THE SCULPTOR.
'Her heart, her life, her future,
Her genius, only meant
Another thing to give him,
And be therewith content.'
_A. A. Proctor._
By the time Felix could obey Marilda's missive, and entered Cherry's
sitting-room, she had come to such a state of mind, that not even his
pale, fixed, mournful face was needed to make her lie back in her
chair, gazing piteously up at him, murmuring, 'O Felix, what can it be?
What has become of him?'
'Marilda has heard from him,' said Felix, kneeling down by her, and
holding her hands.
'Heard! Oh, why did she not tell me?'
'She feared to pain you. My poor Cherry, nothing has happened to
him; but his debts have come to a crisis, and he is gone off to the
Continent. That good fellow, Fernan, is gone after him, to see what can
be done for him.'
'And he wrote to _Marilda?_' asked Cherry, greatly bewildered.
'Yes; from Ostend.'
'He wrote to her! Did you see the letter?'
'No, she had made away with it. She was so shy and short about it,
that, Cherry, I suspect that distress had brought poor Edgar, as a last
resource, to try whether she would accept him.'
'Oh!' cried Cherry, starting forward with conviction, 'that would
account for it all!' And she told of all that had passed about
Brynhild, now ten days ago--Edgar's despair, Marilda's ready
assistance, and the manner of acknowledging it; and both agreed
that there was strong presumption that he had taken her kindness as
encouragement to venture on a proposal. This would fully account for
her silence and ill humour; and the delusion, perfectly unsuspected
by her, was the best possible auxiliary in guarding her secret, by
preventing the brother and sister from pushing her hard with inquiries,
and sufficiently explaining whatever was mysterious. Indeed, if Edgar
had had the face to make the proposal, there was some grace in the
shame that had caused his disappearance; and luckily for Marilda,
Cherry was far too modest and shame-faced to allude to her own
suspicions. She only longed exceedingly for home, and yet could not
bear to leave the readiest place for receiving intelligence.
Felix could not of course rest without doing his part towards
inquiring, and went off to Edgar's lodgings, and also in quest of the
National Minstrelsy people, whom Lance had assured him to be the most
likely to give him information. He came back depressed and jaded, and
went straight to his sister's room. She could see in a moment that he
had found out nothing.
'Nothing! The National Minstrelsy shut up a month ago. Allen and his
family had left their lodgings, and given no address. I tried the
post-office, but they grinned at me, and said many gentlemen came
inquiring. I went to two or three music-shops, and asked after him and
after the Hungarians, but with no better success; no one knew anything
about them. Then I found my way to his lodgings.'
'Ah! I wanted so much to have called there, but Marilda would not let
me.'
'As well you did not. Did you know that he had his rooms in
partnership?'
'No--never!'
'Nor heard him speak of a man--an artist, named Malone?'
'Yes. I have heard of him. He has got two pictures in the British
Institution. Poor Edgar wanted me to admire them, but I couldn't;
they are Scripture subjects--Ruth and Rachel--made coarse and vulgar
by being treated with vile reality--looking like Jewish women out of
fruit-shops. He always said Tony Malone was the best fellow in the
world, but he never told me he lived with him.'
'I was quite taken by surprise. The poor little miserable looking maid
said Mr. Underwood had not been there for ten days; and when I said
I was his brother and wanted to ask some questions, she fetched her
mistress, who said he had paid up just before he went away, but that
he had given no notice, so there was this ten days. Of course this was
reasonable; besides, I wanted to bring home his things; so she took
me up to his rooms while she went to make out his bill, and I thought
entirely that I had come wrong, for I found myself in such a den as
you can hardly conceive--light enough of course, but with the most
wonderful medley of things imaginable, and in the midst a table with
breakfast, and a brandy bottle; a great brawny sailor, half stripped,
lying on the floor, a model for Samson, or Hercules, or somebody; and
this man with a palette on his thumb, a tremendous red beard, and black
elf locks sticking out all manner of ways. And that was the place he
wanted to take Lance to!'
'He wouldn't have let it get bad if Lance had been with him. Besides,
you old bachelor, don't you know that an artist must live in a mess and
have models?'
