GOBBLEGOOSE WOOD ON SUNDAY.
The next two days were not quite so triumphant to Ayala as had been
the evening of her arrival. There was hunting on both of those days,
the gentlemen having gone on the Friday away out of Sir Harry's
country to the Brake hounds. Ayala and the Colonel had arrived on the
Thursday. Ayala had not expected to be asked to hunt again,--had not
even thought about it. It had been arranged before on Nina's account,
and Nina now was not to hunt any more. Lord George did not altogether
approve of it, and Nina was quite in accord with Lord George,--though
she had held up her whip and shaken it in triumph when she jumped
over the Cranbury Brook. And the horse which Ayala had ridden was no
longer in the stables. "My dear, I am so sorry; but I'm afraid we
can't mount you," Lady Albury said. In answer to this Ayala declared
that she had not thought of it for a moment. But yet the days seemed
to be dull with her. Lady Rufford was,--well,--perhaps a little
patronising to her, and patronage such as that was not at all to
Ayala's taste. "Lady Albury seems to be quite a kind friend to you,"
Lady Rufford said. Nothing could be more true. The idea implied was
true also,--the idea that such a one as Ayala was much in luck's
way to find such a friend as Lady Albury. It was true no doubt; but,
nevertheless, it was ungracious, and had to be resented. "A very kind
friend, indeed. Some people only make friends of those who are as
grand as themselves."
"I am sure we should be very glad to see you at Rufford if you remain
long in the country," said Lady Rufford, a little time afterwards.
But even in this there was not a touch of that cordiality which might
have won Ayala's heart. "I am not at all likely to stay," said Ayala.
"I live with my uncle and aunt at Notting Hill, and I very rarely go
away from home." Lady Rufford, however, did not quite understand it.
It had been whispered to her that morning that Ayala was certainly
going to marry Colonel Stubbs; and, if so, why should she not come to
Rufford?
On that day, the Friday, she was taken out to dinner by Captain
Glomax. "I remember quite as if it were yesterday," said the Captain.
"It was the day we rode the Cranbury Brook."
Ayala looked up into his face, also remembering everything as well
as it were yesterday. "Mr. Twentyman rode over it," she said, "and
Colonel Stubbs rode into it."
"Oh, yes; Stubbs got a ducking; so he did." The Captain had not got a
ducking, but then he had gone round by the road. "It was a good run
that."
"I thought so."
"We haven't been lucky since Sir Harry has had the hounds somehow.
There doesn't seem to be the dash about 'em there used to be when I
was here. I had them before Sir Harry, you know." All this was nearly
in a whisper.
"Were you Master?" asked Ayala, with a tone of surprise which was not
altogether pleasing to the Captain.
"Indeed I was, but the fag of it was too great, and the thanks too
small, so I gave it up. They used to get four days a week out of me."
During the two years that the Captain had had the hounds, there had
been, no doubt, two or three weeks in which he had hunted four days.
Ayala liked hunting, but she did not care much for Captain Glomax,
who, having seen her once or twice on horseback, would talk to her
about nothing else. A little away on the other side of the table Nina
was sitting next to Colonel Stubbs, and she could hear their voices
and almost their words. Nina and Jonathan were first cousins, and,
of course, could be happy together without giving her any cause for
jealousy;--but she almost envied Nina. Yet she had hoped that it
might not fall to her lot to be taken out again that evening by the
Colonel. Hitherto she had not even spoken to him during the day. They
had started to the meet very early, and the gentlemen had almost
finished their breakfast before she had come down. If there had been
any fault it was her fault, but yet she almost felt that there was
something of a disruption between them. It was so evident to her that
he was perfectly happy whilst he was talking to Nina.
After dinner it seemed to be very late before the men came into the
drawing-room, and then they were still engaged upon that weary talk
about hunting, till Lady Rufford, in order to put a stop to it,
offered to sing. "I always do," she said, "if Rufford ventures to
name a fox in the drawing-room after dinner." She did sing, and Ayala
thought that the singing was more weary than the talk about hunting.
While this was going on, the Colonel had got himself shut up in
a corner of the room. Lady Albury had first taken him there, and
afterwards he had been hemmed in when Lady Rufford sat down to the
piano. Ayala had hardly ventured even to glance at him, but yet she
knew all that he did, and heard almost every word that he spoke.
