TWO IMPORTANT CHARACTERS.
About five years passed away since the events narrated in the last
chapter. The General's household had left their London lodgings not
long after Guy's visit, and had removed to the family seat at Pomeroy
Court, where they had remained ever since. During these years Guy had
been living the life common with young officers, moving about from
place to place, going sometimes on a visit to his father, and, on the
whole, extracting an uncommonly large amount of enjoyment out of
life. The memory of his betrothal never troubled him; he fortunately
escaped any affair of the heart more serious than an idle flirtation
in a garrison town; the odd scene of his visit to General Pomeroy's
lodgings soon faded into the remote past; and the projected marriage
was banished in his mind to the dim shades of a remote future. As for
the two old men, they only met once or twice in all these years.
General Pomeroy could not manage very well to leave his daughter, and
Lord Chetwynde's health did not allow him to visit Pomeroy. He often
urged the General to bring Zillah with him to Chetwynde Castle, but
this the young lady positively refused to consent to. Nor did the
General himself care particularly about taking her there.
Pomeroy Court was a fine old mansion, with no pretensions to
grandeur, but full of that solid comfort which characterizes so many
country houses of England. It was irregular in shape, and belonged to
different periods; the main building being Elizabethan, from which
there projected an addition in that stiff Dutch style which William
and Mary introduced. A wide, well-timbered park surrounded it, beyond
which lay the village of Pomeroy.
One morning in June, 1856, a man came up the avenue and entered the
hall. He was of medium size, with short light hair, low brow, light
eyes, and thin face, and he carried a scroll of music in his hand. He
entered the hall with the air of an habitué, and proceeded to the
south parlor. Here his attention was at once arrested by a figure
standing by one of the windows. It was a young girl, slender and
graceful in form, dressed in black, with masses of heavy black hair
coiled up behind her head. Her back was turned toward him, and he
stood in silence for some time looking toward her. At last he spoke:
"Miss Krieff--"
The one called Miss Krieff turned and said, in an indifferent
monotone: "Good-morning, Mr. Gualtier."
Turning thus she showed a face which had in it nothing whatever of
the English type--a dark olive complexion, almost swarthy, in fact;
thick, luxuriant black hair, eyes intensely black and piercingly
lustrous, retreating chin, and retreating narrow forehead. In that
face, with its intense eyes, there was the possibility of rare charm
and fascination, and beauty of a very unusual kind; but at the
present moment, as she looked carelessly and almost sullenly at her
visitor, there was something repellent.
"Where is Miss Pomeroy?" asked Gualtier.
"About, somewhere," answered Miss Krieff, shortly.
"Will she not play to-day?"
"I think not."
"Why?"
"The usual cause."
"What?"
"Tantrums," said Miss Krieff.
"It is a pity," said Gualtier, dryly, "that she is so irregular in
her lessons. She will never advance."
"The idea of her ever pretending to take lessons of any body in any
thing is absurd," said Miss Krieff. "Besides, it is as much as a
teacher's life is worth. You will certainly leave the house some day
with a broken head."
Gualtier smiled, showing a set of large yellow teeth, and his small
light eyes twinkled.
"It is nothing for me, but I sometimes think it must be hard for you,
Miss Krieff," said he, insinuatingly.
"Hard!" she repeated, and her eyes flashed as she glanced at
Gualtier; but in an instant it passed, and she answered in a soft,
stealthy voice: "Oh yes, it is hard sometimes; but then dependents
have no right to complain of the whims of their superiors and
benefactors, you know."
Gualtier said nothing, but seemed to wait further disclosures. After
a time Miss Krieff looked up, and surveyed him with her penetrating
gaze.
"You must have a great deal to bear, I think," said he at last.
"Have you observed it?" she asked.
"Am I not Miss Pomeroy's tutor? How can I help observing it?" was the
reply.
"Have I ever acted as though I was dissatisfied or discontented, or
did you ever see any thing in me which would lead you to suppose that
I was otherwise than contented?"
"You are generally regarded as a model of good-nature," said
Gualtier, in a cautious, noncommittal tone. "Why should I think
otherwise? They say that no one but you could live with Miss
Pomeroy."
Miss Krieff looked away, and a stealthy smile crept over her
features.
"Good-nature!" she murmured. A laugh that sounded almost like a sob
escaped her. Silence followed, and Gualtier sat looking abstractedly
at his sheet of music.
"How do you like the General?" he asked, abruptly.
"How could I help loving Miss Pomeroy's father?" replied Miss Krieff,
with the old stealthy smile reappearing.
"Is he not just and honorable?"
"Both--more too--he is generous and tender. He is above all a fond
father; so fond," she added, with something like a sneer, "that all
his justice, his tenderness, and his generosity are exerted for the
exclusive benefit of that darling child on whom he dotes. I assure
you, you can have no idea how touching it is to see them together."
"Do you often feel this tenderness toward them?" asked Gualtier,
turning his thin sallow face toward her.
"Always," said Miss Krieff, slowly. She rose from her chair, where
she had taken her seat, and looked fixedly at him for some time
without one word.