'Of course, I know that, Cherry. I did not expect things to be what
your friend Renville makes them for his young ladies; but the odour of
spirits, the whole air and aspect of the place, had something that gave
me a sense of hopelessness and dissipation, when I found that those
really were Edgar's quarters, and that he had concealed his sharing
them with this Malone ever since he left Renville. The man behaved
very well to me, I will say that for him, as soon as we had made each
other out, and seemed very fond and rather proud of Tom, as he chose to
call Edgar; but he is a prodigious talker, and a rough coarse kind of
fellow, exactly what I couldn't have fancied Edgar putting up with.'
'I dare say it was out of good nature.'
'Half of it, no doubt; indeed, he gave me to understand as much. Edgar
can't but be kind wherever he goes; even that wretched little slavey
cried when I gave her a shilling for helping his things into a cab, and
she found he was never coming back! I should think he had spoken the
only kind words she had ever heard in her life.'
'But this man must have told you something! Had he no notion where he
is gone?'
'None at all! He knew thus much, that Edgar came into his room about
ten o'clock in the morning--he couldn't tell what day, but we made it
out it must have been on Thursday the 3rd--'
'The day after we went to Sydenham. Well!'
'--Looking pale and scared, and saying, "I'm done for, old fellow--I'm
off!" That is all he is clear of, for he was just waked and fast asleep
again directly.'
'At ten o'clock in the morning!'
'Well, Cherry, I'm afraid there had been a carouse the night before.
Edgar had sold his picture, you see, and had cleared off old scores--a
few of them, at least. He was restless--Malone said in and out--all the
day before; he could not make him out. I fancy he had sent his letter
to Marilda, and was awaiting a reply, which she must have sent, or he
have called for, early the next morning; and after holding off all
day from the jollification in honour of the sale of his picture, and
deputing Malone and his other friends to hold it without him, he joined
them at the theatre towards ten o'clock, and went to a cider cellar
with them afterwards, where I should gather that he was in a state of
reckless merriment, but quite sober--yes, Malone eagerly assured me of
that, as if that were a merit to be proud of in my father's son! Well,
poor fellow!' added Felix, his bitter tone changing to sorrow, 'he
seems only to have thrown himself down on his bed without undressing;
but Malone, who made no secret of having been "screwed" himself, only
knew of his looking in in the morning. He had driven up, it seems, in
a cab, which he kept waiting--not ten minutes, the landlady says--and
he carried off his violin case and about as many clothes, I should
imagine, as he could stuff into his portmanteau in the time--not by any
means all; but one thing at least you will be glad to hear of, Cherry,
the photograph of my father! Yes, I am quite certain of it; for when
Malone was helping me to collect the other little matters out of his
little hole of a bed-room, he said, when we came to the mantel-piece,
"Yes, that's the only thing he has taken--the photo that stood there;
a parson far gone in decline, the very moral of himself--your father,
wasn't it?"'
'At least that is a comfort! Poor Edgar, I am sure he will soon write,
even if Ferdinand misses him. You have brought his things?'
'Only his clothes, his sketches, and a book or two. His jewellery--he
used to have a good deal, I think.'
'Never so much as Fernan, but in better taste.'
'That was gone. I thought it right to take an inventory of what I took
away, and get it attested by the landlady and Malone; and I left it
with them, in case the creditors should think I had taken anything of
value.'
'The creditors, ah!'
'Yes. I have brought a carpet-bag stuffed choke full of bills, as heavy
as I could carry, though of course many are the same over again. Time
enough to look them over at home.'
'And paying?'
'No. I am not liable for them.'
'But, Felix, you cannot let his name be dishonoured!'
'My dear Cherry, that is talk out of books. I have no right to give
away what barely suffices for maintaining and educating the younger
ones, for the luxury of satisfying these claims and clearing Edgar's
name. It would be robbing the innocent for the sake of the guilty.'
'O Felix, how can you?'
'Guilty at least of extravagance and recklessness, Cherry, though in
a generous way. He had paid up, as I told you, for the lodging--all
for Malone as well as himself; and when the landlady brought up an
exorbitant bill, charging my country innocence three months in advance,
Malone fought her with such vehemence, that I never came in for such a
battle royal, and was ready to cut and run, only to be quit of the pair
of them; and after all she subsided, and was content and civil with
only a fortnight in advance!'
'I think a great deal must have been the fault of those musical people.
