‘Are you afraid?’
She, interpreting his question by her feelings at the moment, assumed
himself to be the object of fear, if any. ‘I don’t think I am,’ she
stammered.
He seemed to know that she thought in that sense.
‘Of the thunder, I mean,’ he said; ‘not of myself.’
She must turn to him now. ‘I think it is going to rain,’ she remarked
for the sake of saying something.
He could not conceal his surprise and admiration of her face and
bearing. He said courteously, ‘It may possibly not rain before you reach
the House, if you are going there?’
‘Yes, I am,’
‘May I walk up with you? It is lonely under the trees.’
‘No.’ Fearing his courtesy arose from a belief that he was addressing a
woman of higher station than was hers, she added, ‘I am Miss Aldclyffe’s
companion. I don’t mind the loneliness.’
‘O, Miss Aldclyffe’s companion. Then will you be kind enough to take a
subscription to her? She sent to me this afternoon to ask me to become
a subscriber to her Society, and I was out. Of course I’ll subscribe if
she wishes it. I take a great interest in the Society.’
‘Miss Aldclyffe will be glad to hear that, I know.’
‘Yes; let me see--what Society did she say it was? I am afraid I haven’t
enough money in my pocket, and yet it would be a satisfaction to her to
have practical proof of my willingness. I’ll get it, and be out in one
minute.’
He entered the house and was at her side again within the time he had
named. ‘This is it,’ he said pleasantly.
She held up her hand. The soft tips of his fingers brushed the palm of
her glove as he placed the money within it. She wondered why his fingers
should have touched her.
‘I think after all,’ he continued, ‘that the rain is upon us, and will
drench you before you reach the House. Yes: see there.’
He pointed to a round wet spot as large as a nasturtium leaf, which had
suddenly appeared upon the white surface of the step.
‘You had better come into the porch. It is not nearly night yet. The
clouds make it seem later than it really is.’
Heavy drops of rain, followed immediately by a forked flash of lightning
and sharp rattling thunder compelled her, willingly or no, to accept
his invitation. She ascended the steps, stood beside him just within the
porch, and for the first time obtained a series of short views of his
person, as they waited there in silence.
He was an extremely handsome man, well-formed, and well-dressed, of an
age which seemed to be two or three years less than thirty. The
most striking point in his appearance was the wonderful, almost
preternatural, clearness of his complexion. There was not a blemish or
speck of any kind to mar the smoothness of its surface or the beauty of
its hue. Next, his forehead was square and broad, his brows straight
and firm, his eyes penetrating and clear. By collecting the round of
expressions they gave forth, a person who theorized on such matters
would have imbibed the notion that their owner was of a nature to kick
against the pricks; the last man in the world to put up with a position
because it seemed to be his destiny to do so; one who took upon himself
to resist fate with the vindictive determination of a Theomachist.
Eyes and forehead both would have expressed keenness of intellect too
severely to be pleasing, had their force not been counteracted by the
lines and tone of the lips. These were full and luscious to a surprising
degree, possessing a woman-like softness of curve, and a ruby redness
so intense, as to testify strongly to much susceptibility of heart where
feminine beauty was concerned--a susceptibility that might require
all the ballast of brain with which he had previously been credited to
confine within reasonable channels.
His manner was rather elegant than good: his speech well-finished and
unconstrained.
The pause in their discourse, which had been caused by the peal of
thunder was unbroken by either for a minute or two, during which
the ears of both seemed to be absently following the low roar of the
waterfall as it became gradually rivalled by the increasing rush of rain
upon the trees and herbage of the grove. After her short looks at him,
Cytherea had turned her head towards the avenue for a while, and now,
glancing back again for an instant, she discovered that his eyes were
engaged in a steady, though delicate, regard of her face and form.
At this moment, by reason of the narrowness of the porch, their dresses
touched, and remained in contact.
His clothes are something exterior to every man; but to a woman
her dress is part of her body. Its motions are all present to her
intelligence if not to her eyes; no man knows how his coat-tails swing.
By the slightest hyperbole it may be said that her dress has sensation.
Crease but the very Ultima Thule of fringe or flounce, and it hurts her
as much as pinching her. Delicate antennae, or feelers, bristle on every
outlying frill. Go to the uppermost: she is there; tread on the lowest:
the fair creature is there almost before you.