"You appear to be interested in this family," said she at length.
Gualtier looked at her for a moment--then his eyes fell.
"How can I be otherwise than interested in one like you?" he
murmured.
"The General befriended you. He found you in London, and offered you
a large salary to teach his daughter."
"The General was very kind, and is so still."
Miss Krieff paused, and looked at him with keen and vigilant
scrutiny.
"Would you be shocked," she asked at length, "if you were to hear
that the General had an enemy?"
"That would altogether depend upon who the enemy might be."
"An enemy," continued Miss Krieff, with intense bitterness of
tone--"in his own family?"
"That would be strange," said Gualtier; "but I can imagine an enemy
with whom I would not be offended."
"What would you think," asked Miss Krieff, after another pause,
during which her keen scrutinizing gaze was fixed on Gualtier, "if
that enemy had for years been on the watch, and under a thin veil of
good-nature had concealed the most vengeful feelings? What would you
say if that enemy had grown so malignant that only one desire
remained, and that was--to do some injury in some way to General
Pomeroy?"
"You must tell me more," said Gualtier, "before I answer. I am fully
capable of understanding all that hate may desire or accomplish. But
has this enemy of whom you speak _done_ any thing? Has she found out
any thing? Has she ever discovered any way in which her hate may be
gratified?"
"You seem to take it for granted that his enemy is a woman!"
"Of course."
"Well, then, I will answer you. She _has_ found out something--or,
rather, she is in the way toward finding out something--which may yet
enable her to gratify her desires."
"Have you any objections to tell what that may be?" asked Gualtier.
Miss Krieff said nothing for some time, during which each looked
earnestly at the other.
"No," said she at last.
"What is it?"
"It is something that I have found among the General's papers," said
she, in a low voice.
"You have examined the General's papers, then?"
"What I said implied that much, I believe," said Miss Krieff, coolly.
"And what is it?"
"A certain mysterious document."
"Mysterious document?" repeated Gualtier.
"Yes."
"What?"
"It is a writing in cipher."
"And you have made it out?"
"No, I have not."
"Of what use is it, then?"
"I think it may be of some importance, or it would not have been kept
where it was, and it would not have been written in cipher."
"What can you do with it?" asked Gualtier, after some silence.
"I do not yet see what I can do with it, but others may."
"What others?"
"I hope to find some friend who may have more skill in cryptography
than I have, and may be able to decipher it."
"Can you not decipher it at all?"
"Only in part."
"And what is it that you have found out?"
"I will tell you some other time, perhaps."
"You object to tell me now?"
"Yes."
"When will you tell me?"
"When we are better acquainted."
"Are we not pretty well acquainted now?"
"Not so well as I hope we shall be hereafter."
"I shall wait most patiently, then," said Gualtier, earnestly, "till
our increased intimacy shall give me some more of your confidence.
But might you not give me some general idea of that which you think
you have discovered?"
Miss Krieff hesitated.
"Do not let me force myself into your confidence," said Gualtier.
"No," said Miss Krieff, in that cold, repellent manner which she
could so easily assume. "There is no danger of that. But I have no
objection to tell you what seems to me to be the general meaning of
that which I have deciphered."
"What is it?"
"As far as I can see," said Miss Krieff, "it charges General Pomeroy
with atrocious crimes, and implicates him in one in particular, the
knowledge of which, if it be really so, can be used against him with
terrible--yes, fatal effect. I now can understand very easily why he
was so strangely and frantically eager to betroth his child to the
son of Lord Chetwynde--why he trampled on all decency, and bound his
own daughter, little more than a baby, to a stranger--why he
purchased Guy Molyneux, body and soul, for money. All is plain from
this. But, after all, it is a puzzle. He makes so high a profession
of honor that if his profession were real he would have thought of a
betrothal any where except _there_. Oh, if Lord Chetwynde only had
the faintest conception of this!"
"But what is it?" cried Gualtier, with eager curiosity, which was
stimulated to the utmost by Miss Krieff's words and tones.
"I will tell you some other time," said Miss Krieff, resuming her
repellent tone--"not now. If I find you worthy of my confidence, I
will give it to you."
"I will try to show myself worthy of it," said Gualtier, and, after a
time, took his departure, leaving Miss Krieff to her thoughts.
Now, who was this Miss Krieff? She was an important member of the
numerous household which the General had brought with him from India.
She had been under his guardianship since her infancy; who she was no
one knew but the General himself. Her position was an honorable one,
and the General always treated her with a respect and affection that
were almost paternal. Thus her life had been passed, first as
playmate to Zillah, whom she exceeded in age by about four years, and
afterward as companion, friend, almost sister, to the spoiled child
and wayward heiress.
Hilda Krieff was a person of no common character. Even in India her
nature had exhibited remarkable traits. Child as she then was, her
astuteness and self-control were such as might have excited the
admiration of Macchiavelli himself. By persistent flattery, by the
indulgence of every whim, and, above all, by the most exaggerated
protestations of devotion, she had obtained a powerful influence over
Zillah's uncontrolled but loving nature; and thus she had gradually
made herself so indispensable to her that Zillah could never bear to
be separated from one who so humored all her whims, and bore her most
ungovernable fits of passion with such unvarying sweetness. Hilda had
evidently taken her lesson from the General himself; and thus Zillah
was treated with equal servility by her father and her friend.
