Showery weather set in, and the hay had to be turned twice, and left in
cocks instead of carried.
Griffith spoke now and then about the foreign tour; but Kate deigned no
reply whatever; and the chilled topic died out before the wet hay could
be got in: and so much for Procrastination.
Meantime, Betty Gough was sent for to mend the house-linen. She came
every other day after dinner, and sat working alone beside Mrs. Gaunt
till dark.
Caroline Ryder put her own construction on this, and tried to make
friends with Mrs. Gough, intending to pump her. But Mrs. Gough
gave her short, dry answers. Ryder then felt sure that Gough was a
go-between, and, woman-like, turned up her nose at her with marked
contempt. For why? This office of go-between was one she especially
coveted for herself under the circumstances; and, a little while ago,
it had seemed within her grasp.
One fine afternoon the hay was all carried, and Griffith came home in
good spirits to tell his wife he was ready to make the grand tour with
her.
He was met at the gate by Mrs. Gough, with a face of great concern; she
begged him to come and see the Dame; she had slipped on the oak stairs,
poor soul, and hurt her back.
Griffith tore up the stairs, and found Kate in the drawing-room lying
on a sofa, and her doctor by her side. He came in, trembling like a
leaf, and clasped her piteously in his arms. At this she uttered a
little patient sigh of pain, and the doctor begged him to moderate
himself: there was no immediate cause of alarm; but she must be kept
quiet: she had strained her back, and her nerves were shaken by the
fall.
"Oh, my poor Kate!" cried Griffith; and would let nobody else touch
her. She was no longer a tall girl, but a statuesque woman; yet he
carried her in his herculean arms up to her bed. She turned her head
towards him and shed a gentle tear at this proof of his love; but the
next moment she was cold again, and seemed weary of her life.
An invalid's bed was sent to her by the doctor at her own request, and
placed on a small bed-stead. She lay on this at night, and on a sofa by
day.
Griffith was now as good as a widower; and Caroline Ryder improved the
opportunity. She threw herself constantly in his way, all smiles, small
talk, and geniality.
Like many healthy men, your sickness wearied him if it lasted over two
days; and, whenever he came out, chilled and discontented, from his
invalid wife, there was a fine, buoyant, healthy young woman, ready to
chat with him, and brimming over with undisguised admiration.
True, she was only a servant; a servant to the core. But she had
been always about ladies, and could wear their surface as readily as
she could their gowns. Moreover, Griffith himself lacked dignity and
reserve: he would talk to anybody.
The two women began to fill the relative situations of clouds, and
sunshine.
But, ere this had lasted long, the enticing contact with the object of
her lawless fancy inflamed Ryder, and made her so impatient that she
struck her long meditated blow a little prematurely.
The passage outside Mrs. Gaunt's door had a large window: and one
day, while Griffith was with his wife, Ryder composed herself on the
window-seat in a forlorn attitude, too striking and unlike her usual
gay demeanour to pass unnoticed.
Griffith came out and saw this drooping disconsolate figure. "Hallo!"
said he, "what is wrong with you?" a little fretfully.
A deep sigh was the only response.
"Had words with your sweetheart?"
"You know I have no sweetheart, sir."
The good-natured Squire made an attempt or two to console her and
find out what was the matter; but he could get nothing out of her but
monosyllables and sighs. At last the crocodile contrived to cry. And
having thus secured his pity, she said----
"There, never heed me. I'm a foolish woman; I can't bear to see my dear
master so abused."
"What d'ye mean?" said Griffith, sternly. Her very first shaft wounded
his peace of mind.
"Oh, no matter! why should I be your friend and my own enemy? If I
tell you I shall lose my place."
"Nonsense, girl, you shall never lose your place while I am here."
"Well, I hope not, sir; for I am very happy here; too happy methinks,
when you speak kindly to me. Take no notice of what I said. 'Tis best
to be blind at times."
The simple Squire did not see that this artful creature was playing
the stale game of her sex: stimulating his curiosity under pretence of
putting him off. Ho began to fret with suspicion and curiosity, and
insisted on her speaking out.
"Ah! but I am so afraid you will hate me," said she; "and that will be
worse than losing my place."
Griffith stamped on the ground. "What is it?" said he, fiercely.
Ryder seemed frightened. "It is nothing," said she; then she paused,
and added, "but my folly. I can't bear to see you waste your feelings.
She is not so ill as you fancy."
"Do you mean to say that my wife is pretending?"
"How can I say that? I wasn't there: nobody saw her fall; nor heard her
either; and the house full of people. No doubt there is something the
matter with her; but I do believe her heart is in more trouble than her
back."
