"My lord Sebastian,
The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness,
And time to speak it in: you rub the sore,
When you should bring the plaster."
_Tempest_.
The Evelyns spent several weeks at the Pool; and both mother
and daughters conceiving a great affection for Fleda, kept her
in their company as much as possible. For those weeks Fleda
had enough of gaiety. She was constantly spending the day with
them at the Pool, or going on some party of pleasure, or
taking quiet sensible walks and rides with them alone, or with
only one or two more of the most rational and agreeable people
that the place could command. And even Mrs. Rossitur was
persuaded, more times than one, to put herself in her plainest
remaining French silk, and entertain the whole party, with the
addition of one or two of Charlton's friends, at her Queechy
farm-house.
Fleda enjoyed it all with the quick spring of a mind
habitually bent to the patient fulfilment of duty, and
habitually under the pressure of rather sobering thoughts. It
was a needed and very useful refreshment. Charlton's being at
home gave her the full good of the opportunity more than would
else have been possible. He was her constant attendant,
driving her to and from the Pool, and finding as much to call
him there as she had; for, besides the Evelyns, his friend
Thorn abode there all this time. The only drawback to Fleda's
pleasure as she drove off from Queechy would be the leaving
Hugh plodding away at his saw-mill. She used to nod and wave
to him as they went by, and almost feel that she ought not to
go on and enjoy herself while he was tending that wearisome
machinery all day long. Still she went on and enjoyed herself;
but the mere thought of his patient smile as she passed would
have kept her from too much elation of spirits, if there had
been any danger. There never was any.
"That's a lovely little cousin of yours," said Thorn, one
evening, when he and Rossitur, on horseback, were leisurely
making their way along the up-and-down road between Montepoole
and Queechy.
"She is not particularly little," said Rossitur, with a
dryness that somehow lacked any savour of gratification.
"She is of a most fair stature," said Thorn; "I did not mean
anything against that; but there are characters to which one
gives instinctively a softening appellative."
"Are there?" said Charlton.
"Yes. She is a lovely little creature."
"She is not to compare to one of those girls we have left
behind us at Montepoole," said Charlton.
"Hum well, perhaps you are right; but which girl do you
mean? for I profess I don't know."
"The second of Mrs. Evelyn's daughters the auburn-haired
one."
"Miss Constance, eh?" said Thorn. "In what isn't the other one
to be compared to her?"
"In anything! Nobody would ever think of looking at her in the
same room."
"Why not?" said Thorn, coolly.
"I don't know why not," said Charlton, "except that she has
not a tithe of her beauty. That's a superb girl!"
For a matter of twenty yards, Mr. Thorn went softly humming a
tune to himself, and leisurely switching the flies off his
horse.
"Well," said he, "there's no accounting for tastes
'I ask no red and white
To make up my delight,
No odd becoming graces,
Black eyes, or little know-not-what in faces.' "
"What _do_ you want, then?" said Charlton, half laughing at him
though his friend was perfectly grave.
"A cool eye, and a mind in it."
"A cool eye!" said Rossitur.
"Yes. Those we have left behind us are arrant will-o'-the-
wisps dancing fires no more."
"I can tell you, there is fire sometimes in the other eyes,"
said Charlton.
"Very likely," said his friend, composedly; "I could have
guessed as much; but that is a fire you may warm yourself at;
no eternal phosphorescence it is the leaping up of all
internal fire, that only shows itself upon occasion."
"I suppose you know what you are talking about," said
Charlton; "but I can't follow you into the region of
volcanoes. Constance Evelyn has superb eyes. It is uncommon to
see a light blue so brilliant."
"I would rather trust a sick head to the handling of the
lovely lady than the superb one, at a venture."
"I thought you never had a sick head," said Charlton.
"That is lucky for me, as the hands do not happen to be at my
service. But no imagination could put Miss Constance in
Desdemona's place, when Othello complained of his headache
you remember, Charlton,
"Faith, that's with watching 'twill away again
Let me but bind this handkerchief about it hard.' "
Thorn gave the intonation truly and admirably.
"Fleda never said anything so soft as that," said Charlton.
