February 16.--We have had such a dull life here all the winter that I
have found nothing important enough to set down, and broke off my journal
accordingly. I resume it now to make an entry on the subject of dear
Caroline's future. It seems that she was too grieved, immediately after
the loss of our mother, to answer definitely the question of M. de la
Feste how long the postponement was to be; then, afterwards, it was
agreed that the matter should be discussed on his autumn visit; but as he
did not come, it has remained in abeyance till this week, when Caroline,
with the greatest simplicity and confidence, has written to him without
any further pressure on his part, and told him that she is quite ready to
fix the time, and will do so as soon as he arrives to see her. She is a
little frightened now, lest it should seem forward in her to have revived
the subject of her own accord; but she may assume that his question has
been waiting on for an answer ever since, and that she has, therefore,
acted only within her promise. In truth, the secret at the bottom of it
all is that she is somewhat saddened because he has not latterly reminded
her of the pause in their affairs--that, in short, his original
impatience to possess her is not now found to animate him so obviously. I
suppose that he loves her as much as ever; indeed, I am sure he must do
so, seeing how lovable she is. It is mostly thus with all men when women
are out of their sight; they grow negligent. Caroline must have
patience, and remember that a man of his genius has many and important
calls upon his time. In justice to her I must add that she does remember
it fairly well, and has as much patience as any girl ever had in the
circumstances. He hopes to come at the beginning of April at latest.
Well, when he comes we shall see him.
April 5.--I think that what M. de la Feste writes is reasonable enough,
though Caroline looks heart-sick about it. It is hardly worth while for
him to cross all the way to England and back just now, while the sea is
so turbulent, seeing that he will be obliged, in any event, to come in
May, when he has to be in London for professional purposes, at which time
he can take us easily on his way both coming and going. When Caroline
becomes his wife she will be more practical, no doubt; but she is such a
child as yet that there is no contenting her with reasons. However, the
time will pass quickly, there being so much to do in preparing a
trousseau for her, which must now be put in hand in order that we may
have plenty of leisure to get it ready. On no account must Caroline be
married in half-mourning; I am sure that mother, could she know, would
not wish it, and it is odd that Caroline should be so intractably
persistent on this point, when she is usually so yielding.
April 30.--This month has flown on swallow's wings. We are in a great
state of excitement--I as much as she--I cannot quite tell why. He is
really coming in ten days, he says.
May 9. Four p.m.--I am so agitated I can scarcely write, and yet am
particularly impelled to do so before leaving my room. It is the
unexpected shape of an expected event which has caused my absurd
excitement, which proves me almost as much a school-girl as Caroline.
M. de la Feste was not, as we understood, to have come till to-morrow;
but he is here--just arrived. All household directions have devolved
upon me, for my father, not thinking M. de la Feste would appear before
us for another four-and-twenty hours, left home before post time to
attend a distant consecration; and hence Caroline and I were in no small
excitement when Charles's letter was opened, and we read that he had been
unexpectedly favoured in the dispatch of his studio work, and would
follow his letter in a few hours. We sent the covered carriage to meet
the train indicated, and waited like two newly strung harps for the first
sound of the returning wheels. At last we heard them on the gravel; and
the question arose who was to receive him. It was, strictly speaking, my
duty; but I felt timid; I could not help shirking it, and insisted that
Caroline should go down. She did not, however, go near the door as she
usually does when anybody is expected, but waited palpitating in the
drawing-room. He little thought when he saw the silent hall, and the
apparently deserted house, how that house was at the very same moment
alive and throbbing with interest under the surface. I stood at the back
of the upper landing, where nobody could see me from downstairs, and
heard him walk across the hall--a lighter step than my father's--and
heard him then go into the drawing-room, and the servant shut the door
behind him and go away.
What a pretty lover's meeting they must have had in there all to
themselves! Caroline's sweet face looking up from her black gown--how it
must have touched him. I know she wept very much, for I heard her; and
her eyes will be red afterwards, and no wonder, poor dear, though she is
no doubt happy. I can imagine what she is telling him while I write
this--her fears lest anything should have happened to prevent his coming
after all--gentle, smiling reproaches for his long delay; and things of
that sort. His two portmanteaus are at this moment crossing the landing
on the way to his room. I wonder if I ought to go down.
A little later.--I have seen him! It was not at all in the way that I
intended to encounter him, and I am vexed. Just after his portmanteaus
were brought up I went out from my room to descend, when, at the moment
of stepping towards the first stair, my eyes were caught by an object in
the hall below, and I paused for an instant, till I saw that it was a
bundle of canvas and sticks, composing a sketching tent and easel. At
the same nick of time the drawing-room door opened and the affianced pair
came out. They were saying they would go into the garden; and he waited
a moment while she put on her hat. My idea was to let them pass on
without seeing me, since they seemed not to want my company, but I had
got too far on the landing to retreat; he looked up, and stood staring at
me--engrossed to a dream-like fixity. Thereupon I, too, instead of
advancing as I ought to have done, stood moonstruck and awkward, and
before I could gather my weak senses sufficiently to descend, she had
called him, and they went out by the garden door together. I then
thought of following them, but have changed my mind, and come here to jot
down these few lines. It is all I am fit for . . .
