REBECCA WYTHAN
The earl was looked for at the, chief office of the mines, and each day
an expectation of him closed in disappointment, leaving it to be surmised
that there were more serious reasons for his continued absence during a
crisis than any discussed; whether indeed, as when a timepiece neglects
to strike the hour which is, by the reckoning of natural impatience,
past, the capital charge of 'crazy works' must not be brought against a
nobleman hitherto precise upon business, of a just disposition, fairly
humane. For though he was an absentee sucking the earth through a tube,
in Ottoman ease, he had never omitted the duty of personally attending on
the spot to grave cases under dispute. The son of the hardheaded father
came out at a crisis; and not too highhandedly: he could hear an opposite
argument to the end. Therefore, since he refused to comply without
hearing, he was wanted on the spot imperatively, now.
Irony perusing History offers the beaten and indolent a sugary acid in
the indication of the spites and the pranks, the whims and the tastes,
at the springs of main events. It is, taken by itself, destructive
nourishment. But those who labour in the field to shovel the clods of
earth to History, would be wiser of their fellows for a minor dose of it.
Mr. Howell Edwards consulting with Mr. Owain Wythan on the necessity,
that the earl should instantly keep his promise to appear among the men
and stop the fermentation, as in our younger days a lordly owner still
might do by small concessions and the physical influence--the nerve-
charm--could suppose him to be holding aloof for his pleasure or his
pride; perhaps because of illness or inability to conceive the actual
situation at a distance. He mentioned the presence of the countess, and
Mr. Wythan mentioned it, neither of them thinking a rational man would so
play the lunatic as to let men starve, and wreck precious mines, for the
sake of avoiding her.
Sullen days went by. On these days of the slate-cloud or the leaden-
winged, Carinthia walked over the hills to her staring or down-eyed
silent people, admitted without a welcome at some doors, rejected at
some. Her baskets from the castle were for the most part received as
graciously. She continued to direct them for delivery where they were
needed, and understood why a charity that supplied the place of justice
was not thanked. She and her people here were one regarding the master,
as she had said. They could not hurt her sensitiveness, she felt too
warmly with them. And here it was not the squalid, flat, bricked east-
corner of London at the close of her daily pilgrimage. Up from the
solitary street of the slate-roofs, she mounted a big hill and had the
life of high breathing. A perpetual escape out of the smoky, grimy city
mazes was trumpeted to her in the winds up there: a recollected contrast
lightened the skyless broad spaces overhead almost to sunniness. Having
air of the hills and activity for her limbs, she made sunshine for
herself. Regrets were at no time her nestlings.
Look backward only to correct an error of conduct for the next attempt,
says one of her father's Maxims; as sharply bracing for women as for men.
She did not look back to moan. Now that her hunger for the safety of her
infant was momentarily quieted, she could see Kit Ines hanging about the
lower ground, near the alehouse, and smile at Madge's comparison of him
to a drummed-out soldier, who would like to be taken for a holiday
pensioner.
He saluted; under the suspicion of his patron's lady his legs were
hampered, he dared not approach her; though his innocence of a deed not
proposed to him yet--and all to stock that girl Madge's shop, if done!
knocked at his ribs with fury to vindicate himself before the lady and
her maid. A gentleman met them and conducted them across the hills.
And two Taffy gentlemen would hardly be sufficient for the purpose,
supposing an ill-used Englishman inclined to block their way!--What, and
play footpad, Kit Ines? No, it's just a game in the head. But a true
man hates to feel himself suspected. His refuge is the beer of the
country.
Next day there were the two gentlemen to conduct the lady and her maid;
and Taffy the first walks beside the countess; and that girl Madge
trudges along with no other than my lord's Mr. Woodseer, chattering like
a watering-can on a garden-bed: deuce a glance at Kit Ines. How can she
keep it up and the gentleman no more than nodding? How does he enjoy
playing second fiddle with the maid while Mr. tall brown-face Taffy
violins it to her ladyship a stone's throw in front? Ines had less
curiosity to know the object of Mr. Woodseer's appearance on the scene.
Idle, unhandsomely treated, and a cave of the yawns, he merely commented
on his observations.
'Yes, there he is, don't look at him,' Madge said to Gower; 'and whatever
he's here for, he has a bad time of it, and rather more than it's
pleasant for him to think over, if a slave to a "paytron" thinks at all.
