girl was sobbing in her solitude and affliction. Juvenal
closed the door, locked it, and put the key in his pocket, sagely
shaking his head as he did so. "She shall never quit that room till she
consents to marry Burton!" he soliloquized, as he dropped step by step
ploddingly down stairs, nodding as he did so. "Burton was quite right,"
he continued; "I have been too lenient--I'll be master now--it is just a
little obstinacy; of course, I must know better than she can what's for
her ultimate benefit. Her spirit will soon give in, and, as Burton
says," (Juvenal was like the assinine tribe, he wouldn't move without a
goad--Burton was his,) "she'll soon surrender; and as for that
Tremenhere, why he will tire in a short time, when he finds it
impossible to see her, and leave the neighbourhood. This good key in my
pocket," here he smiled and nodded in perfect contentment and peace, "I
defy him!" As _he_ uttered these last words, Tremenhere, regardless of
every thing but poor sobbing Minnie, pushed aside the curtain, and
darkened the casement before stepping in. She uttered a faint scream of
terror.
"There you may scream!" cried Juvenal, who heard her; "but I shall not
let you out. Was there ever so obstinate a girl? Could any one have
believed it?"
"Minnie, dear Minnie!" whispered Tremenhere, stepping in. "For Heaven's
sake, hush! 'tis I, Miles," and he clasped the hand of the terrified
girl.
"Go--go!" she cried, releasing her hand, and retreating in breathless
alarm, she scarcely knew why. "Go! this is madness; it will ruin me
should they discover you. Oh! Mr. Tremenhere, pray, pray, leave me!"
"Mr. Tremenhere!" he said sadly. "Is it indeed only this? Oh! then I
have done wrong in coming, and doubly wrong in causing you so much
suffering, which I am powerless to alleviate by my devotedness!"
"You wrong me--you do wrong me, _Miles_!" she exclaimed, much agitated;
"but I am so overwhelmed with my uncle's cruelty, I scarcely know what I
say."
As the word "Miles" fell from her lips, he was at her side, her hands in
both of his again, and his deep, loving eyes bent down upon the
trembling girl. "Do not speak again, if it should be to unsay that kind
word, Minnie," he whispered; "but let me look at you silent, and watch
the emotion on your face, whilst I tell you all I now can say. _That_
emotion will be my best answer. Minnie dear--_dearest_, I love you. I
would not say these words when last we met; I feared lest I had mistaken
a wilder, more evanescent feeling for this all-absorbing one; but our
separation has proved me. I know myself. Had passion alone guided me, I
should not be here; _that_, with me, is fleeting as a star seeking the
sea; but my love--oh! this is as the sea itself. It may seem for a while
to roll outwards--lost in the world, as wave in wave; but it will flow
back to break upon its own shores, and go wherever I may, my love will
ever return to cast itself at your feet."
"And what can this love avail us, Miles?" she whispered timidly, fearful
of saying too much. "We must part soon, and how may we ever hope to
meet, with so many to oppose us?"
"Does this daunt you already?" he asked, smiling. "If you love me, I
fear nothing; this assurance is all I ask. Think well, dear girl, before
you reply; for I do not seek a mere confession of your heart's
prompting affections _now_. I ask you to ponder well, and say whether
you are sure, Minnie, that above every man you ever may see, you can
love me? whether, for my sake, you are willing, under all circumstances,
to share my fate?"
"I have asked myself this, Miles," she said seriously, "before to-night;
I need not pause to weigh my own affections; I never shall love any man
as I love you."
"Minnie," he whispered, for he trembled with emotion as he drew her
gently towards his supporting arm, "do not mistake your feelings, it
would be destruction to me; for my every thought is united to you. Do
not wreck them, as so many others have been wrecked in my sad fate. I am
wrong," he added, more joyously. "If you love me truly, when our lives
shall be one, O then, in that happiness I shall become another man, and
doubly energetic in my appointed task, for your dear sake, to raise you
where you should and shall be!"