He is even more handsome than I expected. I was right in feeling he must
have an attraction beyond that of form: it appeared even in that
momentary glance. How happy Caroline ought to be. But I must, of
course, go down to be ready with tea in the drawing-room by the time they
come indoors.
11 p.m.--I have made the acquaintance of M. de la Feste; and I seem to be
another woman from the effect of it. I cannot describe why this should
be so, but conversation with him seems to expand the view, and open the
heart, and raise one as upon stilts to wider prospects. He has a good
intellectual forehead, perfect eyebrows, dark hair and eyes, an animated
manner, and a persuasive voice. His voice is soft in quality--too soft
for a man, perhaps; and yet on second thoughts I would not have it less
so. We have been talking of his art: I had no notion that art demanded
such sacrifices or such tender devotion; or that there were two roads for
choice within its precincts, the road of vulgar money-making, and the
road of high aims and consequent inappreciation for many long years by
the public. That he has adopted the latter need not be said to those who
understand him. It is a blessing for Caroline that she has been chosen
by such a man, and she ought not to lament at postponements and delays,
since they have arisen unavoidably. Whether he finds hers a sufficiently
rich nature, intellectually and emotionally, for his own, I know not, but
he seems occasionally to be disappointed at her simple views of things.
Does he really feel such love for her at this moment as he no doubt
believes himself to be feeling, and as he no doubt hopes to feel for the
remainder of his life towards her?
It was a curious thing he told me when we were left for a few minutes
alone; that Caroline had alluded so slightly to me in her conversation
and letters that he had not realized my presence in the house here at
all. But, of course, it was only natural that she should write and talk
most about herself. I suppose it was on account of the fact of his being
taken in some measure unawares, that I caught him on two or three
occasions regarding me fixedly in a way that disquieted me somewhat,
having been lately in so little society; till my glance aroused him from
his reverie, and he looked elsewhere in some confusion. It was fortunate
that he did so, and thus failed to notice my own. It shows that he, too,
is not particularly a society person.
May 10.--Have had another interesting conversation with M. de la Feste on
schools of landscape painting in the drawing-room after dinner this
evening--my father having fallen asleep, and left nobody but Caroline and
myself for Charles to talk to. I did not mean to say so much to him, and
had taken a volume of Modern Painters from the bookcase to occupy myself
with, while leaving the two lovers to themselves; but he would include me
in his audience, and I was obliged to lay the book aside. However, I
insisted on keeping Caroline in the conversation, though her views on
pictorial art were only too charmingly crude and primitive.
To-morrow, if fine, we are all three going to Wherryborne Wood, where
Charles will give us practical illustrations of the principles of
coloring that he has enumerated to-night. I am determined not to occupy
his attention to the exclusion of Caroline, and my plan is that when we
are in the dense part of the wood I will lag behind, and slip away, and
leave them to return by themselves. I suppose the reason of his
attentiveness to me lies in his simply wishing to win the good opinion of
one who is so closely united to Caroline, and so likely to influence her
good opinion of him.
May 11. Late.--I cannot sleep, and in desperation have lit my candle and
taken up my pen. My restlessness is occasioned by what has occurred to-
day, which at first I did not mean to write down, or trust to any heart
but my own. We went to Wherryborne Wood--Caroline, Charles and I, as we
had intended--and walked all three along the green track through the
midst, Charles in the middle between Caroline and myself. Presently I
found that, as usual, he and I were the only talkers, Caroline amusing
herself by observing birds and squirrels as she walked docilely alongside
her betrothed. Having noticed this I dropped behind at the first
opportunity and slipped among the trees, in a direction in which I knew I
should find another path that would take me home. Upon this track I by
and by emerged, and walked along it in silent thought till, at a bend, I
suddenly encountered M. de la Feste standing stock still and smiling
thoughtfully at me.
'Where is Caroline?' said I.
'Only a little way off,' says he. 'When we missed you from behind us we
thought you might have mistaken the direction we had followed, so she has
gone one way to find you and I have come this way.'
We then went back to find Caroline, but could not discover her anywhere,
and the upshot was that he and I were wandering about the woods alone for
more than an hour. On reaching home we found she had given us up after
searching a little while, and arrived there some time before. I should
not be so disturbed by the incident if I had not perceived that, during
her absence from us, he did not make any earnest effort to rediscover
her; and in answer to my repeated expressions of wonder as to whither she
could have wandered he only said, 'Oh, she's quite safe; she told me she
knew the way home from any part of this wood. Let us go on with our
talk. I assure you I value this privilege of being with one I so much
admire more than you imagine;' and other things of that kind. I was so
foolish as to show a little perturbation--I cannot tell why I did not
control myself; and I think he noticed that I was not cool. Caroline
has, with her simple good faith, thought nothing of the occurrence; yet
altogether I am not satisfied.