"No?"
"No."
"You speak well, but _soft!_ do you know what you are
talking about there?"
"Not very well," said Charlton. "I only remember there was
nothing soft about Othello; what you quoted of his wife just
now seemed to me to smack of that quality."
"I forgive your memory," said Thorn, "or else I certainly
would not forgive you. If there is a fair creation in all
Shakespeare, it is Desdemona; and if there is a pretty
combination on earth that nearly matches it, I believe it is
that one."
"What one?"
"Your pretty cousin."
Charlton was silent.
"It is generous in me to undertake her defence," Thorn went
on, "for she bestows as little of her fair countenance upon me
as she can well help. But try as she will, she cannot be so
repellent as she is attractive."
Charlton pushed his horse into a brisker pace not favourable
to conversation; and they rode forward in silence, till, in
descending the hill below Deepwater, they came within view of
Hugh's work-place, the saw-mill. Charlton suddenly drew
bridle.
"There she is."
"And who is with her?" said Thorn. "As I live! our friend
what's his name? who has lost all his ancestors. And who
is the other?"
"My brother," said Charlton.
"I don't mean your brother, Captain Rossitur," said Thorn,
throwing himself off his horse.
He joined the party, who were just leaving the mill to go down
towards the house. Very much at his leisure, Charlton
dismounted, and came after him.
"I have brought Charlton safe home, Miss Ringgan," said Thorn,
who, leading his horse, had quietly secured a position at her
side.
"What's the matter?" said Fleda, laughing. "Couldn't he bring
himself home?"
"I don't know what's the matter, but he's been uncommonly
dumpish; we've been as near as possible to quarrelling for
half a dozen miles back."
"We have been a more agreeably employed," said Dr.
Quackenboss, looking round at him with a face that was a
concentration of affability.
"I make no doubt of it, Sir; I trust we shall bring no
unharmonious interruption. If I may change somebody else's
words," he added more low to Fleda " 'disdain itself must
convert to courtesy in your presence.' "
"I am sorry disdain should live to pay me a compliment," said
Fleda. "Mr. Thorn, may I introduce to you, Mr. Olmney?"
Mr. Thorn honoured the introduction with perfect civility, but
then fell back to his former position and slightly lowered
tone.
"Are you then a sworn foe to compliments?"
"I was never so fiercely attacked by them as to give me any
occasion."
"I should be very sorry to furnish the occasion; but what's
the harm in them, Miss Ringgan?"
"Chiefly a want of agreeableness."
"Of agreeableness! Pardon me; I hope you will be so good as to
give me the rationale of that?"
"I am of Miss Edgeworth's opinion, Sir," said Fleda, blushing,
" that a lady may always judge of the estimation in which she
is held, by the conversation which is addressed to her."
"And you judge compliments to be a doubtful indication of
esteem!"
"I am sure you do not need information on that point, Sir."
"As to your opinion, or the matter of fact?" said he, somewhat
keenly.
"As to the matter of fact," said Fleda, with a glance both
simple and acute in its expression.
"I will not venture to say a word," said Thorn, smiling.
"Protestations would certainly fall flat at the gates where
_les douces paroles_ cannot enter. But do you know this is
picking a man's pocket of all his silver pennies, and obliging
him to produce his gold?"
"That _would_ be a hard measure upon a good many people," said
Fleda, laughing. "But they're not driven to that. There's
plenty of small change left."
"You certainly do not deal in the coin you condemn," said
Thorn, bowing. "But you will remember that none call for gold
but those who can exchange it, and the number of them is few.
In a world where cowrie passes current, a man may be excused
for not throwing about his guineas."
"I wish you'd throw about a few for our entertainment," said
Charlton, who was close behind. "I haven't seen a yellow-boy
in a good while."
"A proof that your eyes are not jaundiced," said his friend,
without turning his head, "whatever may be the case with you
otherwise. Is he out of humour with the country-life you like
so well, Miss Ringgan? or has he left his domestic tastes in
Mexico? How do you think he likes Queechy?"
"You might as well ask myself," said Charlton.
"How do you think he likes Queechy, Miss Ringgan?"