The words were not many, but still when he did speak his voice was
cheerful. Nina now and again had run up to him, and Lady Rufford had
asked him some questions about the music. But why didn't he come out
and speak to her? thought Ayala. Though all that nonsense about love
was over, still he ought not to have allowed a day to pass at Stalham
without speaking to her. He was the oldest friend there in that
house except Nina. It was indeed no more than nine months since she
had first seen him, but still it seemed to her that he was an old
friend. She did feel, as she endeavoured to answer the questions that
Lord Rufford was asking her, that Jonathan Stubbs was treating her
unkindly.
Then came the moment in which Lady Albury marshalled her guests out
of the room towards their chambers. "Have you found yourself dull
without the hunting?" the Colonel said to Ayala.
"Oh dear no; I must have a dull time if I do, seeing that I have
only hunted three days in my life." There was something in the tone
of her voice which, as she herself was aware, almost expressed
dissatisfaction. And yet not for worlds would she have shown herself
to be dissatisfied with him, could she have helped it.
"I thought that perhaps you might have regretted the little pony," he
said.
"Because a thing has been very pleasant, it should not be regretted
because it cannot be had always."
"To me a thing may become so pleasant, that unless I can have it
always my life must be one long regret."
"The pony is not quite like that," said Ayala, smiling, as she
followed the other ladies out of the room.
On the next morning the meet was nearer, and some of the ladies were
taken there in an open carriage. Lady Rufford went, and Mrs. Gosling,
and Nina and Ayala. "Of course there is a place for you," Lady Albury
had said to her. "Had I wanted to go I would have made Sir Harry send
the drag; but I've got to stop at home and see that the buttered
toast is ready by the time the gentlemen all come back." The morning
was almost warm, so that the sportsmen were saying evil things of
violets and primroses, as is the wont of sportsmen on such occasions,
and at the meet the ladies got out of the carriage and walked about
among the hounds, making civil speeches to old Tony. "No, my lady,"
said Tony, "I don't like these sunshiny mornings at all; there ain't
no kind of scent, and I goes riding about these big woods, up and
down, till my shirt is as wet on my back with the sweat as though I'd
been pulled through the river." Then Lady Rufford walked away and did
not ask Tony any more questions.
Ayala was patting one of the hounds when the Colonel, who had given
his horse to a groom, came and joined her. "If you don't regret that
pony," said he, "somebody else does."
"I do regret him in one way, of course. I did like it very much; but
I don't think it nice, when much has been done for me, to say that I
want to have more done."
"Of course I knew what you meant."
"Perhaps you would go and tell Sir Harry, and then he would think me
very ungrateful."
"Ayala," he said, "I will never say anything of you that will make
anybody think evil of you. But, between ourselves, as Sir Harry is
not here, I suppose I may confess that I regret the pony."
"I should like it, of course," whispered Ayala.
"And so should I,--so much! I suppose all these men here would
think me an ass if they knew how little I care about the day's
work,--whether we find, or whether we run, or whether we kill,--just
because the pony is not here. If the pony were here I should have
that feeling of expectation of joy, which is so common to girls when
some much-thought-of ball or promised pleasure is just before them."
Then Tony went off with his hounds, and Jonathan, mounting his horse,
followed with the ruck.
Ayala knew very well what the pony meant, as spoken of by the
Colonel. When he declared that he regretted the pony, it was because
the pony might have carried herself. He had meant her to understand
that the much-thought-of ball or promised pleasure would have been
the delight of again riding with herself. And then he had again
called her Ayala. She could remember well every occasion on which
he had addressed her by her Christian name. It had been but seldom.
Once, however, it had occurred in the full flow of their early
intimacy, before that love-making had been begun. It had struck her
as being almost wrong, but still as very pleasant. If it might be
made right by some feeling of brotherly friendship, how pleasant
would it be! And now she would like it again, if only it might be
taken as a sign of friendship rather than of love. It never occurred
to her to be angry as she would have been angry with any other
man. How she would have looked at Captain Batsby had he dared to
call her Ayala! Colonel Stubbs should call her Ayala as long as he
pleased,--if it were done only in friendship.
