FROM GIRLHOOD TO WOMANHOOD.
One evening Zillah was sitting with Lord Chetwynde in his little
sanctum. His health had not been good of late, and sometimes attacks
of gout were superadded. At this time he was confined to his room.
Zillah was dressed for dinner, and had come to sit with him until the
second bell rang. She had been with him constantly during his
confinement to his room. At this time she was seated on a low stool
near the fire, which threw its glow over her face, and lit up the
vast masses of her jet-black hair. Neither of them had spoken for
some time, when Lord Chetwynde, who had been looking steadily at her
for some minutes, said, abruptly:
"Zillah, I'm sure Guy will not know you when he comes back."
She looked up laughingly. "Why, father? I think every lineament on my
face must be stereotyped on his memory."
"That is precisely the reason why I say that he will not know you. I
could not have imagined that three years could have so thoroughly
altered any one."
"It's only fine feathers," said Zillah, shaking her head. "You must
allow that Mathilde is incomparable. I often feel that were she to
have the least idea of the appearance which I presented, when I first
came here, there would be nothing left for me but suicide. I could
not survive her contempt. I was always fond of finery. I have Indian
blood enough for that; but when I remember my combinations of colors,
it really makes me shudder; and my hair was always streaming over my
shoulders in a manner more _negligé_ than becoming."
"I do Mathilde full justice," returned Lord Chetwynde. "Your toilette
and coiffure are now irreproachable; but even her power has its
limits, and she could scarcely have turned the sallow, awkward girl
into a lovely and graceful woman."
Zillah, who was unused to flattery, blushed very red at this tribute
to her charms, and answered, quickly:
"Whatever change there may be is entirely due to Monmouthshire.
Devonshire never agreed with me. I should have been ill and delicate
to this day if I had remained there; and as to sallowness, I must
plead guilty to that. I remember a lemon-colored silk I had, in which
it was impossible to tell where the dress ended and my neck began.
But, after all, father, you are a very prejudiced judge. Except that
I am healthy now, and well dressed, I think I am very much the same
personally as I was three years ago. In character, however, I feel
that I have altered."
"No," he replied; "I have been looking at you for the last few
minutes with perfectly unprejudiced eyes, trying to see you as a
stranger would, and as Guy will when he returns. And now," he added,
laughingly, "you shall be punished for your audacity in doubting my
powers of discrimination, by having a full inventory given you. We
will begin with the figure--about the middle height, perhaps a little
under it, slight and graceful; small and beautifully proportioned
head; well set on the shoulders; complexion no longer sallow or
lemon-colored, but clear, bright, transparent olive; hair, black as
night, and glossy as--"
But here he was interrupted by Zillah, who suddenly flung her arms
about his neck, and the close proximity of the face which he was
describing impeded further utterance.
"Hush, father," said she; "I won't hear another word, and don't you
dare to talk about ever looking at me with unprejudiced eyes. I want
you to love me without seeing my faults."
"But would you not rather that I saw your failings, Zillah, than that
I clothed you with an ideal perfection?"
"No; I don't care for the love that is always looking out for faults,
and has a 'but' even at the tenderest moments. That is not the love I
give. Perhaps strangers might not think dear papa, and you, and Hilda
absolutely perfect; but I can not see a single flaw, and I should
hate myself if I could."
Lord Chetwynde kissed her fondly, but sighed as he answered:
"My child, you know nothing of the world. I fear life has some very
bitter lessons in store for you before you will learn to read it
aright, and form a just estimate of the characters of the people
among whom you are thrown."
"But you surely would not have me think people bad until I have
proved them to be so. Life would not be worth having if one must live
in a constant state of suspicion."
"No, nor would I have you think all whom you love to be perfect.
Believe me, my child, you will meet with but few friends in the
world. Honor is an exploded notion, belonging to a past generation."
"You may be right, father, but I do not like the doctrine; so I shall
go on believing in people until I find them to be different from what
I thought."
"I should say to you, do so, dear--believe as long as you can, and as
much as you can; but the danger of that is when you find that those
whom you have trusted do not come up to the standard which you have
formed. After two or three disappointments you will fall into the
opposite extreme, think every one bad, and not believe in any thing
or any body."