"I don't know how it is, Miles," she said seriously, for it seemed as if
the child had all departed, leaving a grave, thoughtful woman; "but I
never thought of love, as they say most young girls do; it was rather
distasteful to me, I heard so much about marriage until we met; and now,
my love for you has so much of reverence with it, I _know_ I never could
feel for another as I do for you."
"Darling," he whispered, smiling, "I don't half like that word
'reverence'--you must not feel too much of that, or I shall dread the
disparity of our years as engendering fear, more than love: love, dear
child, should be all-confiding, all-fearless, childish, and innocent."
"I do not fear you, Miles, believe me; but I love. I look upon you with
so many combined feelings, as brother, father--_all_ those affections
which I have never known, they seem to gather round you: how, then, can
I do otherwise than reverence you?"
He was silent some moments; then, removing the arm which had clasped her
waist, he took her hand in both of his, and said seriously--"My ideas,
dearest, of what a wife should be, are perhaps more rigid than those of
the many, and how that wife should be won. There was a time, long ago, I
might perhaps, in the impetuosity of youth and prosperity, have urged
you to fly with me. _Now_, I would not do so; for, Minnie, though love
_at first_ may excuse all, there might come a time when the husband
would reflect. I am a very jealous man; do not let this alarm you. You
never would arouse it by act of yours, I feel assured; still, we are
mortal. Some day I might remember how I had won you, if you outstepped
the bounds of strict prudence, and this might raise the demon Suspicion
in my mind. You see how candid I am!"
"I love you for it the better, Miles. Our love is not an ordinary one.
In wedding you, I espouse your sacred duty, to work hand in hand with
you, and urge you on, should a momentary lethargy overtake you. Such an
engagement should not be lightly accepted; for, in marrying you, I marry
a man of care, and heavy obligation."
"Dearest Minnie, now I have no further fear; so let us speak of our
plans. I came to-night--'twas an impulse done without consideration, or
I should not have been here--for your fame's sake, lest a discovery
might be made. I will not come again; you must meet me elsewhere."
"How, Miles?" she asked, smiling in his face; "you forget I am a
prisoner!"
"I think I can arrange it, with the connivance of Dame Gillett. She----"
He had commenced this speech smiling; something, however, crossed his
mind. So pure was Minnie in his thought, so pure would he keep her, that
the idea of making her a party to his own little ruse with the
housekeeper, pained him. No; he preferred the risk of that woman
discovering the truth, rather than make Minnie do one thing, not clear
as noonday, _even had she consented_, which probably she would not.
"She," he said, correcting his first thought "likes me; I saw her last
evening; she permits me again to play the boy, and creep through that
pretty window, by which Minnie, too, has learned the way; I will induce
her to smuggle you down there."
"Will she, do you think?" she asked joyously.
"I hope so, and now for another point, my darling girl. My wife must be
boldly--manfully sought; secure of your love, I will ask your hand from
your uncle."
"My uncle!" she exclaimed in terror. "He never will consent; he will be
doubly severe with me, urged on, I know, by Marmaduke Burton."
"Confide in me, Minnie; this must be done. Let them not say of me, that
I came only in secret, afraid of the light. I have formed no plans; only
this first necessary act must be put in practice: let time decide the
rest. It was the assurance of your more than passing love, that I
required, before appealing to your relations. I do not doubt you now, so
my path is clear before me!"
For some time longer he argued with her, before, in her terror, she
could see the necessity of this active measure; but when he showed her
how soon he should be obliged, by engagements elsewhere, to quit this
neighbourhood, and leave her, these circumstances, coupled with the
absence of Marmaduke Burton, induced her to give a trembling consent, on
condition that nothing should be hinted about their having met since her
incarceration. Time, which always flies when we are happy, warned them
to separate, and yet, with all his stoicism, when he turned towards the
window, his courage to leave her failed him. "I am weaker than I
thought, Minnie," he whispered, clasping her to his bosom, and kissing
the fair open brow, which blushed beneath his embrace; "for I know not
how to leave you in the great uncertainty of our meeting again soon.
