is the meaning of this? Are we walking in a dream?'
'This is no dream,' answered Herring. 'Countess, I make over this bundle
of old sticks to you; the house goes with them; the rent has been paid
for the current year, in your name; the lease is made over to you.
Everything the house contains is yours. Everything has been bought as it
stands, in your name.'
Orange and Mirelle stood silent. Neither could comprehend the
situation.
Herring did not speak to them for some minutes, he could understand
their perplexity. Orange looked round for her mother, but Mrs.
Trampleasure had not entered the room.
Presently Herring went on: 'You will find, Countess, that a sum
sufficient for the maintenance of the house, and for your comfort, is
lodged in the bank, in your name, and that the same sum will be paid
quarterly. You can draw as you require. This house, with all its
contents, is yours. Everything has been purchased and paid for in your
name.'
'Mr. Herring,' put in Orange, speaking with a flushed cheek and a
quivering lip, 'what are we here?'
'You have been kind to her when she needed a home, you have done your
best to make her comfortable, now you are the guests in this house of
the Countess Mirelle Garcia.'
A cry of joy from the upper story, and down the flight and into the room
rushed Mrs. Trampleasure, laughing and crying. 'They are there, they
are there, my Orange! Oh, joy!'
'What are there, mother?'
'My own satin pinkies.'
'They are not yours,' said Orange, with a curl of the lip and a hard
look settling into her eyes. 'They, like everything else, have been
purchased in the name of the Countess Mirelle Garcia de Cantalejo.' She
stood and looked at Mirelle from head to foot. A battle was raging in
her heart. Should the rage and hate boiling there overflow her lips?
She caught Herring's eye fixed inquiringly, suspiciously, on her. Then
she dropped a profound curtsey to Mirelle, and said, 'We are not your
guests, gracious Countess, but your most humble and obliged servants.'
Then Mirelle threw her arms round Orange, and kissed her cheeks and brow
and mouth.
'Dear, dear Orange!' she said, and her tears flowed, 'do not speak thus.
You are nothing other to me than a sister.'
Then she looked round to thank Herring, but he was gone.
*CHAPTER XXXVII.*
*A SECOND SUMMONS.*
Herring was gone. He did not remain to explain how it was that
everything had fallen to Mirelle. He went because he did not desire to
explain anything. In his own mind he had debated what was best to be
done. Should he inform her that she had a fortune, part of which he had
invested in the West Wyke mortgages, and part he was about to sink in
the Upaver lead mine, and part still remained in uncut diamonds, not
disposed of? Should he make over everything to her, and free himself of
further responsibility?
He hesitated about doing this, and throwing off a charge he had laid on
himself. Mirelle was unable of herself to manage what was properly hers.
Her ignorance of the world would place her at the mercy of any one who
offered to conduct her affairs for her. Orange was engaged to Captain
Trecarrel, and would probably marry him when the trouble about Ophir,
and the time of mourning for her father, was over; and, though Trecarrel
was a gentleman and, no doubt, of unimpeachable integrity, still he was
a needy man, and might not be a discreet adviser. So Herring resolved
to retain his hold over the property, at all events for a while, till
the Captain had married Orange, and he had time to decide whether
Trecarrel was a man to be trusted to act as guardian to Mirelle.
In a small town every one holds his nose over his neighbour's
chimney-top, and knows exactly what is cooking below. In Launceston it
was a matter of general conversation that the Countess Mirelle Garcia
had come to the aid of the Trampleasures, that she had arranged with the
creditors and had made such an offer before the sale took place, that
the auction had been abandoned. Every one knew this; the mayor, the
chimney-sweep, the barber, the milliner, and Polly Skittles behind the
bar of the Pig and Whistle. Every one knew that Mirelle had money in the
bank, and multiplied the sum by four. Now, every one believed that her
diamonds were real, and that they were the outward sign of a magnificent
fortune behind. Every one, we say, for after the ball at Dolbeare the
entire town knew of the diamonds, but the mayor, the chimney-sweep, the
barber, the milliner, and Polly Skittles of the Pig and Whistle
concluded they were paste. The one jeweller had tested them and found
them paste, and the one jeweller had a wife, and the wife had a tongue.
