OUR CURIOSITY IS PIQUED.
And so that odd vision was gone; and Laura Grey turned to us eagerly for
information.
We could not give her much. We were ourselves so familiar with the fact
of Mr. Carmel's existence, that it never occurred to us that his
appearance could be a surprise to any one.
Mr. Carmel had come about eight months before to reside in the small old
house in which the land-steward had once been harboured, and which,
built in continuation of the side of the house, forms a sort of
retreating wing to it, with a hall-door to itself, but under the same
roof.
This Mr. Carmel was, undoubtedly, a Roman Catholic, and an ecclesiastic;
of what order I know not. Possibly he was a Jesuit. I never was very
learned or very curious upon such points; but some one, I forgot who,
told me that he positively was a member of the Society of Jesus.
My poor mother was very High Church, and on very friendly terms with
Catholic personages of note. Mr. Carmel had been very ill, and was still
in delicate health, and a quiet nook in the country, in the
neighbourhood of the sea, had been ordered for him. The vacant house I
have described she begged for his use from my father, who did not at all
like the idea of lending it, as I could gather from the partly jocular
and partly serious discussions which he maintained upon the point,
every now and then, at the breakfast-table, when I was last in town.
I remember hearing my father say at last, "You know, my dear Mabel, I'm
always ready to do anything you like. I'll be a Catholic myself, if it
gives you the least pleasure, only be sure, first, about this thing,
that you really do like it. I shouldn't care if the man were hanged--he
very likely deserves it--but I'll give him my house if it makes you
happy. You must remember, though, the Cardyllion people won't like it,
and you'll be talked about, and I daresay he'll make nuns of Ethel and
Helen. He won't get a great deal by that, I'm afraid. And I don't see
why those pious people--Jesuits, and that sort of persons, who don't
know what to do with their money--should not take a house for him if he
wants it, or what business they have quartering their friars and rubbish
upon poor Protestants like you and me."
The end of it was that about two months later this Mr. Carmel arrived,
duly accredited by my father, who told me when he paid us one of his
visits of a day, soon after, that he was under promise not to talk to us
about religion, and that if he did I was to write to tell him
immediately.
When I had told my story to Laura Grey, she was thoughtful for a little
time.
"Are his visits only once a week?" she asked.
"Yes," said I.
"And does he stay as short a time always?" she continued.
We both agreed that he usually stayed a little longer.
"And has he never talked on the subject of religion?"
"No, never. He has talked about shells, or flowers, or anything he found
us employed about, and always told us something curious or interesting.
I had heard papa say that he was engaged upon a work from which great
things were expected, and boxes of books were perpetually coming and
going between him and his correspondents."
She was not quite satisfied, and in a few days there arrived from London
two little books on the great controversy between Luther and the Pope;
and out of these, to the best of her poor ability, she drilled us, by
way of a prophylactic against Mr. Carmel's possible machinations.
It did not appear, however, to be Mr. Carmel's mission to flutter the
little nest of heresy so near him. When he paid his next visit, it so
happened that one of these duodecimo disputants lay upon the table.
Without thinking, as he talked, he raised it, and read the title on the
cover, and smiled gently. Miss Grey blushed. She had not intended
disclosing her suspicions.
"In two different regiments, Miss Grey," he said, "but both under the
same king;" and he laid the book quietly upon the table again, and
talked on of something quite different.
Laura Grey, in a short time, became less suspicious of Mr. Carmel, and
rather enjoyed his little visits, and looked forward with pleasure to
them.
Could you imagine a quieter or more primitive life than ours, or, on
earth, a much happier one?
Malory owns an old-fashioned square pew in the aisle of the pretty
church of Cardyllion. In this spacious pew we three sat every Sunday,
and on one of these occasions, a few weeks after Miss Grey's arrival,
from my corner I thought I saw a stranger in the Verney seat, which is
at the opposite side of the aisle, and had not had an occupant for
several months. There was certainly a man in it; but the stove that
stood nearly between us would not allow me to see more than his elbow,
and the corner of an open book, from which I suppose he was reading.
I was not particularly curious about this person. I knew that the
Verneys, who were distant cousins of ours, were abroad, and the visitor
was not likely to be very interesting.