I know Edgar risked some of Mr. Underwood's money with them.'
'All, I believe, that he did not owe, or was not forced to pay
immediately, and that was a regular smash; but I do not think he was
liable for any of their debts. These looked to me more like personal
luxuries.'
'Well, Felix, if you will not pay them, I will, as I can, and when I
can.'
'Do not say I _will_ not, Cherry, but ask yourself whether I ought
either to incur a debt myself, to trench on the capital of the
business, or take home the children from school. You know, for we have
tried, that stinting more than we do already becomes privation; such
as, though we elder ones might willingly endure it for our feelings'
sake, exacerbates the younger ones, and really would be unjust towards
them.'
Cherry hung her head, with tears in her eyes. 'And is that just to the
creditors?' she said.
'Well, Cherry, I cannot say I have much pity for the tradesmen who
trust such a young gentleman as Edgar. If it be their system, depend
upon it, they have means of compensation. Chérie, sweet, indeed I am
not hard-hearted, I would cut off my right hand to bring that dear
boy back a free man. When we hear from him--and I have looked over
those miserable bills--I may find some means of compounding with
the creditors; but I cannot despoil Angel and Bernard and Stella of
education or comfort for what he has done.'
'But I can--I will--I may,' cried Cherry, with excitement; 'I shall be
able to do it all; Mr. Renville said I might make £300 a year, and that
would soon do it! You will not hinder me, Felix?'
'No,' he said, kissing her; 'it's not the way in which your earnings
ought to go, my Cherry; but you are quite free, and it will make you
happier, I know.'
'And you will not let Marilda help?'
'No, not if it can be helped without wounding her too much. You see she
is taking her own measures through Travis.'
'I could not endure her doing it,' said Cherry, glowing with a sort of
pride. 'And I am the one who ought. My drawing would have been worth
just nothing at all but for him; and all this success is through him,
and it is so cruel he can't have it, when it signifies so much more.'
'So Sir Bors always thinks,' said Felix, fondling her; but true to his
own faith, he continued, 'But Edgar is not past the age for success
yet. Only three-and-twenty, remember, and this grievous lesson may
be just the making of him. We know he has a warm heart and plenty of
power; and though we must make up our minds not to see him for a good
while, he will come home from Italy some day a made man.'
'Oh yes, his sketch of Brynhild showed that he could do anything. Do
you know, I think that having such a companion as that Mr. Malone
almost accounts for his having gone wrong. If he can only fall in with
some real nice companions! If he would board at Munich with some family
like the dear Frau Renville's. What a letter we will write to cheer the
poor dear fellow up!'
Felix and Geraldine never failed one another in that cardinal article
of theirs, trust in Edgar's genius, and in the love that hoped all
things, believed all things, and endured all things from him--all
things personal, namely, for Felix never entirely overlooked the having
tried to tempt away Lance into the life of which one passing glimpse
was enough for his fastidious home-bred spirit, unable to appreciate
the fascination of freedom and unconventionality. Altogether they had
talked themselves into hope and consolation that surprised Marilda,
when, after waiting till her patience could endure no longer, she
knocked at the door, to ask whether Felix had discovered any clue by
which Edgar could be traced.
It was one of those requitals of generosity that are felt inadequate
because the generosity is really unsuspected. Felix and Cherry _could_
not be as unreserved with her as if they had felt her a sister and one
of themselves, and not as one whose bounty Edgar had abused. They did
not--nor was it in the nature of things that they could--understand
that Marilda's feelings towards him were as fraternal as their own,
nay, had the force of exclusiveness, and the tenderness of protection;
and so, though Felix replied to her inquiries, it was not with the
detail and confidence he had shown towards his sister; and the more she
questioned and remarked, the more they both felt inclined to shrink
into themselves. In fact, they knew so little worse of him than before,
that after the ten days' agony there was a sort of reaction, without
much visible weight on their spirits. Felix had business which made it
needful to stay another day; and as he was going out Cherry begged him
to take charge of a small box containing a cast which Mr. Grinstead had
lent her to copy, and she did not like to entrust to any chance hand.
'If you would send in your name,' she said, 'I think he would let
you see his studio, and I do so want you to see his figure of Mercy
knocking at the wicket-gate.'
'I thought he never did admit strangers.'
