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A WITCH OF THE HILLS
BY
FLORENCE WARDEN
AUTHOR OF 'THE HOUSE ON THE MARSH,' ETC.
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL. I
LONDON
RICHARD BENTLEY & SON, NEW BURLINGTON STREET
Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen
1888
A WITCH OF THE HILLS
CHAPTER I
Poor little witch! I think she left all her spells and love-philters
behind her, when she let herself be carried off from Ballater to
Bayswater, a spot where no sorcery more poetical or more interesting
than modern Spiritualism finds a congenial home. What was her star
about not to teach her that human hearts can beat as passionately up
among the quiet hills and the dark fir-forests as down amid the rattle
and the roar of the town? Well, well; it is only in the grave that we
make no mistakes; and life and love, God knows, are mysteries beyond
the ken of a chuckle-headed country gentleman, with just sense enough
to handle a gun and land a salmon.
And the sum and substance of all this is that the Deeside hills are
very bleak in December, that the north wind sighs and sobs, whistles
and howls among the ragged firs and the bending larches in a manner
fearsome and eerie to a lonely man at his silent fireside, and that
books are but sorry substitutes for human companions when the deer are
safe in their winter retreat in the forests, and the grouse-moors are
white with snow. So here's for another pine-log on the fire, and a
glance back at the fourteen years which have slipped away since I shut
the gates of the world behind me.
The world! The old leaven is still there then, that after fourteen
years of voluntary--almost voluntary--exile, I still call that narrow
circle of a few hundreds of not particularly wise, not particularly
interesting people--the world! They were wise enough and interesting
enough for me at three and twenty, though, when by the death of my
elder brother I leapt at once from an irksome struggle, with expensive
tastes, on a stingy allowance of three hundred a year, to the full
enjoyment of an income of eight thousand.
How fully I appreciated the delights of that sudden change from
'ineligible' to 'eligible!' How quickly I began to feel that, in
accepting an invitation, instead of receiving a favour I now conferred
one! My new knowledge speedily transformed a harmless and rather
obliging young man into an insufferable puppy; but the puppy was
welcomed where the obliging young man had hardly been tolerated.
Beautifully gradual the change was, both in me and in my friends; for
we were all well bred, and knew how to charge the old formulas with
new meaning. 'You will be sure to come, won't you?' from a hostess to
me, was no longer a crumb of kindness, it was an entreaty. 'You are
very kind,' from me, expressed now not gratitude, but condescension. A
rather nice girl, who had been scolded for dancing with me too often,
was now, like the little children sent out in the streets to beg,
praised or blamed by her mother according to the degree of attention I
had paid her. I did not share the contempt of the other men of my own
age for this manoeuvring mamma and the rest of her kind, though I
daresay I spoke of them in the same tone as they did. In the first
place, I was flattered by their homage to my new position, interested
as it was; and in the second, in their presence we were all so much
alike, in dress, manner, and what by courtesy is called conversation,
that the poor ladies might well be excused for judging our merits by
the only tangible point of difference--our relative wealth.
In our tastes, our vices, real or assumed, there was equally little to
choose between us. We knew little about art and less about literature.
In politics we were dogged and illogical partisans of politicians, and
cared nothing for principles. Religion we left to women, who shared
with horses the chief place in our thoughts. Nature having fortunately
denied to the latter animals the power of speech, there was no danger
of the two classes of our favourites coming into active rivalry.
In the intoxication of early manhood, while the mind was still in the
background to the senses, the surface of things provided entertainment
enough for us. Characters and even characteristics were merged in a
uniformity of folly without malice, and vice without depravity. If we
gambled, we lost money which did no good while in our hands; if we
gave light love, it was to ladies who asked for no more; if we drank,
we only clouded intellects which were never employed in thought.
Looking back on that time from the serene eminence of nine and thirty,
I can see that I was a fool, but also that I got my money's worth for
my folly, which is more than I can say for all my later aberrations of
intellect. And if, on the brink of forty, I find I can give a less
logical account of my actions and feelings than I could at the opening
of life, it is appalling to think what a consummate ass I may be if I
live another twenty years! I begin to wish I had set myself some less
humiliating task, to fill my lonely hours by a mountain winter
fireside, than this of tracing the process by which the idiot of five
and twenty became the lunatic of five and thirty. Well, it's too late
to go back, now that I have called up the old ghosts and felt again
the terrible fascination of the touch of the now gaunt fingers. So
here's for a dash at my work with the best grace I can.