"And what troubles her heart? Tell me, and she shall not fret long."
"Well, sir: then just you send for Father Leonard: and she will get up,
and walk as she used, and smile on you as she used. That man is the
main of her sickness, you take my word."
Griffith turned sick at heart: and the strong man literally staggered
at this envenomed thrust of a weak woman's tongue. But he struggled
with the poison.
"What d'ye mean, woman?" said he. "The priest hasn't been near her
these two months."
"That is it, sir," replied Eyder, quietly; "he is too wise to come here
against your will; and she is bitter against you for frightening him
away. Ask yourself, sir, didn't she change to you the moment that you
threatened that Leonard with the horse-pond?"
"That is true!" gasped the wretched husband. Yet he struggled again.
"But she made it up with me after that. Why, 'twas but the other day
she begged me to go abroad with her, and take her away from this place."
"Ah? indeed!" said Ryder, bending her black brows, "did she so?"
"That she did," said Griffith, joyfully: "so you see you are mistaken."
"You should have taken her at her word, sir," was all the woman's reply.
"Well, you see the hay was out: so I put it off; and then came the
cursed rain day after day; and so she cooled upon it."
"Of course she did, sir." Then, with a solemnity that appalled her
miserable listener, "I'd give all I'm worth if you had taken her at her
word that minute. But that is the way with you gentlemen: you let the
occasion slip: and we that be women never forgive that: she won't give
you the same chance again, I know. Now if I was not afraid to make you
unhappy, I'd tell you why she asked you to go abroad. She felt herself
weak and saw her danger; she found she could not resist that Leonard
any longer; and she had the sense to see it wasn't worth her while to
ruin herself for him; so she asked you to save her from him: that is
the plain English. And you didn't."
At this Griffith's face wore an expression of agony so horrible
that Ryder hesitated in her course. "There, there," said she, "pray
don't look so, dear master! after all, there's nothing certain; and
perhaps I am too severe where I see you ill-treated: and to be sure no
woman could be cold to you unless she was bewitched out of her seven
senses by some other man. I couldn't use you as mistress does; but
then there's nobody I care a straw for in these parts, except my dear
master."
Griffith took no notice of this overture: the potent poison of jealousy
was coursing through all his veins and distorting his ghastly face.
"Oh, God!" he gasped, "can this thing be? My wife! the mother of my
child! It is a lie! I can't believe it; I won't believe it. Have pity
on me, woman, and think again, and unsay your words; for, if 'tis so,
there will be murder in this house."
Ryder was alarmed. "Don't talk so," said she, hastily; "no woman born
is worth that: besides, as you say, what do we know against her? She is
a gentlewoman, and well brought up. Now, dear master, you have got one
friend in this house, and that is me: I know women better than you do.
Will you be ruled by me?"
"Yes, I will: for I do believe you care a little for me."
"Then don't you believe anything against our Dame. Keep quiet till
you know more. Don't you be so simple as to accuse her to her face,
or you'll never learn the truth. Just you watch her quietly, without
seeming: and I'll help you. Be a man, and know the truth."
"I will!" said Griffith, grinding his teeth. "And I believe she will
come out pure as snow."
"Well, I hope so too," said Ryder, drily. Then she added, "But don't
you be seen speaking to me too much, sir, or she will suspect me, and
then she will be on her guard with me. When I have anything particular
to tell you, I'll cough, so; and then I'll run out into the Grove:
nobody goes there now."
Griffith did not see the hussy was contriving a series of assignations.
He fell into the trap bodily.
The life this man led was now infernal.
He watched his wife night and day to detect her heart; he gave up
hunting, he deserted the "Red Lion;" if he went out of doors, it was
but a step; he hovered about the place to see if messages came or went;
and he spent hours in his wife's bedroom, watching her, grim, silent,
and sombre, to detect her inmost heart. His flesh wasted visibly, and
his ruddy colour paled. Hell was in his heart. Ay, two hells: jealousy
and suspense.
Mrs. Gaunt saw directly that something was amiss, and ere long she
divined what it was.
But, if he was jealous, she was proud as Lucifer. So she met his
ever-watchful eye with the face of a marble statue.
Only in secret her heart quaked and yearned, and she shed many a
furtive tear, and was sore, sore perplexed.
Meantime Ryder was playing with her master's anguish like a cat with a
mouse.
Upon the pretence of some petty discovery or other, she got him out day
after day into the Grove, and, to make him believe in her candour and
impartiality, would give him feeble reasons for thinking his wife loved
him still; taking care to overpower these reasons with some little
piece of strong good sense and subtle observation.
It is the fate of moral poisoners to poison themselves as well as their
victims. This is a just retribution, and it fell upon this female Iago.