'Oh! Geraldine is favoured,' said Mrs. Underwood, with a laugh. 'Depend
upon it, anyone belonging to her will have the _entray_. But go, go by
all means. They say his house is a perfect little bijou.--Isn't it,
Geraldine? She went to a party there, you know, chaperoned by Mrs.
Renville, and met Lord de Vigny.'
Felix knew all about it, much better than did Mrs. Underwood--that
little select dinner of the _élite_ of the world of art and genius,
to which Mr. Grinstead had asked Cherry about a fortnight ago, and
which she had described with such delight. He had not much heart for
strangers and works of art at that moment, but he could not refuse
Cherry's commission, nor vex her by omitting to ask to see the studio;
so there, in the course of the morning, he found himself, alone at
first among the statues and casts--grave and graceful creations--more
from the world of Christian than of classic poetry, and if less
æsthetically beautiful, more solemn and more real.
He had gone in meaning only to fulfil his duty to Cherry, but he found
himself attracted and enchained, and was standing before Cherry's
favourite figure of Mercy, drinking in, as it were, the beseeching
wistful spirit of faint hope that breathed from the whole figure, when
a crimson curtain was lifted, and a gentleman of about five-and-forty
or fifty, but grey-haired and looking older, came with a soft tread
towards him.
'Mr. Underwood, I believe.'
Felix bowed.
'I am very glad to have the pleasure of making your acquaintance.'
'I am very much obliged for my admission. I should not have ventured,
but that my sister was so anxious that I should see what she enjoys so
much.'
Mr. Grinstead smiled, and quietly did the honours, while Felix--though,
of course, untrained--modestly showed himself full enough of taste and
intelligence to be worthy of an artist sister; Mr. Grinstead treating
him all along like an honoured guest, and taking him farther into his
private rooms, to see some favourite old German paintings, and to offer
luncheon.
The house did indeed deserve Mrs. Underwood's term, fitted up with
all that carved wood and well-chosen simple colour could do; and with
wondrous gems of art--all the refinement and beauty that a bachelor,
when he _does_ choose, can bring together even better than a lady can.
'How long shall you be in town?' had been an early question, answered
by, 'I take my sister home to-morrow;' and then, when it had struck
Felix that his host was becoming increasingly thoughtful and absent,
and he was trying to take leave, but was always prevented, Mr.
Grinstead asked, 'Should I be likely to find your sister at home if I
called this afternoon?'
'Not early,' said Felix; 'I think she has some commissions to finish. I
am to meet her at five. I am afraid I must wish you good morning.'
'A few minutes longer. Mr. Underwood, I must begin by making you a
confession, and asking you a question. Do you think there is any chance
for me with that sweet little sister of yours?'
'With Geraldine!' Felix laid hold of the back of a chair, feeling as if
his senses almost reeled, though whether consternation or exultation
came uppermost, he could not have told.
'Yes,' was the reply. 'I am speaking abruptly, but I am taken by
surprise at finding that you intend so soon to take her away. Indeed, I
believe these are matters on which long consideration often ends in a
sudden plunge,' he added, smiling a little, as if he wondered a little
to find himself in a situation that seemed to reverse their ages;
indeed, Felix was by far the most embarrassed.
'I do not think she is at all prepared,' was all that occurred to him
to throw into the gulf of silence.
'Perhaps not,' said Mr. Grinstead, rather wistfully. 'I see you
think the notion a preposterous one,' he continued, with something
unconsciously of the elder's tone towards inexperienced youth, though
there was pleading in it too; and he put a chair in his visitor's way,
and speaking quietly though eagerly, as Felix tried to utter some
polite disclaimer: 'I see the disparity myself, though perhaps less
strongly than you do. Forty-six does not feel itself so vast an age
as five-and-twenty may think it. The truth is this. I was made a fool
of, as befalls most of us' (Felix looked more assenting than he knew,
poor fellow!), 'and was hit harder than some, I believe. At any rate,
the distaste it gave me was invincible, till I met with that wonderful
compound of brightness and tenderness--spirit and sensitiveness--I
cannot help it. She has haunted me ever since I first met her last
year; and if there be nothing in the way on her side, I believe I could
make her happy.'
