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(University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign)
TEMPEST-DRIVEN.
TEMPEST-DRIVEN
A Romance.
BY
RICHARD DOWLING,
AUTHOR OF "THE MYSTERY OF KILLARD," "THE WEIRD SISTERS,"
"THE SPORT OF FATE," "UNDER ST. PAUL'S," "THE DUKE'S SWEETHEART,"
"SWEET INISFAIL," "THE HIDDEN FLAME," ETC.
_IN THREE VOLUMES_.
VOL. III.
LONDON:
TINSLEY BROTHERS, 8 CATHERINE ST., STRAND.
1886.
[_All rights reserved_.]
CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS,
CRYSTAL PLACE PRESS.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XXXII.
SALMON AND COWS.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
A FORTUNE LOST.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
A TELEGRAM FROM THE MAIL.
CHAPTER XXXV.
THE TRAVELLERS.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
SOLICITOR AND CLIENT.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
THE WIDOW'S THEORY OF THE CASE.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
"WHERE'ER I CAME I BROUGHT CALAMITY."
CHAPTER XXXIX.
A COMPACT.
CHAPTER XL.
AN EXPEDITION PROPOSED.
CHAPTER XLI.
AT THE WHALE'S MOUTH.
CHAPTER XLII.
THE RED CAVE.
CHAPTER XLIII.
A RETROSPECT.
CHAPTER XLIV.
A LAST APPEAL.
CHAPTER XLV.
BEYOND THE VEIL.
CHAPTER XLVI.
AN EVENING WALK.
CHAPTER XLVII.
CONCLUSION.
TEMPEST-TOSSED
CHAPTER XXXII.
SALMON AND COWS.
Luncheon that day at Carlingford House was a quiet, subdued meal.
Edith Paulton, who was very small and vivacious, better-looking than
Madge, and distinguished by shrewd discontent rather than the
amiability which radiated from her elder sister, was the only one at
the table that made an effort at being sprightly. Although she was not
unsympathetic, she had a much more keen appreciation of her own
annoyances and troubles than those of others. She took great liberties
with her good-natured father and mother, and treated her brother as if
he were a useless compound of slave, fool, and magnanimous mastiff.
She was by no means wanting in affection, but she hated displays of
sentiment, and felt desperately inclined to laugh on grave occasions.
That day, when the two girls left the back room, they went straight to
Madge's, where they talked over the arrival of Jerry O'Brien, for whom
Edith strongly suspected Madge had a warmer feeling than friendship,
and who, she felt morally certain, greatly to her secret delight, was
over head and ears in love with Madge. The only human being in whom
she had infinite faith was Madge. She did not consider any hero or
conqueror of history good enough for her sister. To her mind, there
was only one flaw in Madge: Madge would not worship Madge. Madge
thought every one else in the world of consequence but herself. Edith
thought Madge the only absolutely perfect person living, or that ever
had lived--leaving out, of course, the important defect just
mentioned. The younger girl had, in human affairs, a certain hardness
and common-sense plainness which shocked the more sensitive sister.
For instance, she could not see anything at all pathetic in Mrs.
Davenport's situation.
Before the bell rang for luncheon, she said to her sister:
"I can't for the life of me see what is so terribly melancholy in Mrs.
Davenport's case. I think she got out of it rather well. She didn't
care anything for that dreadful old man who poisoned himself out of
some horrid kind of spite. She hasn't been put in prison, and he left
her a whole lot of money. So that as she isn't exactly an old maid, or
a grandmother, she can marry any other horrid old man she likes. Oh,
yes; I know she's very beautiful, and what you call young, Madge.
