FAREWELL.
THE young lady was instantly grave, with even a little fiery gleam of
anger in her eyes, he thought. He could not help raising his also, now
quite gravely and even respectfully, looking on her.
"I think you know who we are," she said a little suddenly and haughtily.
"You are at present living at Malory, I believe," said he, with a
respectful evasion.
"Yes; but I mean _who_ we are," said Margaret, very pale, very proud,
and with her splendid hazel eyes fixed full upon him with the
irresistible inspiration of truth.
"I _have_ heard--in part accidentally--something."
"Yes," said the girl; "you are Mr. Cleve Verney, and my name is
Fanshawe; and my father, Sir Booth Fanshawe, is at present living at
Malory."
"My dear! are you _mad_?" gasped Miss Sheckleton aghast.
"Yes. We are the people who live at Malory, and my father had hoped that
he might have escaped there the observation of all but the very few
persons who take a friendly interest in him. The place was looked out
and taken for us by a person of whom we know nothing--a clergyman, I
believe. I have now, for the first time, learned from that gravestone to
whom the place belongs. We know nothing of the townspeople or of
neighbours. We have lived to ourselves; and if he had known that Malory
belonged to the Verneys, I hope you believe he would neither have been
mad or mean enough to come here, to live in the house of his enemies."
"Oh, Margaret! Margaret! you have ruined your father," said poor Miss
Sheckleton, pale as a ghost, and with her trembling fingers in the air.
"I assure you, Miss Fanshawe," said Cleve, "you do me a cruel injustice,
when you class me with Sir Booth Fanshawe's _enemies_. There have been
those miserable money matters, in which _I_ never had, nor _could_ have
had, any influence whatsoever. And there has been political hostility,
in which I have been the victim rather than the aggressor. Of course,
I've had to fight my battles as best I could; but I've never done
anything unfair or unmanly. You plainly think me a personal enemy of Sir
Booth's. It pains me that you do so. In the sense in which you seem to
think it, I never was, nor in any sense could I continue to be so, in
his present--his present--"
The young man hesitated for a word or a paraphrase to convey a painful
meaning without offence.
"His present ruin, and his approaching exile," said the young lady.
"I'm sure, sir, what you say is exactly so," pleaded poor Miss
Sheckleton, nervously. "It was, as you say, all about elections, and
that kind of thing, which, with him, you know, never can be again. So,
I'm sure, the feeling is all over. _Is_n't it, Mr. Verney?"
"I don't think it matters much," said the young lady, in the same tone
of haughty defiance. "_I_ don't--girls, I believe, never _do_ understand
business and politics. All I know is this--that my father has been
ruined. My father has been ruined, and that, I hope, will satisfy his
enemies. I know _he_ thinks, and _other_ people think--people in no way
mixed up in his affairs--people who are _impartial_--that it was the
cruelty and oppression of Mr. Kiffyn Verney, your uncle, I think you
say--that drove him to ruin. Well, you now know that my father is at
Malory."
"He does, darling. We may be overheard," said Miss Sheckleton in an
imploring tremor.
But the young lady continued in the same clear tone--
"I can't say what is considered fair and manly, as you say, in political
enmity; but, seeing what it has done, I have no reason to believe it
very scrupulous or very merciful; therefore, with some diffidence, I ask
only, whether you can promise that he shall not be molested for a few
days, until some other refuge shall have been provided for us? And when
we shall have left England for ever, you will have no more to fear from
my father, and can afford, I think, to forget his name."
There was a kind of contradiction here, or rather one of those discords
which our sense of harmony requires, and mysteriously delights in--for
while her language was toned with something of the anguish of pleading,
her mien and look were those of a person dictating terms to the
vanquished. Had she but known all, they might have been inspired by the
workings of his heart. Her colour had returned more brilliantly, her
large eyes gleamed, and her beautiful eyebrow wore that _anguine_ curve
which is the only approach to a scowl which painters accord to angels.
Thus, though her tones were pathetic, she stood like a beautiful image
of Victory.
In the silence that followed, Cleve stood before her for a moment
confounded. Too many feelings were on a sudden set in motion by this
girl's harangue, to find a distinct resultant in words. His pride was
stung--something of anger was stirred within him; his finer sympathies,
too, were moved, and a deeper feeling still.
"I'm afraid you think me a very mean person, indeed," said Cleve. "To no
one, not to my uncle, not to any living person, will I so much as hint
that I know anything of Sir Booth Fanshawe's present place of abode. I
don't think that we men are ever quite understood by _you_. I hope
_that_ is it. I _hope_ it is not that you entertain a particularly ill
opinion of _me_. I haven't deserved it, you'll find I _never_ shall. I
hope you will employ me. I hope, Miss Sheckleton, _you_ will employ me,
whenever, in _any_ way, you think I can be of use. Your having, although
I know it is perfectly accidental, come to Malory, places me under a
kind of obligation, I wish you would allow me to think so, of
hospitality; there is no room for generosity here; it would be a
misplaced phrase; but I wish, _very_ much, that you would put my
goodwill to the proof, and rely upon my fidelity; only give me a trial."