I had been enjoying my accession to fortune for about eighteen months,
during which I had devoted what mind and soul I possessed wholly to
the work of catering for the gratification of my senses, when I fell
for the first time seriously in love, as the natural sequence of
having exhausted the novelty of coarser excitements.
Lady Helen Normanton was the third daughter of the Marquis of
Castleford, a beauty in her first season, who had made a sensation on
her presentation, and had attracted the avowed admiration of no less a
person than the Earl of Saxmundham, such a great catch, with his
rumoured revenues of eighty or ninety thousand a year, that for a
comparative pauper with a small and already encumbered estate like
mine to dare to appear in the lists against him seemed the height of
conceit or the depth of idiotcy. But Lady Helen's eyes were bright
enough, and her smile sweet enough, to turn any man's head. They
caused me to form the first set purpose of my life, and I dashed into
my wooing with a head-long earnestness that soon made my passion the
talk of my friends. I had one advantage on my side upon which I must
confess that I largely relied; I was good-looking enough to have
earned the sobriquet of 'Handsome Harry,' and I was quite as much
alive to my personal attractions, quite as anxious to show them to the
best advantage, as any female professional beauty. It was agony to
think that, having already exhausted my imagination in the invention
of devices by which, in the restricted area of man's costume, I should
always appear a little better dressed than any one else, I could do
nothing more for my love than I had done for my vanity. As a last
resource I curled my hair.
The boldness of my devotion soon began to tell. The Earl of Saxmundham
was fifty-two, had a snub nose, and was already bald. Lady Helen was
very young, sweet and simple, and perhaps scarcely realised yet what
much handsomer horses and gowns and diamonds are to be got with eighty
thousand a year than with eight. So she smiled at me and danced with
me, and said nothing at all in the sweetest way when I poured out my
passion in supper-rooms and conservatories, and giggled with the most
adorable childlikeness when I kissed her little hand, still young
enough to be rather red, and told her that she had inspired me with
the wish to be great for her sake. And the end of it was that the
Earl began to retreat, and that I was snubbed, and that these snubs,
being to me an earnest of victory, I became ten times more openly,
outrageously daring than before, and my suit being vigorously upheld
by one of her brothers, who had become an oracle in the family on the
simple basis of being difficult to please, I was at last most
reluctantly accepted as Lady Helen's betrothed lover.
My success gave me the sort of prestige of curiosity which passionate
earnestness, in this age when we associate passion with seedy
Bohemians and earnestness with Methodist preachers, can easily excite
among a generation of men who, having no stimulating iron bars or
stone walls between them and their lady-loves, can reserve the best of
their energies for other and more exciting pursuits. I was the
respectable Paris to a proper and perfectly well-conducted Helen, the
Romeo to a new Juliet. My wooing and engagement became a society
topic, the subject of many interesting fictions. Spreading to circles
a little more remote, in the absence of any Downing Street blunder or
Clapham tragedy, the story became more romantic still. I myself
overheard on the Underground Railway the exciting narration of how I
forced my way at night into the Marquis's bedroom, after having
concealed myself for some hours behind a Japanese screen in the
library; how, revolver in hand, I had forced the unwilling parent to
accede to my demand for his daughter's hand, and much more of the same
kind, listened to with incredulity, but still with interest.
It was hard that, after the _eclat_ of such a beginning, our
engagement should have continued on commonplace lines, but so it did.