She's not fifty yet, I suppose. Every woman _is_ young now until she's
forty or fifty; and as to men, they don't seem to grow old now at any
age. As long as a man doesn't use crutches, they say he is in the full
vigour of manhood--that he's not marriageable until he's gray, and
bald, and deaf of one ear, or can't read even with glasses. I suppose
father will make her stop for dinner. I thought I'd laugh outright
when I saw him go to her and call her 'child.' Child! Fancy calling a
widow _child!_ If ever he calls me child again, I'll tell him, as far
as I know, I have not buried any husband yet. But, Madge, if she
_does_ stop for dinner, I'm not going to sit there and learn the very
latest thing in the manners of widows. I'll go out for a walk after
luncheon. Do you know, I think Jerry O'Brien is half in love with this
beautiful widow! I'll ask him to come with me, I will; and you,
good-natured fool, may sit within and catch the airs and graces of
early widowhood, though I don't think they'll ever be of any use to
you. You're certain to die an old maid. Alfred can't keep his eyes off
her. It's a pity we haven't that nice Mr. Blake here--her old
sweetheart. There, Madge, I don't mean a word I say, especially about
Jerry O'Brien. I know he's madly in love with me. I'm going to give
him a chance of proposing this evening. We'll walk as far as the
Palace, and if you get separated from us, and see me holding my
umbrella out from my side on two fingers--this way--just don't come
near us, and you shall be my bridesmaid, and Jerry shall give you a
present of a bracelet representing a brazen widow sitting on a silver
salmon. There's the bell! Madge, love, I'm not a beast, only a brute.
There!--I won't be rude again, and I'll try and rather like Mrs.
Davenport. She'll be a neighbour of mine, you know, when I'm married
to Jerry. I think I'll call him _Jer_ then."
After luncheon, Mrs. Paulton suggested that Mrs. Davenport should lie
down, as she must be quite worn out. But the latter would not consent
to this. She said she felt quite refreshed, and in no need of rest, as
she had slept well the previous night--although some memory of the
Channel passage was in her brain, and the sound of the railway journey
in her ears.
The evening was fine. Neither Mrs. Davenport nor Alfred cared for a
walk when it was suggested by Edith, but Jerry said he would like it
of all things; so he and the two sisters set off down the fine, broad,
prosperous-looking Dulwich Road, in the direction of the Crystal
Palace.
It is proverbially a small world, and the three pedestrians had not
gone many hundred yards when whom should they see but Nellie Cahill,
one of the firm friends and confidantes of the Paulton girls. Before
the three came up with Miss Cahill, Edith gave a brief and graphic
sketch of her to Jerry, who had not had the pleasure of meeting her
before. She was good-looking, good-humoured, jolly, a dear old thing,
mad as a March hare, true as steel, and last, though not least,
interesting to him--a fellow country-woman of his, as her name
betokened.
He must be introduced to her. He must like her awfully. He must love
her, if it came to that, unless, indeed, that slow coach Alfred had
been before him--in which case he, Jerry, was to be exceedingly
obliging and deferential; for any one would rather have a nice girl
like Nellie for a sister-in-law than a thousand widows.
Jerry was duly introduced, and said civil things and silly things, and
the four walked on all abreast, until Edith suddenly remembered that
she had to tell Nellie all about the reappearance of Mrs. Davenport,
and a lot of other matters, in which two sober, steady-going,
middle-aged people like Madge and Jerry could, by no stress of
imagination, be supposed to take a sensible and hilarious interest. So
the younger division of the party, comprised of Nellie Cahill and
Edith Paulton, fell to the rear, and the other division kept the
front. And thus, in spite of all Edith's designs on Jerry both for
herself and Nellie, these two enterprising and eminently desirable and
lovable young ladies lost all chance of his offering marriage to
either that afternoon.
A long story of the detestable villainy of the Fishery Commissioners
had to be first and foremost related to Madge. Considering that she
did not know what a weir was, and had never seen a salmon except on
the table or the marble slab of a fish-shop, and that according to her
notion the appearance of a Commissioner was something between a
beefeater of the Tower of London and a Brighton boatman, she listened
with great patience, and made remarks which caused Jerry to laugh
sometimes, and plunge into profound technicalities at others. But it
became quite plain that Jerry himself did not take any consuming
interest in his own wrongs and the refined ruffianism of the
Commissioners; for at a most bewildering description of the channel,
and the draught of water, and the set of tides, and the idiosyncrasies
of coal barges, he looked over his shoulder and, finding Edith and her
friend a good way behind, stopped suddenly in his discourse and said:
"Madge, I've been reeling off a lot of rubbish to you just to drop the
others a good bit astern. I now want to say something very serious to
you. Are you listening?"