What if I lost you!" and, at the thought, his strong frame trembled. "I
feel _that_ would make me more than a desperate man--a perfectly
reckless one! Child, how is it you have made me love you so well? how
have you brought life where every feeling seemed dead? Remember, Minnie,
when they urge, or, possibly, endeavour to coerce your will--remember
what you hold in your keeping, and be firm!"
Minnie, in woman's weakness, wept, where he prayed. Weeping and prayers
are bad sponsors for an affection--they baptize it in sorrow! One more
embrace, and yet his dark eyes, clouding in trouble, could scarcely
withdraw from her uplifted face; he turned again and again, and when his
hand quitted hers, and his foot descended the ladder, he felt a
desolation _never_ felt before, not even when name and home were lost to
him!
While Miles was thus pursuing the love which had sprung up in his heart,
amid so many weeds, one sweet choice flower, scattered there by
accident; his cousin Marmaduke was staying in Lancashire with an old
maiden aunt. All, that such are represented, when sketched by an
unloving pencil, and there he received daily reports from Juvenal, of
the progress of his suit by proxy with Minnie. We have said fear made
him quit the manor-house. People, when they scheme, trace out a
suppositious line over which all their personages pass in succession;
and they are sadly perplexed, when, by some most unforeseen
circumstance, they step out of the road. 'Tis like a railway carriage
running off the line; it frequently upsets all the others. It had never
entered into the calculation of either Marmaduke or Juvenal, that Miles
could in any manner hold converse or communication with Minnie, still
less, have the audacity _openly_ to seek her. Great then was the
consternation of both--for one knew it nearly as soon as the other--when
a letter arrived for Juvenal, written in manliness and dignity, before
which, both, though unacknowledged, bowed in respect; stating, that
well assured nothing could change either his love for Minnie, or her's
for himself, he wrote, imploring Juvenal to consent to their union. He
(Miles) had assured himself of her unalterable affection, the stronger
for the coercion to which they endeavoured to subject it; and he could
but implore her uncle and guardian, to consider how far he was acting in
love towards her, to oppose this; that assured as he was of his own
legitimacy, he only wanted time to prove it, until when he felt
convinced Minnie would be happier as an artist's wife; for such was the
profession he had made choice of, than as mistress of thousands, if they
were separated. He then apologized for a seeming vanity in speaking thus
positively; but he only quoted the words of lips incapable of speaking
untruthfully--hers. He had not wealth to offer; but an unblemished
name--_and this he would prove_--love unbounded, and the best wealth in
the world--that earned by those talents which are spirits' gifts, etc.,
etc. We said, great was the consternation this letter aroused. Every
line was an enigma. How had they met? How communicated with one another?
Evidently they had done so, recently. Juvenal rushed off with the letter
to Minnie's room. She grew very pale--then she thought of Miles, and her
heart strengthened itself--it leaned on his love, and grew strong and
fearless. Unhesitatingly she confirmed all the letter said, adding more,
"That she never would marry another. She could not in honour; for all
her affections were his." But she obstinately refused to hint even how
they had communicated with one another. And Juvenal could only rail,
and declare, that "Now she _should_ marry Burton, and that right soon."
Thus saying, he double-locked the door, and hurried off to Mrs. Gillett.
Even with this evidence she would not believe that Minnie was the _real_
object--'twas some trick! And she shook her head, as if she knew a great
deal more than she gave utterance to. All this drove Juvenal nearly mad;
like all persons of little mind, he was extremely curious; and this
feeling predominated over even his annoyance at her firm refusal to
marry Burton. He could not imagine how they had met. A ladder was the
last means of communication he should have dreamed of. From Mrs. Gillett
he flew to Sylvia, who joined in one common cause with him in perplexing
her brains. Between them, they settled the blame somehow on Dorcas; for
neither loved her--she was too unlike them. Sylvia blessed her own
prudence, which had never inclined her to the love of any man! How
easily we can abuse the thing which has never been offered to our
acceptance! And here Juvenal committed the two most grievous errors he
had yet been guilty of, in Minnie's case; he allowed Sylvia to visit
her, who, by her harshness and reviling of Miles, Dorcas, and all whom
the other loved or liked, only strengthened her love and resolution.