'There is nothing in the way,' repeated Felix, as an honest man, but
with a sense of a jewel being dragged from him, and relieved to have
something to say that was not all consent. 'It is a very great honour
for our little Geraldine to be so thought of, but I think you should be
aware that she has nothing of her own, and--poor child--is sadly frail
and feeble in health.'
'For that,' said Mr. Grinstead, 'I think you may trust her to my care;'
and he spoke eagerly, as if longing to be taking care of her. 'And
though I am a self-made man, I have had prosperity enough to be able to
secure a comfortable provision for her.'
'Thank you--yes,' hastily said Felix. 'It was not that I was thinking
of.'
'I see you are against me,' said the sculptor, perhaps anticipating the
answer that actually came--'Selfishly, sir; only selfishly. Geraldine
is so much our life and light at home, that your--your proposal was a
shock to me; but I see the very great advantage it would be to her, and
I could not desire anything better for her.' There were tears in his
eyes, and the last words came with a choking utterance.
'I see,' said Mr. Grinstead, 'that I am doing a hard thing by you, and
that to hold out the idea of her becoming even more to you sounds like
mockery. Besides, I am too far from secure to begin to spare any pity
for you. Now tell me, can I see her this evening? Where are you to meet
her?'
'I am afraid I cannot propose your joining us then,' said Felix, more
cordially, 'for it is to be at the Baker Street Bazaar, about some very
domestic shopping; but I believe we shall come home between six and
seven o'clock.'
'Very well; you will find me there. You will use your own judgment as
to preparing her.'
Very domestic shopping indeed it was. The ancient coal-scuttle, a
Froggatt legacy, had three decided holes in it, and Wilmet had a vision
of one glimpsed in Baker Street. She would not trust either Felix or
Cherry to choose it separately, but conjointly she thought they might
counterbalance one another, and combine taste, discretion, and economy;
and they were both afraid of failing her.
The very contrast of that commission, and the importance ascribed to
it, with the ease and luxuriousness in Mr. Grinstead's house, served
to bring before Felix the sense of the promotion for Geraldine that he
was so ungratefully accepting. Little tender being, the first to wither
under the blight of penury, how could he grudge her the sunshine of
ease and wealth, cherishing care, prosperity, beauty, society--all that
was congenial to her? No, indeed--he rejoiced. Yet how rejoice--when
every time he came in from his work, he felt it a fresh blank when he
did not meet her responsive look of welcome, or hear the half-quaint,
half-pathetic tones that made much of the tiniest adventure of the day.
His heart was sore enough at Edgar's evasion, and to lose Cherry from
his hearth would quench its most cherished spark. He had been so secure
of her, too. She had seemed so set apart from marriage, so peculiarly
dependent on him, that it had been to her that he had turned with a
sort of certainty as his companion in the life of self-sacrifice that
he knew to lie before him. It was no small part of that sacrifice,
that as he went to and fro on foot and by omnibus in the busy streets,
he was schooling his spirit to look on the change not as desertion of
himself, but as a brilliant and happy prospect for the little sister,
who had powers and tastes such as ought not to be buried in the room
over the shop at Bexley. He must keep the regret well out of mind, or
he could never persuade her naturally, or avoid poisoning her happiness.
Should he prepare her? That must be left to chance. And chance was
not favourable, for when he had found his way into the pit at the
Baker Street Bazaar, appropriated to ornamental ironmongery, he
saw her accompanied by Robina and Angela, whom Mrs. Underwood had
good-naturedly sent for to spend her last afternoon with her. There
was a sort of pang when Cherry's face greeted him, and her hand
nestled into its accustomed hold on his arm just where it had leant
by preference these sixteen years; and as she said in her low playful
tones, 'Is it not a curious study to see invention expended on making
an intrinsically hideous thing beautiful by force of japan, gilding,
and painting? You see the only original design nature provided for a
coal-scuttle is the nautilus shell, and unluckily that is grotesquely
inappropriate! Just look at the row of ungainly things craning out
their chins like overdressed dwarfs. I am decidedly for the simplest
and least disguised, though Robin is for the snail, and Angel, I
believe, for that highly suitable Watteau scene. Which do you vote for?'
'The most likely to satisfy Wilmet,' said Felix absently, knowing he
should hate whichever it might be, and wondering who would ever again
put so much interest into common things.