"I should die before I should come to that," cried Zillah,
passionately. "If what you say is true, I had better not let myself
like any body." Then, laughing up in his face, she added:
"By-the-way, I wonder if you are safe. You see you have made me so
skeptical that I shall begin by suspecting my tutor. No, don't
speak," she went on, in a half-earnest, half-mocking manner, and put
her hand before his mouth. "The case is hopeless, as far as you are
concerned. The warning has come too late. I love you as I thought I
should never love any one after dear papa."
Lord Chetwynde smiled, and pressed her fondly to his breast.
The steady change which had been going on in Zillah, in mind and in
person, was indeed sufficient to justify Lord Chetwynde's remark.
Enough has been said already about her change in personal appearance.
Great as this was, however, it was not equal to that more subtle
change which had come over her soul. Her nature was intense,
vehement, passionate; but its development was of such a kind that she
was now earnest where she was formerly impulsive, and calm where she
had been formerly weak. A profound depth of feeling already was made
manifest in this rich nature, and the thoughtfulness of the West was
added to the fine emotional sensibility of the East; forming by their
union a being of rare susceptibility, and of quick yet deep feeling,
who still could control those feelings, and smother them, even though
the concealed passion should consume like a fire within her.
Three years had passed since her hasty and repugnant marriage, and
those years had been eventful in many ways. They had matured the
wild, passionate, unruly girl into the woman full of sensibility and
passion. They had also been filled with events upon which the world
gazed in awe, which shook the British empire to its centre, and sent
a thrill of horror to the heart of that empire, followed by a fierce
thirst for vengeance. For the Indian mutiny had broken out, the
horrors of Cawnpore had been enacted, the stories of sepoy atrocity
had been told by every English fireside, and the whole nation had
roused itself to send forth armies for vengeance and for punishment.
Dread stories were these for the quiet circle at Chetwynde Castle;
yet they had been spared its worst pains. Guy had been sent to the
north of India, and had not been witness of the scenes of Cawnpore.
He had been joined with those soldiers who had been summoned together
to march on Delhi, and he had shared in the danger and in the final
triumph of that memorable expedition.
The intensity of desire and the agony of impatience which attended
his letters were natural. Lord Chetwynde thought only of one thing
for many months, and that was his son's letters. At the outbreak of
the mutiny, a dread anxiety had taken possession of him lest his son
might be in danger. At first the letters came regularly, giving
details of the mutiny as he heard them. Then there was a long break,
for the army was on the march to Delhi. Then a letter came from the
British camp before Delhi, which roused Lord Chetwynde from the
lowest depths of despair to joy and exultation and hope. Then there
was another long interval, in which the Earl, sick with anxiety,
began to anticipate the worst, and was fast sinking into despondency,
until, at last, a letter came, which raised him up in an instant to
the highest pitch of exultation and triumph. Delhi was taken. Guy had
distinguished himself, and was honorably mentioned in the dispatches.
He had been among the first to scale the walls and penetrate into the
beleaguered city. All had fallen into their hands. The great danger
which had impended had been dissipated, and vengeance had been dealt
out to those whose hands were red with English blood. Guy's letter,
from beginning to end, was one long note of triumph. Its enthusiastic
tone, coming, as it did, after a long period of anxiety, completely
overcame the Earl. Though naturally the least demonstrative of men,
he was now overwhelmed by the full tide of his emotions. He burst
into tears, and wept for some time tears of joy. Then he rose, and
walking over to Zillah, he kissed her, and laid his hand solemnly
upon her head.
"My daughter," said he, "thank God that your husband is preserved to
you through the perils of war, and that he is saved to you, and will
come to you in safety and in honor."
The Earl's words sank deeply into Zillah's heart. She said nothing,
but bowed her head in silence.
Living, as she did, where Guy's letters formed the chief delight of
him whom she loved as a father, it would have been hard indeed for a
generous nature like hers to refrain from sharing his feelings.
Sympathy with his anxiety and his joy was natural, nay, inevitable.
In his sorrow she was forced to console him by pointing out all that
might be considered as bright in his prospects; in his joy she was
forced to rejoice with him, and listen to his descriptions of Guy's
exploits, as his imagination enlarged upon the more meagre facts
stated in the letters. This year of anxiety and of triumph, therefore
compelled her to think very much about Guy, and, whatever her
feelings were, it certainly exalted him to a prominent place in her
thoughts.
And so it happened that, as month succeeded to month; she found
herself more and more compelled to identify herself with the Earl, to
talk to him about the idol of his heart, to share his anxiety and his
joy, while all that anxiety and all that joy referred exclusively to
the man who was her husband, but whom, as a husband, she had once
abhorred.