A long, indistinct sermon interposed, and I did not recollect to look at
the Verney pew until the congregation were trooping decorously out, and
we had got some way down the aisle. The pew was empty by that time.
"Some one in the Verney's pew," I remarked to our governess, so soon as
we were quite out of the shadow of the porch.
"Which is the Verney's pew?" she asked.
I described it.
"Yes, there was. I have got a headache, my dear. Suppose we go home by
the Mill Road?"
We agreed.
It is a very pretty, and in places rather a steep road, very narrow, and
ascending with a high and wooded bank at its right, and a precipitous
and thickly-planted glen to its left. The opposite side is thickly
wooded also, and a stream far below splashes and tinkles among the rocks
under the darkening foliage.
As we walked up this shadowy road, I saw an old gentleman walking down
it, towards us. He was descending at a brisk pace, and wore a
chocolate-coloured great-coat, made with a cape, and fitting his figure
closely. He wore a hat with a rather wide brim, turned up at the sides.
His face was very brown. He had a thin, high nose, with very thin
nostrils, rather prominent eyes, and carried his head high. Altogether
he struck me as a particularly gentleman-like and ill-tempered looking
old man, and his features wore a character of hauteur that was perfectly
insolent.
He was pretty near to us by the time I turned to warn our governess, who
was beside me, to make way for him to pass. I did not speak; for I was a
little startled to see that she was very much flushed, and almost
instantly turned deadly pale.
We came nearly to a standstill, and the old gentleman was up to us in a
few seconds. As he approached, his prominent eyes were fixed on Laura
Grey. He stopped, with the same haughty stare, and, raising his hat,
said in a cold, rather high key, "Miss Grey, I think? Miss Laura Grey?
You will not object, I dare say, to allow me a very few words?"
The young lady bowed very slightly, and said, in a low tone, "Certainly
not."
I saw that she looked pained, and even faint. This old gentleman's
manner, and the stern stare of his prominent eyes, embarrassed even me,
who did not directly encounter them.
"Perhaps we had better go on, Helen and I, to the seat; we can wait for
you there?" I said softly to her.
"Yes, dear, I think it will be as well," she answered gently.
We walked on slowly. The bench was not a hundred steps up the steep. It
stands at the side of the road, with its back against the bank. From
this seat I could see very well what passed, though, of course, quite
out of hearing.
The old gentleman had a black cane in his fingers, which he poked about
in the gravel. You would have said from his countenance that at every
little stab he punched an enemy's eye out.
First, the gentleman made a little speech, with his head very high, and
an air of determination and severity. The young lady seemed to answer,
briefly and quietly. Then ensued a colloquy of a minute or more, during
which the old gentleman's head nodded often with emphasis, and his
gestures became much more decided. The young lady seemed to say little,
and very quietly: her eyes were lowered to the ground as she spoke.
She said something, I suppose, which he chose to resent, for he smiled
sarcastically, and raised his hat; then, suddenly resuming his gravity,
he seemed to speak with a sharp and hectoring air, as if he were laying
down the law upon some point once for all.
Laura Grey looked up sharply, with a brilliant colour, and with her head
high, replied rapidly for a minute or more, and turning away, without
waiting for his answer, walked slowly, with her head still high, towards
us.
The gentleman stood looking after her with his sarcastic smile, but that
was gone in a moment, and he continued looking, with an angry face, and
muttering to himself, until suddenly he turned away, and walked off at a
quick pace down the path towards Cardyllion.
A little uneasily, Helen and I stood up to meet our governess. She was
still flushed and breathing quickly, as people do from recent agitation.
"No bad news? Nothing unpleasant?" I asked, looking very eagerly into
her face.
"No; no bad news, dear."
I took her hand. I felt that she was trembling a little, and she had
become again more than usually pale. We walked homeward in silence.
Laura Grey seemed in deep and agitated thought. We did not, of course,
disturb her. An unpleasant excitement like that always disposes one to
silence. Not a word, I think, was uttered all the way to the steps of
Malory. Laura Grey entered the hall, still silent, and when she came
down to us, after an hour or two passed in her room, it was plain she
had been crying.