Dorcas, who might have led her, was forbidden to have access; for
Juvenal could be a tyrant when he pleased. The other error he committed,
was by Burton's advice, leaving Tremenhere's letter unanswered--a
contemptuous silence, which would raise a storm over his own head. This
evening Tremenhere did not wander under Minnie's window, but went
straight towards Mrs. Gillett's room, and in the beaten path, which lay
in an unbroken line before his mind's eye, without hesitation he
confessed to her, that her own error had induced his acquiescence about
Lady Dora, that now, by no crooked ways, would he win his wife--for wife
she should be; and he begged her to think of her young days, and of
those when he was a favoured guest at Gatestone, now, driven hence for
no fault of his own; and, in consideration of all these things, to
procure him an interview with Minnie. She could easily arrange it, by
bringing her to her room when all were at rest--for, by eleven o'clock,
Gatestone was generally in profound repose--quiet, at all events. Mrs.
Gillett was aghast at this confession. At first anger moved her; then
her woman's kinder nature arose triumphant, and she consented for
once--only once, to "do her best"--which meant, complete success, for
she had the entire confidence of Juvenal, and keys of the prisoner's
room. Mrs. Gillett was but a mere woman, though the oracle of so many;
and, as she looked upon the tall handsome man pleading so earnestly
before her, she could not resist him. She was not a woman to be bribed
by money; power and flattering of her talents did much, however! It had
been a day of great excitement to all; for Dorcas had sought Skaife, in
his double capacity as friend and curate of the parish, and implored him
to speak to and reason with her brother--_she_ feared _all_ from his
ill-advised conduct towards his niece. Skaife was manliness itself; he
felt much the loss of Minnie. Nevertheless, he never had permitted hope
to lead him much astray as regarded her affection for himself. Miles he
liked--their hearts kindled towards one another; and now, with every
wish to serve him, even at his own expense, he sought Juvenal. In vain,
however, he urged the injustice of condemning Tremenhere even if the law
had rejected him as heir to the manor-house, it was his parent's error,
if really he were illegitimate.
"If," said Juvenal, in his shrillest tenor; "I tell you he is, and a
scamp into the bargain!"
"Pardon me, Mr. Formby," said the other, mildly, "if I ask your
authority? I have made diligent inquiry before undertaking this
mediation between you; which, let me add, is not from any solicitation
of his. I say, I have made diligent inquiry; and Mr. Tremenhere, as son
and master, bore the highest character in the neighbourhood, and is now
spoken of by many with tears of regret."
"If he were a respectable man," said the irate Juvenal, "why did he go
so often from home, and live many months together abroad?"
"By his parents' wish, and with their full consent. He is an artist of
great and rising fame; his studio, until destroyed at the manor-house,
attested that, I understand."
"This proves what I say!" cried the _liberal_-minded Juvenal; "no
gentleman would have turned painter; and it also proves he knew of his
illegitimacy, and was providing against his fall from a false
position."
Skaife bit his lip to keep down the angry reply. He came to conciliate.
He said at last,--
"I cannot agree with you, Mr. Formby, but will not reply. I come now on
a mission of peace, and for, I conscientiously believe, the benefit of
all. Mr. Tremenhere is attached to Miss Dalzell--his affection is quite
returned," (his voice trembled as he said this;) "it is for you to
consider, as one loving her so well, how far you are acting kindly in
blighting those affections. I should not think Miss Dalzell one to love
lightly or unworthily. Think, too, to what extremities you may drive
them?"
"I defy them--I defy them!" squealed the other; "I have her in
safety--she shall marry Marmaduke Burton; and in proof, I purpose
sending her to his aunt's care in Lancashire, where he is now staying."
Juvenal unwittingly let this escape him. Skaife started in amazement and
agitation.
"Surely!" he cried, unable to control his emotion, "you do not seriously
intend doing this? Pause awhile, and reflect, Mr. Formby, on your
niece's sufferings so undeserved; for she was, at most, guilty only of a
little pardonable imprudence. Mr. Tremenhere had known her as a child."
"I thought," replied Juvenal coarsely, "that _you_ had been a suitor
yourself? All this seems very strange to me, and not at all clear. What
do you hope for by giving her to another?" and he glanced suspiciously
at him.