I won't judge him; my mistress is bitten with the fear for the child,
worse than ever. And the earl, my lord, not coming, and he wanting her
to move again, seems to her he durstn't do it here and intends to snap at
the child on the road. She-'s forced to believe anything of such a
husband and father. And why does he behave so? I can't spell it. He's
kind to my Sally--you've seen the Piccadilly shop?--because she was . . .
she did her best in love and duty for my lady. And behaves like a
husband hating his wife's life on earth! Then he went down with good Mr.
Woodseer, and called on Sally, pretending to inquire, after she was
kidnapped by that Kit Ines acting to please his paytron, he must be shown
up to the room where she slept, and stands at the door and peeps in,
Sally's letter says, and asks if he may enter the room. He went to the
window looking on the chimneys she used to see, and touched an ornament
over the fireplace, called grandfather's pigtail case--he was a sailor;
only a ridiculous piece of china, that made my lady laugh about the story
of its holding a pigtail. But he turns it over because she did--Sally
told him. He couldn't be pretending when he bought the beautiful shop
and stocked it for Sally. He gets her lots of customers; and no rent to
pay till next Michaelmas a year. She's a made woman through him. He
said to her, he had heard from Mr. Woodseer the Countess of Fleetwood
called her sister; he shook her hand.'
'The Countess of Fleetwood called both of you her sisters, I think,' said
Gower.
'I'm her servant. I'd rather serve her than have a fortune.'
'You were born with a fortune one would like to have a nibble at, Madge.'
'I can't lay hand on it, then.'
'It's the capacity for giving, my dear.'
'Please, Mr. Gower, don't say that; you'll make me cry. He keeps his
wife so poor she hasn't a shilling of her own; she wearies about her
brother; she can't help. He can spend hundreds on my Sally for having
been good to her, in our small way--it's a fairy tale; and he won't hear
of money for his wife, except that she's never to want for anything it
can buy.'
'You give what it can't buy.'
'Me. I'm "a pugilist's wench"--I've heard myself called. She was the
first who gave me a lift; never mind me. Have you come to take her away?
She'd trust herself and the child to you.'
'Take her?--reason with her as to the best we can do. He holds off from
a meeting just now. I fancy he's wearing round to it. His keeping his
wife without money passes comprehension. After serving him for a few
months, I had a store invested to support me for years--as much as I need
before I join the ranks of the pen. I was at my reading and writing and
drowsing, and down he rushes: I 'm in harness again. I can't say it's
dead waste of time; besides I pick up an independence for the days ahead.
But I don't respect myself for doing the work. Here's the difference
between us two servants, Madge: I think of myself, and you don't.'
'The difference is more like between the master and mistress we serve,
Mr. Gower.'
'Well, I'd rather be the woman in this case.'
'You know the reputation I've got. And can only just read, and can't
spell. My mistress teaches me bits of German and French on her walks.'
Gower took a new observation of this girl, whom he had not regarded as
like himself, a pushing blade among the grasses. He proposed to continue
her lessons, if she cared to learn; saying it could be done in letters.
'I won't be ashamed of writing, if you mean it,' said she. 'My mistress
will have a usefuller servant. She had a strange honeymoon of a
marriage, if ever was--and told me t' other day she was glad because it
brought us together--she a born lady!'
'A fling-above born ladies. She's quick as light to hit on a jewel where
there is one, whether it shines or not. She stands among the Verities of
the world.'
'Yes,' Madge said, panting for more. 'Do speak of her. When you praise
her, I feel she's not wasted. Mistress; and friend and wife--if he'd let
her be; and mother; never mother like her. The boy 'll be a sturdy.
She'll see he has every chance. He's a lucky little one to have that
mother.'
'You think her handsome, Madge?'
Gower asked it, wishing to hear a devotee's confusion of qualities and
looks.
The question was a drop on lower spheres, and it required definitions, to
touch the exact nature of the form of beauty, and excuse a cooler tone on
the commoner plane. These demanded language. She rounded the
difficulty, saying: 'You see engravings of archery; that 's her figure--
her real figure. I think her face . . . I can't describe . . . it
flashes.'
