ENGAGED.
IF a comparison were made between the results of well and ill
considered ventures, which would prove the most uniformly successful?
Not certainly those undertakings which have been most carefully
weighed and prudently determined on. Just as frequently the rash and
precipitate venture is crowned with success as that which has been
wisely considered; and just as often the latter proves a failure, and
falsifies every expectation. Nature, Fate, whatever it be that rules
our destinies, rules them crookedly, and, with mischief, upsets all our
calculations. We build our card-houses, and she fillips a marble into
them and brings them down. Why do we invariably stop every hole except
that by which the sea rolls through our dyke? Why do we always forget
to lock the stable door till the nag has been stolen?
The old myth is false which tells of Prometheus as bound and torn
and devoured by the eagle; Pro-metheus is free and unrent, it is
Epi-metheus who is in chains, and writhing, and looks back on the
irrevocable past, and curses itself and is corroded with remorse.
What is the fate of Forethought but to be flouted by capricious
Destiny, to be ever proved a fool and blind, to be shown that it were
just as well had it never existed?
Eve hung back as Barbara led her to her father’s door. Mr. Coyshe was
in there, and though she had said she would take him she did not mean
it. She certainly did not want to have to make her decision then. Her
face became a little pale, some of the bright colour had gone from it
when her temper subsided and she had begun to play at making rabbits.
Now more left her cheeks, and she held back as Barbara tried to draw
her on. But Barbara was very determined, and though Eve was wayward,
she would not take the trouble to be obstinate. ‘I can but say no,’ she
said to herself, ‘if the creature does ask me.’ Then she whispered into
Barbara’s ear, ‘Bab, I won’t have a scene before all the parish.’
‘All the parish, dear!’ remonstrated the elder, ‘there is no one
there but papa and the doctor; and if the latter means to speak he
will ask to have a word with you in private, and you can go into the
drawing-room.’
‘But I don’t want to see him.’
Barbara threw open the door.
Mr. Jordan was propped up in his bed on pillows. He was much worse, and
a feverish fire burned in his eyes and cheeks. He saw Eve at once and
called her to him.
Then her ill-humour returned, she pouted and looked away from Mr.
Coyshe so as not to see him. He bowed and smiled, and pushed forward
extending his hand, but she brushed past with her eyes fixed on her
father. She was angry with Barbara for having brought her down.
‘Eve,’ said Mr. Jordan, ‘I am very ill. The doctor has warned me that I
have been much hurt by what has happened. It was your doing, Eve. You
were foolish last night. You forgot what was proper to your station.
Your want of consideration is the cause of my being so much worse, and
of that scoundrel’s escape.’
‘O papa, I am very sorry I hurt you, but as for his getting off—I am
glad! He had stolen my money, so I have a right to forgive him, and
that I do freely.’
‘Eve!’ exclaimed her father, ‘you do not know what you say. Come nearer
to me, child.’
‘If I am to be scolded, papa,’ said Eve, sullenly, ‘I’d like not to
have it done in public.’ She looked round the room, everywhere but at
Mr. Coyshe. Her sister watched her anxiously.
‘Eve,’ said the old man, ‘I am very ill and am not likely to be strong
again. I cannot be always with you. I am not any more capable to act as
your protector, and Barbara has the cares of the house, and lacks the
authority to govern and lead you.’
‘I don’t want any governing and leading, papa,’ said Eve, studying the
bed cover. ‘Papa,’ after a moment, ‘whilst you lie in bed, don’t you
think all those little tufts on the counterpane look like poplars? I
often do, and imagine gardens and walks and pleasure-grounds among
them.’
‘Eve,’ said her father, ‘I am not going to be put off what I have to
say by such poor artifices as this. I am going to send you back to
Lanherne.’
‘Lanherne!’ echoed Eve, springing back. ‘I can’t go there, papa;
indeed I can’t. It is dull enough here, but it is ten thousand times
duller there. I have just said so to Barbara. I can’t go, I won’t go
to Lanherne. I don’t see why I should be forced. I’m not going to be a
nun. My education has been completed under Barbara. I know where Cape
Guardafui is, and the Straits of Malacca, and the Coromandel Coast. I
know Mangnall’s questions and answers right through—that is, I know the
questions and some of the answers. I can read “Télémaque.” What more is
wanted of any girl? I don’t desire any more learning. I hate Lanherne.
I fell ill last time I was there. Those nuns look like hobgoblins, and
not like angels. I shall run away. Besides, it was eternally semolina
pudding there, and, papa, I hate semolina. Always semolina on fast
days, and the puddings sometimes burnt. There now, my education _is_
incomplete. I do not know whence semolina comes. Is it vegetable,
papa? Mr. Coyshe, you are scientific, tell us the whole history of the
production of this detestable article of commerce.’
‘Semolina——’ began Mr. Coyshe.
‘Never mind about semolina,’ interrupted Barbara, who saw through
her sister’s tricks. ‘We will turn up the word in the encyclopædia
afterwards. We are considering Lanherne now.’
‘I don’t mind the large-grained semolina so much, said Eve, with a
face of childlike simplicity; ‘that is almost as good as tapioca.’
Her father caught her wrist and drew her hand upon the bed. He clutched
it so tightly that she exclaimed that he hurt her.
‘Eve,’ he said, ‘it is necessary for you to go.’
Her face became dull and stubborn again.
‘Is Mr. Coyshe here to examine my chest, and see if I am strong enough
to endure confinement? Because I was the means, according to you, papa,
of poor—of the prisoner escaping last night, therefore I am to be sent
to prison myself to-morrow.’