Personally, there was some general resemblance between the two girls;
though in Hilda the sallow hue of ill health was replaced by a clear
olive complexion; and her eyes, which she seldom raised, had a
somewhat furtive manner at times, which was altogether absent from
Zillah's clear frank gaze. Hilda's voice was low and melodious, never
even in the abandon of childish play, or in any excitement, had she
been known to raise its tones; her step was soft and noiseless, and
one had no idea that she was in the room till she was found standing
by one's side.
Zillah's maid Sarah described in her own way the characteristics of
Hilda Krieff.
"That Injun girl," she said, "always giv her a turn. For her part she
preferred Missy, who, though she did kick uncommon, and were awful
cantankerous to manage, was always ready to make it up, and say as
she had been naughty. For my part," concluded Sarah, "I am free to
confess I have often giv Missy a sly shake when she was in one of
them tantrums, and I got the chance, and however that girl can be
always meek spoken even when she has books a-shied at her head is
more than I can tell, and I don't like it neither. I see a look in
them eyes of hers sometimes as I don't like."
Thus we see that Hilda's Christian-like forgiveness of injuries met
with but little appreciation in some quarters. But this mattered
little, since with the General and Zillah she was always in the
highest favor.
What had these years that had passed done for Zillah? In personal
appearance not very much. The plain sickly child had developed into a
tall ungainly girl, whose legs and arms appeared incessantly to
present to their owner the insoluble problem--What is to be done with
us? Her face was still thin and sallow, although it was redeemed by
its magnificent eyes and wealth of lustrous, jet-black hair. As to
her hair, to tell the truth, she managed its luxuriant folds in a
manner as little ornamental as possible. She would never consent to
allow it to be dressed, affirming that it would drive her mad to sit
still so long, and it was accordingly tricked up with more regard to
expedition than to neatness; and long untidy locks might generally be
seen straggling over her shoulders. Nevertheless a mind possessed of
lively imagination and great faith might have traced in this girl the
possibility of better things.
In mental acquirements she was lamentably deficient. Her mind was a
garden gone to waste; the weeds flourished, but the good seed refused
to take root. It had been found almost impossible to give her even
the rudiments of a good education. Governess after governess had come
to Pomeroy Court; governess after governess after a short trial had
left, each one telling the same story: Miss Pomeroy's abilities were
good, even above the average, but her disinclination to learning was
so great--such was the delicately expressed formula in which they
made known to the General Zillah's utter idleness and
selfishness--that she (the governess) felt that she was unable to do
her justice; that possibly the fault lay in her own method of
imparting instruction, and that she therefore begged to resign the
position of Miss Pomeroy's instructress. Now, as each new teacher had
begun a system of her own which she had not had time to develop, it
may be easily seen that the little knowledge which Zillah possessed
was of the most desultory character. Yet after all she had something
in her favor. She had a taste for reading, and this led her to a
familiarity with the best authors. More than this, her father had
instilled into her mind a chivalrous sense of honor; and from natural
instinct, as well as from his teachings, she loved all that was noble
and pure. Medieval romance was most congenial to her taste; and of
all the heroes who figure there she loved best the pure, the
high-souled, the heavenly Sir Galahad. All the heroes of the
Arthurian or of the Carlovingian epopee were adored by this wayward
but generous girl. She would sit for hours curled up on a window-sill
of the library, reading tales of Arthur and the knights of the Round
Table, or of Charlemagne and his Paladins. Fairy lore, and whatever
else our medieval ancestors have loved, thus became most familiar to
her, and all her soul became imbued with these bright and radiant
fancies. And through it all she learned the one great lesson which
these romances teach--that the grandest and most heroic of all
virtues is self-abnegation at the call of honor and loyalty.
The only trouble was, Zillah took too grand a view of this virtue to
make it practically useful in daily life. If she had thus taken it to
her heart, it might have made her practice it by giving up her will
to those around her, and by showing from day to day the beauty of
gentleness and courtesy. This, however, she never thought of; or, if
it came to her mind, she considered it quite beneath her notice. Hers
was simply a grand theory, to carry out which she never dreamed of
any sacrifice but one of the grandest character.
The General certainly did all in his power to induce her to learn;
and if she did not, it was scarcely his fault. But, while Zillah thus
grew up in ignorance, there was one who did profit by the
instructions which she had despised, and, in spite of the constant
change of teachers which Zillah's impracticable character had
rendered necessary, was now, at the age of nineteen, a refined,
well-educated, and highly-accomplished young lady. This was Hilda
Krieff. General Pomeroy was anxious that she should have every
possible advantage, and Zillah was glad enough to have a companion in
her studies. The result is easily stated. Zillah was idle, Hilda was
studious, and all that the teachers could impart was diligently
mastered by her.