My love for this fair girl, being the first deep emotion of a life
which had begun to pall upon me by its frivolity, had struck far down
and moved to life within me the best feelings of a man's nature. I
began to be ashamed of myself, to feel that I was a futile coxcomb,
only saved from being ridiculous by being one of a crowd of others
like me. I gave up betting, that I might have more money to spend on
presents for her; less legitimate pleasures I renounced as a matter of
course, with shame that the arms which were to protect my darling
should have been so profaned; vanity having made me a 'masher,' love
made me a man. Unluckily, Helen was too young and too innocent to
appreciate the difference; her eyes still glowed at the sight of
French bonbons, she liked compliments better than conversation, and
burst into tears when one evening, as she was dressed for a ball, I
broke, in kissing her, the heads of some lilies of the valley she was
wearing. The little petulant push she gave me opened my eyes to the
fact that no sooner had I discovered myself to be a fool in one way
than I had straightway fallen into as great an error in another
direction. It dawned upon me for the first time, as I sat opposite to
Helen and her mother in the barouche on our way to the ball, what a
horrible likeness there was, seen in this halflight of the carriage
lamps, between Helen with her sweet blue eyes and features so
delicately lovely that they made one think of Queen Titania, with an
uncomfortable thought of one's self as the ass, and the placid
Marchioness, whose features at other times one never noticed, so
utterly insignificant a nonentity was she by reason of the vacuous
stolidity which was carried by her to the point of absolute
distinction. Would Helen be like that at forty? Worse still, was Helen
like that now? It was a horrible thought, which subsequent experience
unhappily did not tend to dispel. My first serious love had worked too
great a revolution in me, had made me conscious of needs unfelt
before, so that I now found that mere innocence in the woman who was
to be the goddess of my life was not enough; I must have capacity for
thought, for passion.
All this I had taken for granted at first, while the struggle to win
her occupied all my energies; but when from the mad aspirant I became
the proud betrothed, I had leisure to find out that the beautiful,
dreamy, far-away eyes of my _fiancee_ in no way denoted a poetic
temperament, that her romance consisted merely in the preference for a
handsome face to an ugly one, and in the inability to understand that
she, an Earl's daughter and a spoilt child, could by any possibility
fail to obtain anything to which she had taken a fancy. I was
surprised at the rapidity with which I, a man seriously and deeply in
love, came to these conclusions about the girl who had inspired my
passion. I could even, looking into the future, foretell the kind of
life we should lead together as man and wife, when she, fallen from
the ideal position of inspiring goddess to that of a tame pet rabbit,
bored to death by my solemnity when I was serious, and frightened by
my impetuosity when I was gay, would discover, with quick woman's
instinct, that the best of myself was no longer given to her, and
cavilling at the neglect of a husband whose society oppressed her,
would find compensation for her wrongs among more frivolous
companions. So that, weary of frivolity myself, my wife would avenge
my defection.
I suppose almost every man, in the sober hours which alternate with
the paroxysms of the wildest passions, can form a tolerably correct
forecast of his life with the woman who likes to believe that she has
cast him into an infatuation whose force is blinding. The picture is
always with him, showing now in bright colours, now in dark; varying a
little in its outlines from time to time, but remaining substantially
the same, and more or less accurate according to the measure of his
intellect and experience; not at all the picture of even an earthly
paradise, but yet with charms which satisfy human longings, and make
it hard to part with. So I, having made up my mind that beauty,
gentleness and modesty, good birth and fairly good temper were the
only attributes of my future wife on which I could rely,
philosophically decided that they formed as good an equipment as I had
any right to expect, doubled my offerings of flowers and bonbons, and
transferred the disquisitions on art, literature, religion and
politics, in which I had begun to indulge, to her brother.
Lord Edgar Normanton was a tall, fair, broad-shouldered young man,
who, while joining in all the frivolous amusements of his age and
station, did so in a grave, leisurely, and reflective manner, which
caused him to be looked up to as one capable of higher things, whose
presence at a cricket match was a condescension, and who appeared at
balls with some occult purpose connected with the study of human
nature. I had always looked upon his special friendship for me as an
honour, of which I felt that my new departure, in deciding that I had
sown wild oats enough, made me more worthy. It never occurred to me to
ask myself or anybody else whether his wild oats were sown. It was
enough for me that he was glad when mine were. With the loyalty of
most young men to their ideals of their own sex, I would far rather
have discovered a new and unsuspected flaw in Helen's character than
have learnt anything to shake my respect for her brother. Women, when
not considered as angels, can only be looked upon as fascinating but
inferior creatures, whose faults must be overlooked as irremediable,
in consideration of their contributions to the comfort or the pleasure
of man. One may argue about them, but, except as a relaxation, one
cannot argue with them.
Edgar was openly delighted at my engagement with his sister, which he
considered merely in the light of a tie to bring us two men closer
together. Such a little nonentity as I found he considered his sister
to be might think herself lucky to be honoured by such a use.
This was the position of affairs when a memorable shooting party in
Norfolk, of which both Edgar and I formed members, resulted in an
accident which was to bring my love affair to an end as sensational as
its beginning.