Skaife coloured deeply; and, taking his hat from the table, said with
dignity, "I hope, Mr. Formby, for the approval of my own heart, in a
cause which I, as a clergyman, condemn, one of unjust oppression--pardon
me this intrusion!" He bowed quietly and quitted the room, leaving
Juvenal abashed, angry, and more resolved, from sheer annoyance and
petty spite, than ever. Skaife quitted in deep thought. He deemed it
better not to inform Tremenhere of what had escaped Juvenal--namely, his
intention of sending Minnie to Lancashire. It might not be true; it
would perhaps urge him to some act of desperation. Even Skaife was
ignorant of how the delinquents had met, which naturally made him more
cautious, suspecting, and truly, that Tremenhere's honour was a safer
barrier against his elopement with Minnie, than all her uncle's locks
and keys. On the evening of these events, Miles, as we have said, sought
Mrs. Gillett, whom, strange to say, no one suspected of being an
accessory, favourable to Tremenhere and Minnie. The clock struck eleven,
as the latter on tiptoe crept down the long passage after the trembling
Mrs. Gillett, who was completely bewildered between the enormity of the
deed she was committing, its responsibility, and her fear of being
caught. However, they reached her room in safety, and not even her
presence prevented Miles from clasping Minnie in his arms, as he called
her by his favourite appellation, "My darling child!"
"Ay--child, child!" muttered Mrs. Gillett, shaking her head. "It's all
very well, calling her that; but if you only loved her as one, we
shouldn't be all of us in a peck of trouble!"
"Forgive me, dear Mrs. Gillett," said Minnie, holding out one hand to
her, the other was clasped in Miles's, who looked down, all love and
devotion, on her lovely, smiling face, which, child-like, was lit up
with the present joy, forgetful of past or future care.
"Mrs. Gillett," he said, "you will be the first to laugh and rejoice,
when you come with us to the Old Place yonder"--thus he always spoke of
the manor-house; "for I tell you again, _we shall return there in
gladness_!"
"Ah! well may it be so, Master Miles; but I cannot just see how that is
to take place. He as is there, won't be so soon got out, and I shouldn't
speak against him neither; he's been civil enough to me, and master
wishes it; but there, Miss, don't; and there's been so much said one way
and the t'other lately, that I'm conglomerated, and don't know what to
say."
"Gillett, you're a good soul!" exclaimed the happy Miles.
"It's very well calling me so, but I don't know that I'm doing quite
right; but there, Master Miles, I cannot forget when you were a boy, and
used to come in at the window and steal my preserves, and laugh in my
face when you'd done so; and I don't think you're as bad as they say;
and though I do let you see her--poor, dear child!--don't go and steal
her as you did my----Lauks-a-marcy! what's that?" she cried alarmed,
changing her tone. The others started up in alarm. "Marciful luck! if it
a'n't master's voice and step a-comin' here!" and she flitted about,
wringing her hands in terror. There was a sofa in the room, and a large
housekeeper's cupboard; this was whence Miles had often pilfered in
olden times--well he knew it; it was the act of a moment, to draw Minnie
in, and close the door. Mrs. Gillett dropped, more dead than alive, on
the sofa as the door opened, and Juvenal cautiously peeped in, in his
dressing-gown, and, with only his head to be seen, scanned every corner
of the room.
"Hist, Gillett," he whispered, as the terrified woman stared at him,
"it's only I. I've heard the strangest noises in the house--come, and
search with me;" and he walked cautiously in. "I always take a strong
cup of green tea the last thing going to bed," he whispered; "Mr. Burton
said it was a good thing to make one wakeful, and so I find it; one
cannot be too much so while that horrid man's in the neighbourhood.
(Minnie clasped Miles's hand.) But there's one blessing--my niece won't
be here much longer; I'll take her to Lancashire, to Miss Burton's, next
week; I've decided upon that! How scared you look, Mrs. Gillett! Have
you been disturbed, too? Good, faithful creature, that's why you are up
so late! Come, and help me search!"