Now, also, every one began to regret that more attention had not been
shown her. Those mothers who were burdened with cubs were especially
regretful, and resolute to make amends, and bring the Countess to their
little parties, and hitch their cubs on to her. Now also Miss Bowdler
began to regret having been inhospitable to Orange Trampleasure.
Mirelle was a Countess--a foreign Countess, it is true, but still, where
titles are rare, a foreign title is better than none. Hitherto, she, as
well as the rest of Launceston, down to Polly Skittles, had delighted to
talk of her as Miss Strange, because they supposed her poor--a sort of
hanger-on to the Tramplaras, but now that the conditions were reversed
Launceston society reconsidered the question of her treatment. If
foreign titles do descend through the female line--well, this was a
foreign title, and the young lady had a legitimate right to bear it. So
Launceston, from the mayoress, the chimney-sweeperess, the barber's
wife, the milliner, to Polly Skittles behind the bar of the Pig and
Whistle, began to speak of her as the Countess, and Polly went so far as
to call the Tramplaras Trampleasures, because of their kinship to
Mirelle.
Miss Bowdler speedily convinced herself that she had made a mistake.
There were no baronets and their ladies near the capital of Cornwall,
and if there had been they would have moved in a sphere unapproachable
by Sophy. There was not even a retired oil and colourman, who, as
mayor, had been knighted on a royal visit; for royalty never did visit
Launceston, not even the Duke of Cornwall, though the city was the
capital of the county from which he drew his title, and in which he
owned estates. It would be something for Sophy Bowdler to be able to
talk of her friend the Countess, and to describe her diamonds, when
visiting her relatives in Redruth and Bodmin.
She had made a mistake, and she hastened to repair it. She was the
first to visit Dolbeare after the return of the Trampleasures. She did
more. She offered a holocaust to secure a renewal of friendship, and
the holocaust she offered was John Thomas, the footman, who found
himself summarily dismissed for the impertinence of his manner to Miss
Trampleasure.
Sophy Bowdler pushed her way into Dolbeare, past the maid who appeared
at the door. She herself opened that of the sitting-room, in the old
familiar style, and rushed to Orange, to take her to her heart.
Orange hesitated a moment, and then received her overtures with
simulated pleasure. It was not her interest to quarrel with old friends.
'You must excuse me, darling Orange, if I was abrupt with you the other
day. My Pa, my dear Pa, is, you know, rather short in temper, and I had
begun to read to him an account of the riots in the north, when I heard
the parrot screaming, and she disturbed him. He swore he would wring
Polly's neck. You know I dote on that bird; and I was so frightened. Pa
is a man of his word. So I ran out, and then he called me back, and I
was distracted between my desire to see you, and my fears for Poll, and
my duty to Pa.'
'Pray do not mention this.'
'But I must, Orange. That impudent John Thomas made me so angry with
his want of manner that I had to dismiss him, and now we are on the
look-out for another footman. Can you--or can the Countess--recommend
me one?'
The next to come was Mrs. Trelake, very pleased to see her dear old
friend, Mrs. Trampleasure, back in Dolbeare again. She was provoked at
not having been able to receive her; 'But, my dear, put yourself in my
place; what else could I do? However, all is well that ends well! Hah!
the China vases with the dragons were not sold after all! We shall have
our game of cribbage together as of old.'
Then came Mr. Flamank. His excursion among the Particular Christians on
behalf of the mission to Ho-ha, under the ministry of the native prince,
Hokee-Pokee-Wankee-Fum, had not been crowned with success. Ophir was
too fresh in the memories of men. Some of the Christian auditors had
suffered through it; all knew how Flamank had helped to launch the
concern, and, although he had taken an active part in exposing the
fraud, it was surmised that he had pocketed something by the
transaction. Some rudely asserted that the Ho-ha mission was but
another Ophir, and that Wankee-Fum was as mythical as Arundell Golitho
of Trevorgan, Esq. Mr. Flamank returned from his round much disappointed
and depressed. He heard from his wife what had occurred. Then he went
to Dolbeare to offer his congratulations. He was surprised and puzzled.