‘I am not sending you to prison,’ said her father, ‘I am placing you
under wise and pious guardians. You are not to be trusted alone any
more. Barbara has been——’
‘There! there!’ exclaimed Eve, flashing an angry glance at her sister,
and bursting into tears; ‘was there ever a poor girl so badly treated?
I am scolded, and threatened with jail. My sister, who should love me
and take my part, is my chief tormentor, and instigates you, papa,
against me. She is rightly called Barbara—she is a savage. I know so
much Latin as to understand that.’
Barbara touched Mr. Coyshe, and signed to him to leave the room with
her.
Eve watched them out of the room with satisfaction. She could manage
her father, she thought, if left alone with him. But her father was
thoroughly alarmed. He had been told that she had met Martin on the
rock. Barbara had told him this to exculpate Jasper. Her conduct on the
preceding night had, moreover, filled him with uneasiness.
‘Papa,’ said Eve, looking at her little foot and shoe, ‘don’t you think
Mr. Coyshe’s ears stick out very much? I suppose his mother was not
particular with him to put them under the rim of his cap.’
‘I have not noticed.’
‘And, papa, what eager, staring eyes he has got! I think he straps his
cravat too tight.’
‘Possibly.’
‘Do you know, dear papa, there is a little hole just over the
mantelshelf in my room, and the other day I saw something hanging down
from it. I thought it was a bit of string, and I went up to it and
pulled it. Then there came a little squeak, and I screamed. What do you
suppose I had laid hold of? It was a mouse’s tail. Was that not an odd
thing, papa, for the wee mouse to sit in its run and let its tail hang
down outside?’
‘Yes, very odd.’
‘Papa, how did all those beautiful things come into the house which
I found in the chest upstairs? And why were you so cross with me for
putting them on?’
The old man’s face changed at once, the wild look came back into his
eye, and his hand which clasped her wrist clutched it so convulsively,
that she felt his nails cut her tender skin.
‘Eve!’ he said, and his voice quivered, ‘never touch them again. Never
speak of them again. My God!’ he put his hand to his brow and wiped the
drops which suddenly started over it, ‘my God! I fear, I fear for her.’
Then he turned his agitated face eagerly to her, and said—
‘Eve! you must take him. I wish it. I shall have no peace till I know
you are in his hands. He is so wise and so assured. I cannot die and
leave you alone. I wake up in the night bathed in a sweat of fear,
thinking of you, fearing for you. I imagine all sorts of things. Do you
not wish to go to Lanherne? Then take Mr. Coyshe. He will make you a
good husband. I shall be at ease when you are provided for. I cannot
die—and I believe I am nearer death than you or Barbara, or even the
doctor, supposes—I cannot die, and leave you here alone, unprotected.
O Eve! if you love me do as I ask. You must either go to Lanherne or
take Mr. Coyshe. It must be one or the other. What is that?’ he asked
suddenly, drawing back in the bed, and staring wildly at her, and
pointing at her forehead with a white quivering finger. ‘What is there?
A stain—a spot. One of my black spots, very big. No, it is red. It is
blood! It came there when I was wounded by the scythe, and every now
and then it breaks out again. I see it now.’
‘Papa!’ said Eve, shuddering, ‘don’t point at me in that way, and look
so strange; you frighten me. There is nothing there. Barbie washed it
off long ago.’
Then he wavered in his bed, passing one hand over the other, as
washing—’It cannot wash off,’ he said, despairingly. ‘It eats its way
in, farther, farther, till it reaches the very core of the heart, and
then——’ he cast himself back and moaned.
‘It was very odd of the mouse,’ said Eve, ‘to sit with her little back
to the room, looking into the dark, and her tail hanging out into the
chamber.’ She thought to divert her father’s thoughts from his fancies.
‘Eve!’ he said in a hoarse voice, and turned sharply round on her, ‘let
me see your mother’s ring again. To-day you shall put it on. Hitherto
you have worn it hung round your neck. To-day you shall bear it on your
finger, in token that you are engaged.’
‘Oh, papa, dear! I don’t——’
‘Which is it to be, Lanherne or Mr. Coyshe?’
‘I won’t indeed go to Lanherne.’
‘Very well; then you will take Mr. Coyshe. He will make you happy. He
will not always live here; he talks of a practice in London. He tells
me that he has found favour with the Duke. If he goes to London——’
‘Oh, papa! Is he really going to London?’
‘Yes, child!’
‘Where all the theatres are! Oh, papa! I should like to live in a town,
I do not like being mewed up in the country. Will he have a carriage?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Oh, papa! and a tiger in buttons and a gold band?’
‘I do not know.’
‘I am sure he will, papa! I’d rather have that than go to Lanherne.’
Mr. Jordan knocked with his stick against the wall. Eve was frightened.
‘Papa, don’t be too hasty. I only meant that I hate Lanherne!’
In fact, she was alarmed by his mention of the ring, and following her
usual simple tactics had diverted the current of his thoughts into
another direction.
Barbara and Mr. Coyshe came in.
‘She consents,’ said Mr. Jordan. ‘Eve, give him your hand. Where is the
ring?’
She drew back.
‘I want the ring,’ he said again, impatiently.
‘Papa, I have not got it—that is—I have mislaid it.’
‘What!’ he exclaimed, trying to sit up, and becoming excited. ‘The
ring—not lost! Mislaid! It must be found. I will have it. Your mother’s
ring! I will never, never forgive if that is lost. Produce it at once.’
‘I cannot, papa. I don’t know—— O—Mr. Coyshe, quick, give me your hand.
There! I consent. Do not be excited, dear papa. I’ll find the ring
to-morrow.’