After that they were driven about for a while, seeing what Tony did
with the hounds, as tidings came to them now and again that one
fox had broken this way and another had gone the other. But Ayala,
through it all, could not interest herself about the foxes. She was
thinking only of Jonathan Stubbs. She knew that she was pleased
because he had spoken to her, and had said kind, pleasant words to
her. She knew that she had been displeased while he had sat apart
from her, talking to others. But yet she could not explain to herself
why she had been either pleased or displeased. She feared that there
was more than friendship,--than mere friendship, in that declaration
of his that he did in truth regret the pony. His voice had been, oh,
so sweet as he had said it! Something told her that men do not speak
in mere friendship after that fashion. Not even in the softness of
friendship between a man and a woman will the man's voice become
as musical as that! Young as she was, child as she was, there was
an instinct in her breast which declared to her that it was so. But
then, if it were so, was not everything again wrong with her? If it
were so, then must that condition of things be coming back which it
had been, and still was her firm resolve to avoid. And yet, as the
carriage was being driven about, and as the frequent exclamations
came that the fox had traversed this way or that, her pride was
gratified and she was happy.
"What was Colonel Stubbs saying to you?" asked Nina, when they were
at home at the house after lunch.
"He was talking about the dear pony which I used to ride."
"About nothing else?"
"No;--about nothing else." This Ayala said with a short, dry manner
of utterance which she would assume when she was determined not to
have a subject carried on.
"Ayala, why do you not tell me everything? I told you everything as
soon as it happened."
"Nothing has happened."
"I know he asked you," said Nina.
"And I answered him."
"Is that to be everything?"
"Yes;--that is to be everything," said Ayala, with a short, dry
manner of utterance. It was so plain, that even Nina could not pursue
the subject.
There was nothing done on that day in the way of sport. Glomax
thought that Tony had been idle, and had made a holiday of the day
from the first. But Sir Harry declared that there had not been a yard
of scent. The buttered toast, however, was eaten, and the regular
sporting conversation was carried on. Ayala, however, was not there
to hear it. Ayala was in her own room dreaming.
She was taken in to dinner by a curate in the neighbourhood,--to whom
she endeavoured to make herself very pleasant, while the Colonel
sat at her other side. The curate had a good deal to say as to lawn
tennis. If the weather remained as it was, it was thought that
they could all play lawn tennis on the Tuesday,--when there would
be no hunting. The curate was a pleasant young fellow, and Ayala
devoted herself to him and to their joint hopes for next Tuesday.
Colonel Stubbs never once attempted to interfere with the curate's
opportunity. There was Lady Rufford on the other side of him, and
to Lady Rufford he said all that he did say during dinner. At one
period of the repast she was more than generally lively, because she
felt herself called upon to warn her husband that an attack of the
gout was imminent, and would be certainly produced instantaneously
if he could not deny himself the delight of a certain diet which
was going the round of the table. His lordship smiled and denied
himself,--thinking, as he did so, whether another wife, plus
the gout, would or would not have been better for him. All this
either amused Colonel Stubbs so sufficiently, or else made him so
thoughtful, that he made no attempt to interfere with the curate. In
the evening there was again music,--which resulted in a declaration
made upstairs by Sir Harry to his wife that that wife of Rufford's
was a confounded bore. "We all knew that, my dear, as soon as he
married her," said Lady Albury.
"Why did he marry a bore?"
"Because he wanted a wife to look after himself, and not to amuse his
friends. The wonder used to be that he had done so well."
Not a word had there been,--not a word, since that sound of "Ayala"
had fallen upon her ears. No;--he was not handsome, and his name was
Jonathan Stubbs;--but surely no voice so sweet had ever fallen from a
man's lips! So she sat and dreamed far into the night. He, the Angel
of Light, would certainly have a sweeter voice! That was an attribute
without which no angel could be angelic! As to the face and the name,
that would not perhaps signify. But he must have an intellect high
soaring, a soul tuned to music, and a mind versed in nothing but
great matters. He might be an artist, or more probably a poet;--or
perhaps a musician. Yet she had read of poets, artists, and
musicians, who had misused their wives, been fond of money, and had
perhaps been drunkards. The Angel of Light must have the gifts, and
must certainly be without the vices.