If Mirelle were rich and willing to rescue her kinsfolk from their
difficulties, why had she said nothing of her intention before? Why had
she allowed him to invite the party to his house and embroil himself
with his wife about them?
Perhaps her remittance had not arrived. Perhaps---- But why form
conjectures? He did not understand her. Her ways were radically
different from the ways of plain Christians. Where these went straight,
those went crooked. There are persons mentally shaped like boomerangs.
They go out of the hand in one direction, make a sweep half round the
horizon, and return to the hand whence they started.
It was possible, as the Countess was rich, that she might interest
herself in Ho-ha, and Flamank thought that, by dwelling on the social
and moral aspects of the case, and not pressing the religious, she might
be induced to help Wankee-Fum liberally.
Mirelle received Mr. Flamank civilly. She felt that he had acted with
kindness and unselfishness towards her and the Trampleasures, and she
respected his goodness, though she did not like its fashions.
After some desultory conversation, Mr. Flamank broached the subject of
the Ho-ha mission. Mirelle at once became chilly. When he asked her for
a donation she declined to subscribe.
'You forget, I am a Catholic.'
'Not at all, my dear young friend, not at all. But this is distinctly a
case of enlightenment, where all around is dark; and although
Hokee-Pokee-Wankee-Fum may have embraced the tenets of the Particular
Christians, still you must remember he is a Christian, and we are all
travelling in the same direction.'
'Sir,' said Mirelle, 'as I was walking along the Bodmin road, I saw
three children going along the same way and in the same direction as
myself--only they were walking backwards. One tumbled into a furzebush
on the right, another fell over the bank into a ditch on the left, and
the third went under the hoofs of carthorses in the middle of the road.
It would have been better for all those children not to have travelled
along the road at all, than to have attempted it with perverted views.'
Then she rose, bowed, and left the minister with Orange and her mother.
The next caller was Captain Trecarrel. Orange had been expecting him,
and had given instructions to the servant on no account to admit him.
Accordingly, when he called, neither the Countess nor the Trampleasures
were 'at home,' and the Captain was forced to depart, leaving three
cards.
Orange took possession of the cards, tore them in half, and put them in
an envelope.
'Dear Mirelle,' she said, 'I have been writing to Harry, poor fellow.
He has been so troubled about our affairs that he has taken to his bed.
He is seriously unwell. I have been writing full particulars to him of
all that has taken place, but since my letter was finished I have
sprained my hand, and cannot hold a pen. Would you mind directing the
letter for me, dear?'
So the address was in Mirelle's handwriting. The letter was posted, and
reached the Captain on the morrow.
'Now,' said Orange, 'he will be forced to keep his distance for a while,
till I have time to look round.'
Orange was not satisfied. Mirelle was certain to go to Trecarrel for
mass, when next the priest came that way, and then an explanation would
follow. Orange did not understand how it was that Herring had bought in
all the furniture in Mirelle's name, and had placed a sum in the bank to
her account. She questioned Mirelle thereon.
'My dear, how comes it that you have so much money? that you are able to
do so much, and to live independently?'
'I do not know.'
'What has become of your diamond necklace and tiara? Have you sold
them?'
'No, Mr. Herring keeps them for me. I do not want them now. I
mean--for wear.'
'Mr. Herring has them!'
'Yes; I asked him to take care of them--that was before I knew they were
paste.'
'But, perhaps they are not paste, but real diamonds, Mirelle.'
'What I gave you formed part of the set, and that was certainly paste.'
'Yes, that is true; but it is possible that the rest may have been
genuine stones, in which case the value must be great.'
'I do not know, Orange.'
'But, my dear, whence comes the money lodged in the bank? Whence the
money that bought all this furniture?'