"I am afraid something after the fashion of Touchstone," said
Fleda, laughing; "he thinks, that 'in respect of itself, it
is a good life; but in respect that it is a shepherd's life,
it is nought. In respect that it is solitary, he likes it very
well; but in respect that it is private, it is a very vile
life. Now, in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth him
well; but in respect it is not in the court, it is tedious.' "
"There's a guinea for you, Captain Rossitur," said his friend.
"Do you know out of what mint?"
"It doesn't bear the head of Socrates," said Charlton.
" 'Hast no philosophy in thee,' Charlton?" said Fleda,
laughing back at him.
"Has not Queechy a the honour of your approbation, Captain
Rossitur?" said the doctor.
"Certainly, Sir; I have no doubt of its being a very fine
country."
"Only he has imbibed some doubts whether happiness be an
indigenous crop," said Thorn.
"Undoubtedly," said the doctor, blandly; "to one who has
roamed over the plains of Mexico, Queechy must seem rather a
a rather flat place."
"If he could lose sight of the hills," said Thorn.
"Undoubtedly, Sir, undoubtedly," said the doctor; "they are a
marked feature in the landscape, and do much to relieve a
the charge of sameness."
"Luckily," said Mr. Olmney, smiling, "happiness is not a thing
of circumstance; it depends on a man's self."
"I used to think so," said Thorn; "that is what I have always
subscribed to; but I am afraid I could not live in this region
and find it so long."
"What an evening!" said Fleda. "Queechy is doing its best to
deserve our regards under this light. Mr. Olmney, did you ever
notice the beautiful curve of the hills in that hollow where
the sun sets?"
"I do notice it now," he said.
"It is exquisite!" said the doctor. "Captain Rossitur, do you
observe, Sir in that hollow where the sun sets?"
Captain Rossitur's eye made a very speedy transition from the
hills to Fleda, who had fallen back a little to take Hugh's
arm, and placing herself between him and Mr. Olmney, was
giving her attention undividedly to the latter. And to him she
talked perseveringly of the mountains, the country, and the
people, till they reached the courtyard gate. Mr. Olmney then
passed on. So did the doctor, though invited to tarry,
averring that the sun had gone down behind the firmament, and
he had something to attend to at home.
"You will come in, Thorn," said Charlton.
"Why, I had intended returning; but the sun has gone down
indeed, and as our friend says there is no chance of our
seeing him again, I may as well go in and take what comfort is
to be had in the circumstances. Gentle Euphrosyne, doth it not
become the Graces to laugh?"
"They always ask leave, Sir," said Fleda, hesitating.
"A most Grace-ful answer, though it does not smile upon me,"
said Thorn.
"I am sorry, Sir," said Fleda, smiling now, "that you have so
many silver pennies to dispose of we shall never get at the
gold."
"I will do my very best," said he.
So he did, and made himself agreeable that evening to every
one of the circle; though Fleda's sole reason for liking to
see him come in had been, that she was glad of everything that
served to keep Charlton's attention from home subjects. She
saw sometimes the threatening of a cloud that troubled her.
But the Evelyns and Thorn, and everybody else whom they knew,
left the Pool at last, before Charlton, who was sufficiently
well again, had near run out his furlough; and then the cloud,
which had only showed itself by turns during all those weeks,
gathered and settled determinately upon his brow.
He had long ago supplied the want of a newspaper. One evening
in September, the family were sitting in the room where they
had had tea, for the benefit of the fire, when Barby pushed
open the kitchen door and came in.
"Fleda, will you let me have one of the last papers? I've a
notion to look at it."
Fleda rose and went to rummaging in the cupboards.
"You can have it again in a little while," said Barby,
considerately.
The paper was found, and Miss Elster went out with it.
"What an unendurable piece of ill-manners that woman is!" said
Charlton.
"She has no idea of being ill-mannered, I assure you," said
Fleda,.
His voice was like a brewing storm hers was so clear and
soft that it made a lull in spite of him. But he began again.
"There is no necessity for submitting to impertinence. I never
would do it."
"I have no doubt you never will," said his father. "Unless you
can't help yourself."