'The scuttle of Mettie's dreams appears to be no more,' said Cherry;
'but as Robin always seems to me guided by her spirit, I am inclined to
think it safest to go by her judgment.'
'Robin represent Wilmet?' repeated Felix, scanning the plump, honest,
sensible face, as that of his destined housewife; and not a bad
prospect either practically, though without the charms that specially
endeared Cherry.
She thought him absent, feared he had heard some fresh ill tidings of
Edgar, and though reassured on that head, lost the zest she had caught
up, and the selection was pretty well left to Robina.
There was no opportunity of confidential talk; the children were with
them all the rest of the drive, and were to return with them to dinner;
and that Angela was much shocked and subdued by the tidings of Edgar's
flight did not conduce to privacy, since it silenced the tongue that
generally sheltered any conversation! Nor could Felix succeed in
hurrying his three ladies: they had a great deal still to do, and awe
of Wilmet made them very particular in the doing of it, so that it
was not till perilously near dinner-time that he brought them home,
and there, on a hurried excursion to the drawing-room to notify the
arrival, was Mr. Grinstead discovered. He had called, avowedly to wish
Miss Underwood good-bye; and the mistress of the house, with perhaps an
inkling of the state of affairs, had asked him to stay and dine. She
could not help it, as she said, in excuse to her daughter, who always
hated clever men, especially associated the sculptor with all the
misery of the day of Alda's rupture with Ferdinand, and also wanted to
have had Felix to herself this evening.
So she favoured the party with as little of her civility or
conversation as possible; not that it was much missed, for Cherry
was perfectly unsuspecting, and expanded into wit and animation as
usual; and Mr. Grinstead, to Felix's surprise, was not rendered either
silent or _distrait_ by his suspense; and Felix himself had learnt
conversation as a mechanical art in his trade, and could do his part,
with cares and anxieties packed away.
After the ladies were gone, there only passed the words--
'Can I speak to her?'
'I will fetch her.'
'You have not prepared her?'
'I had not a moment.'
'Better so, perhaps.'
Felix led the way to her painting-room, having luckily delayed just
long enough not to encounter the two children fetching the purchases
for a great display. From this discussion, so dear to the female heart,
he snatched the unsuspicious Cherry, with the few brief words that Mr.
Grinstead wished to speak to her in her sitting room.
'An order! oh, it must be an order!' echoed among the sisters; and
as Angela skipped up after them to fetch some further article to be
shown off, there was no opportunity of even a hint except from Felix's
agitated face, and the unconsciously convulsive squeeze of the little
fingers between his arm and his side. He put her in a chair, and
hurried off, disregarding the 'O Felix, are you going?' but shutting
the door, and returning to the dining-room to keep a restless watch.
It lasted--what must have been a shorter time than he expected,
terribly long as it seemed. Mr. Grinstead came downstairs, and Felix's
heart bounded at the first footfall.
The kind, far-seeing, thoughtful face did not betray much. He held
out his hand. 'Thank you, Mr. Underwood,' he said; 'I hope I did not
distress her much. I have only one entreaty to make to you. If you
should find that there is any allowance to be made for the surprise and
shock, and newness of the idea, you will be a true friend, and not let
pride or delicacy prevent you from letting me know.'
'I will not,' said Felix, ready to promise anything to comfort a man
who had lost the Cherry he retained.
'It is nonsense, though,' added the sculptor; 'she is much too sincere
and transparent a creature to trifle with feelings. Those innocent
things are not to be won so late in life. Go up to her. She will want
you. What a rival you are! I will make my excuses to the ladies.'
Felix held out his hand, too sorry for him now to know what to say; and
after a strong grasp, they went their different ways.
Felix found Geraldine cowering down in her chair, with her hands
clasped together over her forehead. She looked up at him, as if
startled by his entrance. 'O Felix, how could you?' broke from her.
'My dear, I could not help it. Has it been so very distressing?'
'Oh!' with a great gasp, 'I'm sure to refuse a man is the most horrible
thing in the world--except to accept him! And such a man too--so great
and good and kind. You shouldn't have let him do it, Felix.'
'Don't scold me, Cherry; how was I to know you would not like it?'
'Felix! an old man like that!'
'Well, that's decisive,' said Felix, laughing at the tone; 'but,
indeed, I did think you admired him very much.'