"Yes; but look at that cow! Did you ever see a more contented-looking
creature in all your life?"
She kept her face turned towards the hedge.
"Confound the cow!" he cried. "Do you think I am going to give up
talking of Bawn salmon and barges, and talk about Dulwich cows? Are
you listening?"
"I am. But did you--now--did you ever see such a lovely cow?"
"Look here, Madge: If this is reprisal for my harangue about my
miserable salmon weirs, I'll not say another word about them. Are you
going to be friends with me?"
"Yes--of course."
Still the cow occupied her eyes, to judge by the way her head was
turned.
"I came out expressly to have a most serious talk with you on a most
important matter----"
"I am sure I was very sorry to hear about your salmon nets----"
"Nets! Nets! Good heavens, Madge!--I never said a word about nets the
whole time. I'm not a cot-man. Look here: you know it's only a few of
the greatest minds that can attend to two things at the one time. You
can't give your soul to fish and yet devote yourself to cows at the
one moment, except you are a person like Julius C├Žsar. He could
dictate and write completely different things at the one time."
"Could he? He must have been very clever."
"Will you give up the cow? I want to talk of another beast."
"Trout?"
"No, not trout. Trout isn't a beast. If you're clever and smart, and
that kind of thing, I won't talk about my beast."
"What is your beast?"
"A fool."
"Oh!"
"Are you not curious to know who the fool is?"
"There are so many, one cannot be interested in all."
"No; but you are interested in this one."
Silence.
"I say you are interested in Alfred."
"Alfred!" She looked quickly round for the first time since the cow
had attracted her attention. Her colour was vivid, and her breath came
short. "Alfred a fool!"
"Yes; he's hit--badly hit."
"You don't think him ill?"--in alarm. The colour faded quickly.
"I think him very bad."
"His brain again. Oh, do tell me!"--pleadingly.
"No. He told me all in the front room to-day. It's his heart this
time."
"His heart?"
"Yes. Love."
"Love! In love with whom?"
"I forget."
"You forget whom he is in love with?"
"Yes. Another matter has put it out of my head. Madge, I'm a fool too.
You needn't turn away. There are no more cows, Madge. Give up the
salmon and cows, Madge, and have me instead! Will you, Madge? Give me
your hand.... Thank you, love. Madge!"
"Yes."
"The other two have turned back. There is no one else in the road. May
I kiss you?"
She looked over her shoulder on the side away from him. Then she
looked at him....
"Thank you, darling. Let us turn back. I have touched the limits of my
happiest road. Madge!"
"Yes."
"Yes, Jerry. Say 'Yes, Jerry.'"
"Yes, Jerry."
"That's better. I won't kiss you again until we get into the house. Do
you think you can last out till then?"
"I--I think so, Jerry."
"That's right. Cultivate self-denial and obedience. You don't think it
is respectable for a man to kiss his sweetheart on a public road?"
"No."
"That's right. Cultivate self-denial and obedience, but chiefly
obedience. Don't you think it is the duty of woman to cultivate
obedience chiefly?"
"I do."
"And if I asked it, you would, out of obedience to me, trample
self-denial under foot?"
"Certainly, Jerry, if you wished it."
"I do. Oh, my Madge--my darling--my gentle love! Once more."
"But Edith has turned round and sees us.... And my hat--you have
knocked off my hat.... Thanks. Now pick up my hair-pin. It fell with
the hat. What will Edith think?"
"I'll tell her. I'll tell Edith quite plainly it was your
self-restraint gave way, not mine."