"Is there any good reason, Sir, why you should not have proper
servants in the house?"
"A very good reason," said Mr. Rossitur. "Fleda would be in
despair."
"Is there none beside that?" said Charlton, dryly.
"None except a trifling one," Mr. Rossitur answered, in the
same tone.
"We cannot afford it, dear Charlton," said his mother, softly.
There was a silence, during which Fleda moralized on the ways
people take to make themselves uncomfortable.
"Does that man to whom you let the farm does he do his
duty?"
"I am not the keeper of his conscience."
" I am afraid it would be a small charge to any one," said
Fleda.
"But are you the keeper of the gains you ought to have from
him? Does he deal fairly by you?"
"May I ask first what interest it is of yours?"
"It is my interest, Sir, because I come home and find the
family living upon the exertions of Hugh and Fleda, and find
them growing thin and pale under it."
"You, at least, are free from all pains of the kind, Captain
Rossitur."
"Don't listen to him, uncle Rolf!" said Fleda, going round to
her uncle, and making, as she passed, a most warning
impression upon Charlton's arm "don't mind what he says
that young gentleman has been among the Mexican ladies till he
has lost an eye for a really proper complexion. Look at me!
do I look pale and thin? I was paid a most brilliant
compliment the other day upon my roses. Uncle, don't listen to
him! he hasn't been in a decent humour since the Evelyns
went away."
She knelt down before him and laid her hands upon his, and
looked up in his face to bring all her plea the plea of most
winning sweetness of entreaty in features yet flushed and
trembling. His own did not unbend as he gazed at her, but he
gave her a silent answer in a pressure of the hands that went
straight from his heart to hers. Fleda's eye turned to
Charlton appealingly.
"Is it necessary," he repeated, "that that child and this boy
should spend their days in labour to keep the family alive?"
"If it were," replied Mr. Rossitur, "I am very willing that
their exertions should cease. For my own part, I would quite
as lief be out of the world as in it."
"Charlton! how can you!" said Fleda, half-beside herself
"you should know of what you speak, or be silent! Uncle,
don't mind him! he is talking wildly my work does me good."
"You do not understand yourself," said Charlton, obstinately;
"it is more than you ought to do, and I know my mother
thinks so, too."
"Well!" said Mr. Rossitur "it seems there is an agreement in
my own family to bring me to the bar get up, Fleda, let us
hear all the charges to be brought against me, at once, and
then pass sentence. What have you and your mother agreed upon,
Charlton? go on!"
Mrs. Rossitur, now beyond speech, left the room, weeping even
aloud. Hugh followed her. Fleda wrestled with her agitation
for a minute or two, and than got up and put both arms round
her uncle's neck.
"Don't talk so, dear uncle Rolf! you make us very unhappy
aunt Lucy did not mean any such thing it is only Charlton's
nonsense. Do go and tell her you don't think so you have
broken her heart by what you said; do go, uncle Rolf! do
go and make her happy again! Forget it all! Charlton did not
know what he was saying wont you go, dear uncle Rolf? "
The words were spoken between bursts of tears that utterly
overcame her, though they did not hinder the utmost
caressingness of manner. It seemed at first spent upon a rock.
Mr. Rossitur stood like a man that did not care what happened
or what became of him dumb and unrelenting suffering her
sweet words and imploring tears, with no attempt to answer the
one or stay the other. But he could not hold out against her
beseeching. He was no match for it. He returned at last
heartily the pressure of her arms, and, unable to give her any
other answer, kissed her two or three times such kisses as
are charged with the heart's whole message; and, disengaging
himself, left the room.
For a minute after he was gone, Fleda cried excessively; and
Charlton, now alone with her, felt as if he had not a particle
of self-respect left to stand upon. One such agony would do
her more harm than whole weeks of labour and weariness. He was
too vexed and ashamed of himself to be able to utter a word,
but when she recovered a little, and was leaving the room, he
stood still by the door in an attitude that seemed to ask her
to speak a word to him.
"I am sure, Charlton," she said, gently, "you'll be sorry to-
morrow for what you have done."
"I am sorry now," he said. But she passed out without saying
anything more.