'I do not know. I have not asked.'
'You ought to know. It is imperative on you to ascertain. Do you think
that Mr. Herring has sold your diamonds for this purpose?'
'I am certain he has not. He would not dare to dispose of my mother's
jewels without consulting me. I gave them to him to keep for me. I did
not authorise him to sell them.'
'Have you any means of which we know nothing?--money not given to my
father which you trusted to Mr. Herring along with the diamonds?'
'No, Orange.'
'Has nothing been forwarded to you of his property from Brazil?'
'No, Orange.'
'Then, whence comes this money? I suppose Mr. Herring has spent a
hundred and fifty pounds on the furniture. He has lodged a hundred
pounds in the bank, and promises you as much quarterly.'
'Yes, it is so.'
'But, Mirelle, do you not see that, in this case, you are living on Mr.
Herring's alms! He is not a rich man. I have heard from my father about
him. I do not believe he is worth more than six to seven hundred pounds
a year, and he is giving you four out of the six or seven--nay, he has
given you more.'
Mirelle looked before her. She had not thought of this before. Brought
up without care of money, everything she had being paid for by her
father, it had not struck her that she was now living on the bounty of
one who was no relative.
'It is very good of Mr. Herring,' she said.
'My dear Mirelle, this must not go on.'
'Why not?'
'What right have you to accept and spend the money of Mr. Herring? He
is no relative. You have no claim on him.'
Mirelle was uneasy. 'Why, then, has he done so much for me?'
'That is what I ask. Realise what this means. He is impoverishing
himself to support you? What will the world say? What must it say?
That which Mr. Herring is doing for you he has no right to do for any
woman except a _wife_.'
Then Mirelle sprang to her feet trembling; she could not colour over
brow and bosom like Orange, but two rosy tinges came into her cheeks.
Her whole delicate frame quivered, and her eyes became dull. She placed
her hands over her heart, and looked at Orange speechlessly.
'Yes,' said the latter, 'you cannot; what is more, you must not receive
all this from a young man without having a shadow of claim upon him.
The only claim you can have to justify the receiving of so much is the
legitimate claim of a wife.'
'Have done!' gasped Mirelle, holding out her hand entreatingly.
'No, Mirelle, I must be plain with you. In this town it will soon be
known that you are being supported in comfort by a young officer, who is
neither a brother nor even a cousin. What conclusion will be drawn?'
'Orange,' said the girl, pleadingly, 'I pray you to be silent.'
'I will not be silent,' answered Orange. 'One of two things must be
done; must, I say. Do you hear me, MUST. Either you give Mr. Herring a
legitimate right to maintain you, or my mother and I leave this place
and do not speak to you again.'
'I do not understand you,' said Mirelle. 'Why should you cast me off?'
Orange looked at her, and a scornful smile played over her lips. She
was unable to believe in the purity and guilelessness of the soul before
her. She thought Mirelle a hypocrite, and as a hypocrite she despised
her.
'Oh! you want further explanation, do you? Learn then that it is not
the custom in England for a woman of character to live on the generosity
of a gentleman who is neither a husband nor a kinsman.'
'I see that I have no right to expect this of Mr. Herring. But he is so
good, so generous, and so thoughtful, that he has not considered
himself, in his pity and solicitude for me. However, it shall not
remain so. I will tell him that I cannot accept his liberality.'
'Or--that you can only accept it when he has given you legitimate claims
on him.'
'I will not accept his liberality.'
'What is to become of us--of you--if he hears this from your lips?
Remember, we have nothing. We must starve. You--what will you do?'
'I do not know.'
'Listen to me, Mirelle. There is only one thing that you can do. Next
time Mr. Herring comes here, if he tells you that he loves you, and asks
you to be his wife--accept him.'
'I cannot. Oh, I cannot!'
'You must do it. It is the only salvation for us and for you. Then, no
one can say anything to his furnishing you with every penny of his
income.'