Thus the touch of clothes, which was nothing to Manston, sent a thrill
through Cytherea, seeing, moreover, that he was of the nature of a
mysterious stranger. She looked out again at the storm, but still felt
him. At last to escape the sensation she moved away, though by so doing
it was necessary to advance a little into the rain.
‘Look, the rain is coming into the porch upon you,’ he said. ‘Step
inside the door.’
Cytherea hesitated.
‘Perfectly safe, I assure you,’ he added, laughing, and holding the door
open. ‘You shall see what a state of disorganization I am in--boxes on
boxes, furniture, straw, crockery, in every form of transposition. An
old woman is in the back quarters somewhere, beginning to put things to
rights.... You know the inside of the house, I dare say?’
‘I have never been in.’
‘O well, come along. Here, you see, they have made a door through, here,
they have put a partition dividing the old hall into two, one part is
now my parlour; there they have put a plaster ceiling, hiding the old
chestnut-carved roof because it was too high and would have been chilly
for me; you see, being the original hall, it was open right up to the
top, and here the lord of the manor and his retainers used to meet and
be merry by the light from the monstrous fire which shone out from
that monstrous fire-place, now narrowed to a mere nothing for my grate,
though you can see the old outline still. I almost wish I could have had
it in its original state.’
‘With more romance and less comfort.’
‘Yes, exactly. Well, perhaps the wish is not deep-seated. You will see
how the things are tumbled in anyhow, packing-cases and all. The only
piece of ornamental furniture yet unpacked is this one.’
‘An organ?’
‘Yes, an organ. I made it myself, except the pipes. I opened the case
this afternoon to commence soothing myself at once. It is not a very
large one, but quite big enough for a private house. You play, I dare
say?’
‘The piano. I am not at all used to an organ.’
‘You would soon acquire the touch for an organ, though it would spoil
your touch for the piano. Not that that matters a great deal. A piano
isn’t much as an instrument.’
‘It is the fashion to say so now. I think it is quite good enough.’
‘That isn’t altogether a right sentiment about things being good
enough.’
‘No--no. What I mean is, that the men who despise pianos do it as a rule
from their teeth, merely for fashion’s sake, because cleverer men have
said it before them--not from the experience of their ears.’
Now Cytherea all at once broke into a blush at the consciousness of a
great snub she had been guilty of in her eagerness to explain herself.
He charitably expressed by a look that he did not in the least mind her
blunder, if it were one; and this attitude forced him into a position of
mental superiority which vexed her.
‘I play for my private amusement only,’ he said. ‘I have never learned
scientifically. All I know is what I taught myself.’
The thunder, lightning, and rain had now increased to a terrific
force. The clouds, from which darts, forks, zigzags, and balls of fire
continually sprang, did not appear to be more than a hundred yards above
their heads, and every now and then a flash and a peal made gaps in the
steward’s descriptions. He went towards the organ, in the midst of a
volley which seemed to shake the aged house from foundations to chimney.
‘You are not going to play now, are you?’ said Cytherea uneasily.
‘O yes. Why not now?’ he said. ‘You can’t go home, and therefore we may
as well be amused, if you don’t mind sitting on this box. The few chairs
I have unpacked are in the other room.’
Without waiting to see whether she sat down or not, he turned to the
organ and began extemporizing a harmony which meandered through every
variety of expression of which the instrument was capable. Presently he
ceased and began searching for some music-book.
‘What a splendid flash!’ he said, as the lightning again shone in
through the mullioned window, which, of a proportion to suit the whole
extent of the original hall, was much too large for the present room.
The thunder pealed again. Cytherea, in spite of herself, was frightened,
not only at the weather, but at the general unearthly weirdness which
seemed to surround her there.
‘I wish I--the lightning wasn’t so bright. Do you think it will last
long?’ she said timidly.
‘It can’t last much longer,’ he murmured, without turning, running
his fingers again over the keys. ‘But this is nothing,’ he continued,
suddenly stopping and regarding her. ‘It seems brighter because of
the deep shadow under those trees yonder. Don’t mind it; now look at
me--look in my face--now.’
He had faced the window, looking fixedly at the sky with his dark strong
eyes. She seemed compelled to do as she was bidden, and looked in the
too-delicately beautiful face.