Captain Rossitur passed the night in unmitigated vexation with
himself. But his repentance could not have been very genuine,
since his most painful thought was, what Fleda must think of
him.
He was somewhat reassured at breakfast to find no traces of
the evening's storm; indeed, the moral atmosphere seemed
rather clearer and purer than common. His own face was the
only one which had an unusual shade upon it. There was no
difference in anybody's manner towards himself; and there was
even a particularly gentle and kind pleasantness about Fleda,
intended, he knew, to soothe and put to rest any movings of
self-reproach he might feel. It somehow missed of its aim, and
made him feel worse; and after, on his part, a very silent
meal, he quitted the house, and took himself and his
discontent to the woods.
Whatever effect they had upon him, it was the middle of the
morning before he came back again. He found Fleda alone in the
breakfast-room, sewing; and for the first time noticed the
look his mother had spoken of a look not of sadness, but
rather of settled, patient gravity; the more painful to see,
because it could only have been wrought by long-acting causes,
and might be as slow to do away as it must have been to bring.
Charlton's displeasure with the existing state of things had
revived as his remorse died away, and that quiet face did not
have a quieting effect upon him.
"What on earth is going on?" he began, rather abruptly, as
soon as he entered the room. "What horrible cookery is on
foot?"
"I venture to recommend that you do not inquire," said Fleda.
"It was set on foot in the kitchen, and it has walked in here.
If you open the window, it will walk out."
"But you will be cold?"
"Never mind in that case I will walk out too, into the
kitchen."
"Into the thick of it! No I will try some other way of
relief. This is unendurable!"
Fleda looked, but made no other remonstrance, and not heeding
the look, Mr. Charlton walked out into the kitchen, shutting
the door behind him.
"Barby," said he, "you have got something cooking here that is
very disagreeable in the other room."
"Is it?" said Barby. "I reckoned it would all fly up chimney.
I guess the draught ain't so strong as I thought it was."
"But I tell you it fills the house!"
"Well, it'll have to a spell yet," said Barby, "cause if it
didn't, you see, Captain Rossitur, there'd be nothing to fill
Fleda's chickens with."
"Chickens! where's all the corn in the land?"
"It's some place besides in our barn," said Barby. "All last
year's is out, and Mr. Didenhover aint fetched any of this
year's home; so I made a bargain with 'em, they shouldn't
starve as long as they'd eat boiled pursley."
"What do you give them?"
"Most everything they aint particular now-a-days chunks o'
cabbages, and scarcity, and pun'kin, and that all the sass
that aint wanted."
"And do they eat that?"
"Eat it!" said Barby; "they don't know how to thank me for't."
"But it ought to be done out of doors," said Charlton, coming
black from a kind of maze in which he had been listening to
her. "It is unendurable."
"Then I guess you'll have to go some place where you wont know
it," said Barby "that's the most likely plan I can hit upon;
for it'll have to stay on till it's ready."
Charlton went back into the other room really down-hearted,
and stood watching the play of Fleda's fingers.
"Is it come to this!" he said at length. "Is it possible that
you are obliged to go without such a trifle as the miserable
supply of food your fowls want?"
"That's a small matter!" said Fleda, speaking lightly though
she smothered a sigh. "We have been obliged to do without more
than that."
"What is the reason?"
"Why, this man Didenhover is a rogue, I suspect, and he
manages to spirit away all the profits that should come to
uncle Rolf's hands I don't know how. We have lived almost
entirely upon the mill for some time."
"And has my father been doing nothing all this while?"
"Nothing on the farm."
"And what of anything else?"
"I don't know," said Fleda, speaking with evident
unwillingness. "But surely, Charlton, he knows his own
business best. It is not our affair."
"He is mad!" said Charlton, violently striding up and down the
floor.
"No," said Fleda, with equal gentleness and sadness, "he is
only unhappy; I understand it all he has had no spirit to
take hold of anything ever since we came here."
"Spirit!" said Charlton; "he ought to have worked off his
fingers to their joints before he let you do as you have been
doing!"