Mirelle put her hands over her eyes. Orange watched her contemptuously.
The girl was very still, but the tears oozed between her slender fingers
and dripped on her lap.
'Have you been so blind as not to see that his heart is bound up in you?
He has loved you from the beginning, and, you little fool, you have not
known it. He has done so much for you because he loves you. He cares
nothing for us--my mother and me. He is a good and worthy man. Make him
happy. Repay him for what he has done for you. You are not likely to
find another who would make as trustworthy a husband. Do not sigh after
the man in the moon; he will not come down to you. Mr. Herring is a
gentleman, an officer in His Majesty's army; has a private fortune, not
large, but enough to support a wife in comfort; and he is honourable,
truthful--and soft.'
Mirelle made no response.
'Now, suppose that you refuse him, and tell him, as you are bound to do,
that because you refuse him you will no longer burden him for your
support. What then? Why, you and we are placed in precisely the same
predicament we were in before. We shall have a sale here after all;
have to leave this house, and be adrift in the world. Will you hire
yourself to be cook to Mrs. Trelake, or shall I recommend you as
parlour-maid to Miss Bowdler, for her John Thomas to flirt with in the
pantry? This is not all. After everything that Mr. Herring has done
for you, you cannot refuse him without being guilty of black
ingratitude. Now, what do you say? There seems to me no option as to
what your choice should be. But some persons do not know on which side
their bread is buttered. Are you prepared to go into service? Shall I
write you a character to Sophy Bowdler? clean, obliging, and steady;
understands glass and china. There is really no alternative. Remember,
also, that my mother and I depend on your election likewise. Reject Mr.
Herring, and when you go to Miss Bowdler as parlour-maid, my mother
becomes cook, and I, barmaid at an inn.'
Mirelle rose; she did not speak, but left the room with tottering feet,
and her eyes so full that, to find her way, she felt about her with
trembling hands. When she was gone, Orange laughed.
'Now,' said she, 'the next thing to be done is to bring that other fool
here.' Then she wrote a note to Herring, requesting him to come to
Launceston, as her mother and she wished to consult him on important
business. She added in a postscript, 'Mirelle will be most happy to see
you.'
*CHAPTER XXXVIII.*
*A VIRGIN MARTYR.*
In the privacy of her own room, by night, in the little garden house,
her favourite refuge by day, Mirelle considered what Orange had said to
her. She was hurt and offended by the manner in which Orange had
spoken, without quite understanding why. Her refined nature winced
before the rough touch of one coarse as Orange, not only because the
touch was rude, but because it sullied.
Mirelle believed that Orange was her friend, a rude friend, but sincere.
What had she done to convert her into an enemy? She was not a friend to
whom she could open her heart, and she had no desire to receive the
outpourings of that of Orange. They were friends so far as this went,
that each wished well to the other, and would do her utmost to promote
each other's happiness.
Orange was the interpreter of the world's voice to Mirelle, the guide
through its mazes. That voice was odious to her, nevertheless she must
hear it. Its ways were distasteful, nevertheless she must tread them.
She knew nothing of the world, except what she had been taught in the
convent. She believed it to be wicked and ungodly. The virgin martyrs
had been cast to wild beasts, some had been devoured by leopards, others
hugged by bears. The world was an arena in which she was exposed, and
Orange the rough but kindly executioner who offered her a choice of
martyrdom. An angel, a captain of the heavenly militia, with eyes blue
as the skies of paradise, had been sent to stand by, and guard many a
virgin; but she, Mirelle, must endure her agony undefended, and see the
angel stand by one who seemed rude and dauntless enough to fight the
battle unaided.
King Alphonso X. of Castile said that, if he had been consulted at the
creation of the universe, he would have made it much better; the sisters
of the Sacred Heart had intimated as much in their instructions. In the
first place they would have made a world without men, and that world
would have remained a paradise. Men are the cankers that corrode the
roses, the thorns that strangle the lilies in the garden of the Church,
the moths that fret the garments of the saints, the incarnation of the
destructive principle.