'That's it,' said Gower, delighted with his perception of a bare mind at
work and hitting the mark perforce of warmth. 'When it flashes, it's
unequalled. There's the supremacy of irregular lines. People talk of
perfect beauty: suitable for paintings and statues. Living faces, if
they're to show the soul, which is the star on the peak of beauty, must
lend themselves to commotion. Nature does it in a breezy tree or over
ruffled waters. Repose has never such splendid reach as animation--
I mean, in the living face. Artists prefer repose. Only Nature can
express the uttermost beauty with her gathering and tuning of discords.
Well, your mistress has that beauty. I remember my impression when I saw
her first on her mountains abroad. Other beautiful faces of women go
pale, grow stale. The diversified in the harmony of the flash are
Nature's own, her radiant, made of her many notes, beyond our dreams to
reproduce. We can't hope to have a true portrait of your mistress. Does
Madge understand?'
The literary dose was a strong one for her; but she saw the index, and
got a lift from the sound. Her bosom heaved. 'Oh, I do try, Mr. Gower.
I think I do a little. I do more while you're talking. You are good to
talk so to me. You should have seen her the night she went to meet my
lord at those beastly Gardens Kit Ines told me he was going to. She was
defending him. I've no words. You teach me what's meant by poetry. I
couldn't understand that once.'
Their eyes were on the countess and her escort in advance. Gower's
praises of her mistress's peculiar beauty set the girl compassionately
musing. His eloquence upon the beauty was her clue.
Carinthia and Mr. Wythan started at a sharp trot in the direction of the
pair of ponies driven by a groom along the curved decline of the narrow
roadway. His whip was up for signal.
It concerned the house and the master of it. His groom drove rapidly
down, while he hurried on the homeward way, as a man will do, with the
dread upon him that his wife's last breath may have been yielded before
he can enfold her.
Carinthia walked to be overtaken, not daring to fever her blood at a
swifter pace; 'lamed with an infant,' the thought recurred.
'She is very ill, she has fainted, she lies insensible,' Madge heard from
her of Mrs. Wythan. 'We were speaking of her when the groom appeared.
It has happened twice. They fear the third. He fears it, though he
laughs at a superstition. Now step, I know you like walking, Mr.
Woodseer. Once I left you behind.'
'I have the whole scene of the angel and the cripple,' Gower replied.
'O that day!'
They 'were soon speculating on the unimpressionable house in its clump of
wood midway below, which had no response for anxieties.
A maid-servant at the garden gate, by Mr. Wythan's orders, informed
Carinthia that her mistress had opened her eyes: There was a hope of
weathering the ominous third time. But the hope was a bird of short
flight from bush to bush until the doctor should speak to confirm it.
Even the child was under the shadow of the house. Carinthia had him in
her arms, trusting to life as she hugged him, and seeing innumerable
darts out of all regions assailing her treasure.
'She wishes to have you,' Mr. Wythan came and said to her. 'Almost her
first word. The heart is quickening. She will live for me if she can.'
He whispered it. His features shot the sparkle.
Rebecca Wythan had strength to press Carinthia's hand faintly. She made
herself heard: 'No pain.' Her husband sat upright, quite still,
attentive for any sign. His look of quiet pleasure ready to show,
sprightliness dwelt on her. She returned the look, unable to give it
greeting. Past the sense of humour, she wanted to say: 'See the poor
simple fellow who will think it a wife that he has!' She did but look.
Carinthia spoke his name, 'Mr. Wythan,' by chance, and Rebecca breathed
heavily until she formed the words: 'Owain to me.'
'To me,' Owain added.
The three formed a chain of clasped hands.
It was in the mind of the sick lady to disburden herself of more than her
weakness could utter, so far was she above earthly links. The desire in
her was to be quit of the flesh, bearing a picture of her husband as
having the dues of his merits.
Her recovered strength next day brought her nearer to our laws. 'You
will call him Owain, Carinthia?' she said. 'He is not one to presume on
familiarity. I must be going soon. I cannot leave him the wife I would
choose. I can leave him the sister. He is a sure friend. He is the
knightly man women dream of. I harp on it because I long for testimony
that I leave him to have some reward. And this may be, between two so
pure at heart as you two.'
'Dear soul friend, yes, and Owain, yes, I can say it,' Carinthia
rejoined. 'Brother? I have only my Chillon. My life is now for him.