"Don't say so!" said Fleda, looking even pale in her eagerness
"don't think so, Charlton! it isn't right. We cannot tell
what he may have had to trouble him; I know he has suffered,
and does suffer a great deal. Do not speak again about
anything as you did last night! Oh," said Fleda, now shedding
bitter tears, "this is the worst of growing poor the
difficulty of keeping up the old kindness, and sympathy, and
care, for each other!"
"I am sure it does not work so upon you," said Charlton, in an
altered voice.
"Promise me, dear Charlton," said Fleda, looking up after a
moment, and drying her eyes again, "promise me you will not
say any more about these things! I am sure it pains uncle Rolf
more than you think. Say you will not for your mother's
sake!"
"I will not Fleda for your sake. I would not give you any more
trouble to bear. Promise me that you will be more careful of
yourself in future."
"Oh there is no danger about me," said Fleda, with a faint
smile, and taking up her work again!
"Who are you making shirts for?" said Charlton, after a
pause."
"Hugh."
"You do everything for Hugh, don't you?"
"Little enough. Not half so much as he does for me."
"Is he up at the mill to-day?"
"He is always there," said Fleda, sighing.
There was another silence.
"Charlton," said Fleda, looking up with a face of the
loveliest insinuation "isn't there something _you_ might do to
help us a little?"
"I will help you garden, Fleda, with pleasure."
"I would rather you should help somebody else," said she,
still looking at him.
"What, Hugh? You would have me go and work at the mill for
him, I suppose?"
"Don't be angry with me, Charlton, for suggesting it," said
Fleda, looking down again.
"Angry!" said he. "But is that what you would have me do."
"Not unless you like; I didn't know but you might take his
place once in a while for a little, to give him a rest "
"And suppose some of the people from Montepoole, that know me,
should come by? What are you thinking of?" said he, in a
tone that certainly justified Fleda's deprecation.
"Well!" said Fleda, in a kind of choked voice "there is a
strange rule of honour in vogue in the world."
"Why should I help Hugh rather than anybody else?"
"He is killing himself!" said Fleda, letting her work fall,
and hardly speaking the words through thick tears. Her head
was down, and they came fast. Charlton stood abashed for a
minute.
"You sha'n't do so, Fleda," said he gently, endeavouring to
raise her "you have tired yourself with this miserable work!
Come to the window you have got low-spirited, but, I am
sure, without reason about Hugh but you shall set me about
what you will; you are right, I dare say, and I am wrong; but
don't make me think myself a brute, and I will do anything you
please."
He had raised her up, and made her lean upon him. Fleda wiped
her eyes and tried to smile.
"I will do anything that will please you, Fleda."
"It is not to please _me_," she answered, meekly.
"I would not have spoken a word last night if I had known it
would have grieved you so."
"I am sorry you should have none but so poor a reason for
doing right," said Fleda, gently.
"Upon my word, I think you are about as good reason as anybody
need have," said Charlton.
She put her hand upon his arm, and looked up such a look of
pure rebuke, as carried to his mind the full force of the
words she did not speak, "Who art thou that carest for a
worm which shall die, and forgettest the Lord thy Maker!"
Charlton's eyes fell. Fleda turned gently away, and began to
mend the fire. He stood watching her for a little.
"What do you think of me, Fleda?" he said at length.
"A little wrong-headed," answered Fleda, giving him a glance
and a smile. "I don't think you are very bad."
"If you will go with me, Fleda, you shall make what you please
of me."
He spoke half in jest, half in earnest, and did not himself
know at the moment which way he wished Fleda to take it. But
she had no notion of any depth in his words.
"A hopeless task!" she answered, lightly, shaking her head, as
she got down on her knees to blow the fire; "I am afraid it
is too much for me. I have been trying to mend you ever since
you came, and I cannot see the slightest change for the
better."
"Where is the bellows?" said Charlton, in another tone.
"It has expired its last breath," said Fleda. "In other
words, it has lost its nose."
"Well, look here," said he, laughing and pulling her away
"you will stand a fair chance of losing your face if you put
it in the fire. You sha'n't do it. Come and show me where to
find the scattered parts of that old wind instrument, and I
will see if it cannot be persuaded to play again."