'So I do--but not in that way--not so as to bear to see him lower
himself--and--and have to grieve him--' and the tears started from her
eyes. 'But you know, he only could have done it because he saw a poor
little lame thing and wanted to take care of her.'
'I think it goes a good deal deeper than that, Cherry.'
'I'm very sorry,' said Cherry. 'How very disagreeable it is that such
things will happen; I thought, at any rate, that I was safe from them;
and he was such an old man, and such a kind friend, that I was so proud
of; and now I have vexed him so--and it is all over.'
'Do you really regret it? are you sure you did not speak only in the
first surprise?'
'Felix! you! you to be against me!'
'Not against you, Chérie.'
She interrupted with a cry of pain. 'Oh! don't let anybody call me that
till Edgar comes home again!'
'My poor Cherry!'
Then there was a silence; her head was on his shoulder, and she was
crying silently, but so profusely that he could not tell whether her
tears were all for Edgar or for new feelings stirred in her heart.
'Cherry dear, don't you think we ought to look at it reasonably? If you
do not feel as if you cared for him--like a novel--yet still--'
'Hush, Felix! he is much too good to be accepted any other way.'
'I am not sure that he thinks so.'
'I do, then!' said Cherry, raising her head up indignantly. 'I should
be ashamed to marry any man without! A lame, sickly, fretful thing like
me ought to bring real love at least, to make up to a man for being
bothered with her. Come, Felix, have done talking sensible nonsense! I
know you don't wish it, so don't pretend.'
'I am making no pretence. It would be a dreadful business for me; but
all the more I think I ought to make you consider.'
'Consider! Oh! I'll consider fast enough; that beautiful drawing-room,
with the statues, and the conservatory--and a carriage--and going to
Italy! Do you think I am going to be bribed by things like that?'
'No; but to have one so fatherly, kind, and tender--'
'As if one wanted one's husband to be fatherly!'
'--And the safe position--'
'I declare you are talking just like Alda!'
'But if you don't like him, there's an end of it.'
'I like him, I tell you; but not so much as the tip of your little
finger!'
'Perhaps not, now; but--'
'Felix! You don't want to get rid of me? I know you were right to argue
with Wilmet, and persuade her, because she had let her heart go, and
only was afraid to acknowledge it; but mine isn't gone, and couldn't
go. If I had not learnt to work, and had not a work to do, I might try
to think of freeing you from a burthen; but now that I have, why should
I upset it all, and wrench myself away from you? When I lean against
you, I have got my home, and my rest, and all I want here. I never go
away from you but I feel that I _do_ want you so; and when one feels
that, what's the use of looking out for somebody else?'
'Dear little Sweetheart! Yes!' as she lay contentedly against him, with
his arm round her; 'it only makes me tremble, that you should give up a
home like that, and risk so much upon my one life. The other boys love
you dearly, but they are more likely to make ties for themselves! and
if--'
'I should love you better dead than any other man alive!' cried
Cherry impetuously. 'I won't do it, Felix! so spare your dutiful
remonstrances! I do hate them so, and I know you don't mean them.'
'Mean is not the word, Cherry. The more I hated making them, the more I
felt bound to do so.'
'There, then! You've done.'
'Yes, I've done. My Cherry, my Cherry! you don't know how much lighter
the world seems to me than it did half an hour ago!'
'O you foolish old Giant! And there come those irrepressible children!
Oh! I hope and trust they have not found it out!' cried Cherry,
bounding up from her sentimental attitude, as Angela was heard
galloping up the stairs.
But there was this benefit in dealing with a veteran, that he knew how
to keep his own counsel and other people's. Angela came dashing in.
'Oh! here you both are! Mr. Grinstead said he had forgotten, after
all, to give you this letter. He said you had better write to the lady
herself. It is a capital order, he said--you've been settling about it,
haven't you? What _are_ you going to do?'
'I don't quite know, Angel,' said Cherry, seeing the letter was
addressed in a strange hand to the sculptor; and thereupon venturing
to open it, and finding it contained a request to obtain from Miss
Underwood an engagement for a set of studies similar to those in the
exhibition, if it were true that these were not for sale. It was from a
lady of wealth and taste, whose name was well known as a patroness in
the artist world; and Cherry could quite understand that Mr. Grinstead
had kept it back, with the feeling that were she his, no toil should be
hers for the future.