I believe that every one who is speaking all in earnest, and, for the
moment, quite from a good impulse, looks more beautiful in that
momentary light of paradise, and certainly no handsomer young fellow, to
my mind, could have been imagined than Cleve Verney, as he stood
uncovered before the beautiful stranger, and pleaded for her good
opinion.
The young lady was silent, and looked at Miss Sheckleton, as if deputing
her to answer, and then looked away.
"You're very kind. I _know_ you won't deceive us, Mr. Verney," said Miss
Sheckleton, with an imploring look, and laying her hand unconsciously
upon his arm. "I am sure you won't disappoint us; but it is a great
difficulty; you've no idea, for Sir Booth feels very strongly, and in
fact we don't mention the name of your family to him; and I'm
sure--indeed I _know_--if he were aware that Malory was Verney property,
he would never have come here, and if I were to tell him, he would leave
it at once. It was a very old friend, Lord Hammerdon, who employed a
clergyman, a Mr. Dixie, I think, a friend of his, to look out a suitable
place in a very quiet neighbourhood; and so, without making--without,
indeed, the _power_ of making inquiry, we came down here, and have just
made the discovery--two discoveries, indeed--for not only does the place
belong to your family, but you, Mr. Verney are aware that Sir Booth is
here."
"Sir Booth will do me the justice to trust my word. I assure you--I
swear to you--no mortal shall learn the secret of his residence from me.
I hope Miss Fanshawe believes me. I'm sure _you_ do, Miss Sheckleton,"
said Cleve.
"We are _both very_ much obliged," said the old lady.
The girl's eyes were lowered. Cleve thought she made just a perceptible
inclination to intimate her acquiescence. It was clear, however, that
her fears were satisfied. She raised her eyes, and they rested on him
for a moment with a grave and even melancholy gaze, in which--was there
confidence? That momentary, almost unconscious glance, was averted, but
Cleve felt unaccountably happy and even proud.
"It is then understood," said he, "that I am not to charge myself with
having caused, however unintentionally, any disturbance or embarrassment
of your plans. Do you think--it would give me so much pleasure--that I
might venture to call upon Sir Booth Fanshawe, to make him in person
that offer of my humble services, in any way in which he might please
to employ me, which I have already tendered to you?"
He saw the young lady turn an alarmed glance upon her companion, and
press her hand slightly on her arm, and the old lady said quickly--
"Not for the world! Nothing would vex him more. That is, I mean, it is
better he should not think that he has been recognised; he is impetuous,
and, as you _must_ know, a little fiery, and just now is suffering, and,
in fact, I should not venture, although I need not say, I quite
appreciate the feeling, and thank you very much."
A silence followed this little speech. The subject that had engrossed
and excited the little party, was for the present exhausted, and no one
was ready at the moment to start another.
"We have detained you here, most unreasonably, Mr. Verney, I'm afraid,"
said Miss Sheckleton, glancing towards the door. "The evenings have
grown so short, and our boatman said we should be longer returning; and
I think we should have been on our way home before now."
"I only wish you would allow me to set you down at Malory, in my boat,
but I know that would not do, so you must allow me to see you on board
your own."
More time had passed, a great deal, during this odd scene, than it takes
to read this note of it. When they stepped forth from the door of the
tenebrous little church, the mellow light of sunset was streaming along
the broken pavement and grass, and glowing on the gray walls and ivy of
the old building.
Margaret Fanshawe was very silent all the way down to the little stone
pier, at which the boat was moored. But the old lady had quite recovered
her garrulous good spirits and energy. There was something likeable and
even winning in Miss Anne Sheckleton, sixty years though she looked. She
did not hide her gray locks; they were parted smoothly over her
intelligent forehead, and in her clear, pleasant face you could see at
times a little gleam of waggery, and sometimes the tenderness of
sentiment. So that there remained with her that inextinguishable youth
of spirit that attracts to the last.
Cleve was not one of those fellows who don't understand even so much
self-denial as is necessary to commend them to old ladies on occasion.
He was wiser. He walked beside her slight figure and light firm step,
talking agreeably, with now and then a stolen glance at the silent girl.
Miss Sheckleton was an old woman such as I love. Such as remains young
at three score, and is active still with youthful interests, and a vein
of benevolent romance.
And now they stood at the gunwale of the boat, and Miss Sheckleton
smiling a little anxiously, gave him her hand at parting.
"May I?" said he, in a tone respectful and even melancholy, at the same
time, extending his hand with hesitation toward the young lady beside
him.
There was a little motion in her hand, as if she would have shut or
withdrawn it, but she looked at him with grave eyes; was there doubt in
them, or was there confidence? and gave him her hand too, with a sad
look. There was one strong violent throb at his heart as he pressed that
slender gauge; and then it seemed to stand still for a moment; and he
heard the evening breeze among the leaves, like a sigh along the shore.
Was it an omen?
The next moment he was standing alone, with his hat in his hand, smiling
and waving an adieu over the glittering waves to the receding boat.