The flash came; but he did not turn or blink, keeping his eyes fixed as
firmly as before. ‘There,’ he said, turning to her, ‘that’s the way to
look at lightning.’
‘O, it might have blinded you!’ she exclaimed.
‘Nonsense--not lightning of this sort--I shouldn’t have stared at it
if there had been danger. It is only sheet-lightning now. Now, will you
have another piece? Something from an oratorio this time?’
‘No, thank you--I don’t want to hear it whilst it thunders so.’ But he
had begun without heeding her answer, and she stood motionless again,
marvelling at the wonderful indifference to all external circumstance
which was now evinced by his complete absorption in the music before
him.
‘Why do you play such saddening chords?’ she said, when he next paused.
‘H’m--because I like them, I suppose,’ said he lightly. ‘Don’t you like
sad impressions sometimes?’
‘Yes, sometimes, perhaps.’
‘When you are full of trouble.’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, why shouldn’t I when I am full of trouble?’
‘Are you troubled?’
‘I am troubled.’ He said this thoughtfully and abruptly--so abruptly
that she did not push the dialogue further.
He now played more powerfully. Cytherea had never heard music in the
completeness of full orchestral power, and the tones of the organ, which
reverberated with considerable effect in the comparatively small space
of the room, heightened by the elemental strife of light and sound
outside, moved her to a degree out of proportion to the actual power
of the mere notes, practised as was the hand that produced them.
The varying strains--now loud, now soft; simple, complicated, weird,
touching, grand, boisterous, subdued; each phase distinct, yet
modulating into the next with a graceful and easy flow--shook and bent
her to themselves, as a gushing brook shakes and bends a shadow cast
across its surface. The power of the music did not show itself so much
by attracting her attention to the subject of the piece, as by taking
up and developing as its libretto the poem of her own life and soul,
shifting her deeds and intentions from the hands of her judgment and
holding them in its own.
She was swayed into emotional opinions concerning the strange man before
her; new impulses of thought came with new harmonies, and entered into
her with a gnawing thrill. A dreadful flash of lightning then, and the
thunder close upon it. She found herself involuntarily shrinking up
beside him, and looking with parted lips at his face.
He turned his eyes and saw her emotion, which greatly increased the
ideal element in her expressive face. She was in the state in which
woman’s instinct to conceal has lost its power over her impulse to tell;
and he saw it. Bending his handsome face over her till his lips almost
touched her ear, he murmured, without breaking the harmonies--
‘Do you very much like this piece?’
‘Very much indeed,’ she said.
‘I could see you were affected by it. I will copy it for you.’
‘Thank you much.’
‘I will bring it to the House to you to-morrow. Who shall I ask for?’
‘O, not for me. Don’t bring it,’ she said hastily. ‘I shouldn’t like you
to.’
‘Let me see--to-morrow evening at seven or a few minutes past I shall be
passing the waterfall on my way home. I could conveniently give it you
there, and I should like you to have it.’
He modulated into the Pastoral Symphony, still looking in her eyes.
‘Very well,’ she said, to get rid of the look.
The storm had by this time considerably decreased in violence, and in
seven or ten minutes the sky partially cleared, the clouds around the
western horizon becoming lighted up with the rays of the sinking sun.
Cytherea drew a long breath of relief, and prepared to go away. She was
full of a distressing sense that her detention in the old manor-house,
and the acquaintanceship it had set on foot, was not a thing she wished.
It was such a foolish thing to have been excited and dragged into
frankness by the wiles of a stranger.
‘Allow me to come with you,’ he said, accompanying her to the door, and
again showing by his behaviour how much he was impressed with her. His
influence over her had vanished with the musical chords, and she turned
her back upon him. ‘May I come?’ he repeated.
‘No, no. The distance is not a quarter of a mile--it is really not
necessary, thank you,’ she said quietly. And wishing him good-evening,
without meeting his eyes, she went down the steps, leaving him standing
at the door.
‘O, how is it that man has so fascinated me?’ was all she could think.
Her own self, as she had sat spell-bound before him, was all she could
see. Her gait was constrained, from the knowledge that his eyes were
upon her until she had passed the hollow by the waterfall, and by
ascending the rise had become hidden from his view by the boughs of the
overhanging trees.