That was little recommendation. Her first rise out of uselessness gave
her more exultation in its novelty than did even the exercise of her
art or the evidence of its success. There was something exquisite in
the sense of power. She had made up her mind to give Wilmet quarterly
the same amount as was charged for Lance, to set aside just enough
besides to clothe herself, and that the remainder of her earnings
should liquidate Edgar's debts; so that some day she should write to
him to come home a free and unburthened man. Viewed in this aspect,
that huge carpet-bag, stuffed to bursting with bills, had not so
frightful an aspect, but rather seemed to her a dragon to be conquered
for Edgar's sake; and Felix laughed at her for tendering him the cheque
for her Acolyte, and asking him just to pay off a few of them before
leaving town. He had to explain to her that equity and custom required
that no one should have the preference, and that she must wait till she
could either pay off the whole, or else make payments of so much in the
pound.
'Like a bankruptcy! That can't be worth while. Those are your business
ways!'
'I fear you little know what you have undertaken. Remember, there is no
call to pay any of it.'
'Indeed! Oh! why does not that tiresome Ferdinand write?'
'There has not been time.'
'He could have telegraphed!'
Marilda was likewise much disappointed at hearing nothing; but
discussion was trying to her, and she dreaded her cousins' sharp
eyes so much, that it was a relief to her to escape them. Nor could
they linger, for Wilmet was anxious about Lance, who was exceedingly
miserable; and in his anxiety hardly knew what he was about, scarcely
what he said.
If Wilmet wished him to feel what a narrow escape his had been, he
broke into despair that he had not been with Edgar. The room and
the room-mate that had seemed so disgusting to home-bred Felix, had
fascinated him by their charming disregard of wearisome propriety, and
their congenial eccentric liberty; and the picture of Edgar coming
home in his distress to his sleepy, half-conscious comrade made
him wretched. He treated regret like censure, and alarmed as much
as scandalised Wilmet by longings to have been there to share the
wanderings, which, even if they amounted to starvation, could not, he
averred, be 'half so hateful as standing behind a counter.'
Perhaps he had never before been so near showing temper as in
his arguments with Wilmet, and his determination to defend Edgar
through thick and thin; and she was almost relieved when after the
disappointment of finding that there was no news from Ferdinand, he
collapsed into one of his attacks of headache. Nay, for weeks, though
about again and at work, the lad was not well nor thoroughly himself;
he seemed, like Cherry, to be always watching for tidings that never
came, and unlike her, he made light of whatever could be construed into
censure of any taste of Edgar's.
Felix, though unwilling to pain him, thought it might be wholesome to
let him see for himself the facts of Edgar's life, and accepted his
assistance in sorting the bagful of revelations of self-indulgence and
dissipation, which he knew Lance's lips might defend, but never his
conscience.
Judging as well as they could by the dates and charges, there had
not been much amiss except carelessness of expenditure before Alice
Knevett's defection, eighteen months back; but this had been succeeded
by a launch into every sort of excitement, so increasingly painful
and disgraceful, that Felix declared at times that it was profanation
to let the proceeds of Geraldine's pure and high-minded art be spent
in discharging such obligations. There were traces of an endeavour to
pull up after Tom Underwood's legacy, which would have far more than
cleared Edgar, if he had been satisfied to do more than merely pay
'on account,' and stave off difficulties, until the main body of the
bequest had vanished between gambling and the crash of the National
Minstrelsy.
Meantime the weeks of Edgar's silence and absence were running on to
months, and nothing was known. Ferdinand Travis's quest had been an
utter failure. Baden, Homburg, Spa, Munich, Paris, Florence, Rome,
Monaco, had been searched in vain; ingenious advertisements in the
second column of the 'Times' were unnoticed; and though there was no
outward difference in the manner of the two who loved him best, each
bore about a heavy yearning heartache and foreboding--the one, that
there must be something, worse than was known, to lead so affectionate
a person thus utterly to efface himself; the other, that some terrible
unknown accident, lake-storm or glacier-crevasse, could alone account
for such pitiless disregard of home suspense. His relics had been
hidden away like those of the dead, with sad reverence; and his
name was never mentioned except now and then in low sad tones in a
_tête-à-tête._