I am punished for separating myself from the son of my father. I have no
heart for a second brother. What I can give to my friend I will. I
shall love you in him, if I am to lose you.'
'Not Owain--it was I was the wretch refused to call on the lonely lady at
the castle until I heard she had done a romantic little bit of thing--
hushed a lambkin's bleating. My loss! my loss! And I could afford it
so poorly. Since then Carinthia has filled my days. I shudder to leave
you and think of your going back to the English. Their sneer withers.
They sent you down among us as a young woman to be shunned.'
'I did wildly, I was ungoverned, I had one idea,' said Carinthia.
'One idea is a bullet, good for the day of battle to beat the foe,
father tells us. It was a madness in me. Now it has gone, I see all
round. I see straight, too. With one idea, we see nothing--nothing but
itself. Whizz! we go. I did. I shall no longer offend in that way.
Mr. Gower Woodseer is here from my lord.'
'With him the child will be safe.'
'I am not alarmed. It is to request--they would have me gone, to prepare
the way for my lord.'
'You have done, it; he has the castle to himself. I cannot-spare you.
A tyrant ordering you to go should be defied. My Lord Fleetwood puts
lightning into my slow veins.'
'We have talked: we shall be reproved by the husband and the doctor,'
said Carinthia.
Sullen days continued and rolled over to night at the mines. Gower's
mission was rendered absurd by the countess's withdrawal from the castle.
He spoke of it to Mr. Wythan once, and the latter took a big breath and
blew such a lord to the winds. 'Persuade our guest to leave us, that the
air may not be tainted for her husband when he comes? He needn't call;
he's not obliged to see her. She's offered Esslemont to live in? I
believe her instinct's right--he has designs on the child. A little more
and we shall have a mad dog in the fellow. He doubles my work by keeping
his men out. If she were away we should hear of black doings. Twenty
dozen of his pugilists wouldn't stop the burning.'
They agreed that persuasions need not be addressed to the countess. She
was and would remain Mr. Wythan's guest. As for the earl, Gower inclined
to plead hesitatingly, still to plead, on behalf of a nobleman owning his
influence and very susceptible to his wisdom, whose echo of a pointed
saying nearly equalled the satisfaction bestowed by print. The titled
man affected the philosopher in that manner; or rather, the crude
philosopher's relish of brilliant appreciation stripped him of his robe.
For he was with Owain Wythan at heart to scorn titles which did not
distinguish practical offices. A nation bowing to them has gone to pith,
for him; he had to shake himself, that he might not similarly stick; he
had to do it often. Objects elevated even by a decayed world have their
magnetism for us unless we nerve the mind to wakeful repulsion. He
protested he had reason to think the earl was humanizing, though he might
be killing a woman in the process. 'Could she wish for better?' he
asked, with at least the gravity of the undermining humourist; and he
started Owain to course an idea when he remarked of Lord Fleetwood:
'Imagine a devil on his back on a river, flying a cherub.'
Owain sparkled from the vision of the thing to wrath with it.
'Ay, but while he's floating, his people are edging on starvation. And
I've a personal grievance. I keep, you know, open hall, bread and cheese
and beer, for poor mates. His men are favouring us with a call. We have
to cart treble from the town. If I straighten the sticks he dies to
bend, it'll be a grievance against me--and a fig for it! But I like to
be at peace with my neighbours, and waft them "penillion" instead of
dealing the "cleddyfal" of Llewellyn.'
At last the tension ceased; they had intelligence of the earl's arrival.
His countess was little moved by it; and the reason for that lay in her
imagination being absorbed. Henrietta had posted her a journal telling
of a deed of Chillon's: no great feat, but precious for its 'likeness to
him,' as they phrased it; that is, for the light it cast on their
conception of the man. Heading a squadron in a riotous Midland town, he
stopped a charge, after fire of a shot from the mob, and galloped up the
street to catch a staggering urchin to his saddle-bow, and place the mite
in safety. Then it was a simple trot of the hussars ahead; way was made
for him.
Now, to see what banquet there is for the big of heart in the world's hot
stress, take the view of Carinthia, to whom her brother's thoughtful
little act of gentleness at the moment of the red-of-the-powder smoke was
divinest bread and wine, when calamity hung around, with the future an
unfooted wilderness, her powers untried, her husband her enemy.