The next day was Sunday and they all went to church. In the afternoon
they, as many of them as pleased, were to walk as far as Gobblegoose
Wood, which was only three miles from the house. They could not hunt
and therefore they must go to the very scene of the late contest and
again discuss it there. Sir Harry and the Captain would walk and
so would Ayala and Nina and some others. Lord Rufford did not like
walking, and Lady Rufford would stay at home to console him. Ayala
used her little wiles to keep herself in close company with Nina; but
the Colonel's wiles were more effective;--and then, perhaps, Nina
assisted the Colonel rather than Ayala. It came to pass that before
they had left Gobblegoose Wood Ayala and the Colonel were together.
When it was so he did not beat about the bush for a moment longer. He
had fixed his opportunity for himself and he put it to use at once.
"Ayala," he said, "am I to have any other answer?"
"What answer?"
"Nay, my dearest,--my own, own dearest as I fain would have you,--who
shall say what answer but you? Ayala, you know that I love you!"
"I thought you had given it up."
"Given it up. Never,--never! Does a man give up his joy,--the pride
of his life,--the one only delight on which his heart has set itself!
No, my darling, I have not given it up. Because you would not have it
as I wished when I first spoke to you, I have not gone on troubling
you. I thought I would wait till you were used again to the look of
me, and to my voice. I shall never give it up, Ayala. When you came
into the room that night with your new frock on--" Then he paused,
and she glanced round upon him, and saw that a tear again was in his
eye. "When you came in and curtseyed to Sir Harry I could hardly keep
within myself because I thought you were so beautiful."
"It was the new gown which he had given me."
"No, my pet;--no! You may add a grace to a dress, but it can do but
little for you. It was the little motion, the little word, the light
in your eye! It twinkles at me sometimes when you glance about, so
that I do not know whether it is meant for me or not. I fear that it
is never meant for me."
"It is meant for nothing," said Ayala.
"And yet it goes into my very bosom. When you were talking to that
clergyman at dinner I could see every sparkle that came from it. Then
I wonder to myself whether you can ever be thinking of me as I am
always thinking of you." She knew that she had been thinking of him
every waking moment since she had been at Albury and through many of
her sleeping moments also. "Ayala, one little word, one other glance
from your eyes, one slightest touch from your hand upon my arm, shall
tell me,--shall tell me,--shall tell me that I am the happiest, the
proudest man in all the world." She walked on steadfastly, closing
her very teeth against a word, with her eyes fixed before her so that
no slightest glance should wander. Her two hands were in her little
muff, and she kept them with her fingers clasped together, as though
afraid lest one might rebel, and fly away, and touch the sleeve of
his coat. "Ayala, how is it to be with me?"
"I cannot," she said sternly. And her eyes were still fixed before
her, and her fingers were still bound in one with another. And yet
she loved him. Yet she knew that she loved him. She could have hung
upon his arm and smiled up into his face, and frowned her refusal
only with mock anger as he pressed her to his bosom,--only that those
dreams were so palpable to her and so dear, had been to her so vast a
portion of her young life! "I cannot," she said again. "I cannot."
"Is that to be your answer for ever?" To this she made no immediate
reply. "Must it be so, Ayala?"
"I cannot," she said. But the last little word was so impeded by the
sobs which she could not restrain as almost to be inaudible.
"I will not make you unhappy, Ayala." Yes, she was unhappy. She was
unhappy because she knew that she could not rule herself to her own
happiness; because, even at this moment, she was aware that she was
wrong. If she could only release part of herself from the other, then
could she fly into his arms and tell him that that spirit which had
troubled her had flown. But the spirit was too strong for her, and
would not fly. "Shall we go and join them?" he asked her in a voice
altered, but still so sweet to her ears.
"If you think so," she replied.
"Perhaps it will be best, Ayala. Do not be angry with me now. I will
not call you so again." Angry! Oh, no! She was not angry with him!
But it was very bitter to her to be told that she should never hear
the word again from his lips.
"The hunted fox never went up Buddlecombe Hill;--never. If he did
I'll eat every fox in the Rufford and Ufford country." This was
heard, spoken in most angry tones by Captain Glomax, as the Colonel
and Ayala joined the rest of the party.