Her wretched master now loved his wife to distraction, yet hated her
to the death: and Ryder loved her master passionately, yet hated him
intensely, by fits and starts.
These secret meetings on which she had counted so, what did she gain
by them? She saw that, with all her beauty, intelligence, and zeal for
him, she was nothing to him still. He suspected, he sometimes hated his
wife, but he was always full of her. There was no getting any other
wedge into his heart.
This so embittered Ryder that one day she revenged herself on him.
He had been saying that no earthly torment could equal his: all his
watching had shown him nothing for certain. "Oh," said he, "if I could
only get proof of her innocence, or proof of her guilt! Anything better
than the misery of doubt. It gnaws my heart, it consumes my flesh. I
can't sleep, I can't eat, I can't sit down. I envy the dead that lie at
peace. Oh, my heart! my heart!"
"And all for a woman that is not young, nor half so handsome as
yourself. Well, sir, I'll try and cure you of your doubt, if that is
what torments you. When you threatened that Leonard, he got his orders
to come here no more. But she visited him at his place again and again."
"'Tis false! How know you that?"
"As soon as your back was turned she used to order her horse and ride
to him."
"How do you know she went to him?"
"I mounted the tower, and saw the way she took."
Griffith's face was a piteous sight, he stammered out, "Well, he is her
confessor. She always visited him at times."
"Ay, sir; but in those days her blood was cool, and his too; but
bethink you now, when you threatened the man with the horse-pond, he
became your enemy. All revenge is sweet; but what revenge is so sweet
to any man as that which came to his arms of its own accord? I do
notice that men can't read men, but any woman can read a woman. Maids
they are reserved, because their mothers have told them that is the
only way to get married. But what have a wife and a priest to keep them
distant? Can they ever hope to come together lawfully? That is why a
priest's light-o'-love is always some honest man's wife. What had those
two to keep them from folly? Old Betty Gough? Why, the mistress had
bought her, body and soul, long ago. No, sir, you had no friend there;
and you had three enemies--love, revenge, and opportunity. Why, what
did the priest say to me? I met him not ten yards from here. 'Ware the
horse-pond!' says I. Says he, 'Since I am to have the bitter, I'll have
the sweet as well.'"[1]
These infernal words were not spoken in vain. Griffith's features were
horribly distorted, his eyes rolled fearfully, and he fell to the
ground, grinding his teeth, and foaming at the mouth. An epileptic fit!
[Footnote 1: Compare this statement with p. 129.]
Ah epileptic fit is a terrible sight: the simple description of one in
our medical books is appalling.
And in this case it was all the more fearful, the subject being so
strong and active.
Caroline Ryder shrieked with terror, but no one heard her; at all
events, no one came; to be sure the place had a bad name for ghosts,
etc.
She tried to hold his head, but could not, for his body kept bounding
from the earth with inconceivable elasticity and fury, and his arms
flew in every direction; and presently Ryder received a violent blow
that almost stunned her.
She lay groaning and trembling beside the victim of her poisonous
tongue and of his own passion.
When she recovered herself he was snorting rather than breathing, but
lying still and pale enough, his eyes set and glassy.
She got up, and went with uneven steps to a little rill hard by, and
plunged her face in it: then filled her beaver hat, and came and dashed
water repeatedly in his face.
He came to his senses by degrees; but was weak as an infant. Then Ryder
wiped the foam from his lips, and kneeling on her knees, laid a soft
hand upon his heavy head, shedding tears of pity and remorse, and sick
at heart herself.
For what had she gained by blackening her rival? The sight of his
bodily agony, and his ineradicable love.
Mrs. Gaunt sat out of shot, cold, calm, superior.
Yet, in the desperation of her passion, it was something to nurse
his "weak head an instant and shed hot tears upon his brow; it was a
positive joy, and soon proved a fresh and inevitable temptation.
"My poor master," said she, tenderly, "I never will say a word to you
again. It is better to be blind. My God! how you cling to her that
feigns a broken back to be rid of you, when there are others as well to
look at, and ever so much younger, that adore every hair on your head,
and would follow you round the world for one kind look."
"Let no one love me like that," said Griffith, feebly, "to love so, is
to be miserable."
"Pity her then, at least," murmured Ryder; and, feeling she had quite
committed herself now, her bosom panted under Griffith's ear, and told
him the secret she had kept till now.
My female readers will sneer at this temptation: my male readers know
that scarcely one man out of a dozen, sick, sore, and hating her he
loved, would have turned away from the illicit consolation thus offered
to him in his hour of weakness with soft seducing tones, warm tears,
and heart that panted at his ear.