When Anne was crossing the last field, she saw approaching her an old
woman with wrinkled cheeks, who surveyed the earth and its inhabitants
through the medium of brass-rimmed spectacles. Shaking her head at Anne
till the glasses shone like two moons, she said, 'Ah, ah; I zeed ye! If
I had only kept on my short ones that I use for reading the Collect and
Gospel I shouldn't have zeed ye; but thinks I, I be going out o' doors,
and I'll put on my long ones, little thinking what they'd show me. Ay, I
can tell folk at any distance with these--'tis a beautiful pair for out
o' doors; though my short ones be best for close work, such as darning,
and catching fleas, that's true.'
'What have you seen, Granny Seamore?' said Anne.
'Fie, fie, Miss Nancy! you know,' said Granny Seamore, shaking her head
still. 'But he's a fine young feller, and will have all his uncle's
money when 'a's gone.' Anne said nothing to this, and looking ahead with
a smile passed Granny Seamore by.
Festus, the subject of the remark, was at this time about
three-and-twenty, a fine fellow as to feet and inches, and of a
remarkably warm tone in skin and hair. Symptoms of beard and whiskers
had appeared upon him at a very early age, owing to his persistent use of
the razor before there was any necessity for its operation. The brave
boy had scraped unseen in the out-house, in the cellar, in the wood-shed,
in the stable, in the unused parlour, in the cow-stalls, in the barn, and
wherever he could set up his triangular bit of looking-glass without
observation, or extemporize a mirror by sticking up his hat on the
outside of a window-pane. The result now was that, did he neglect to use
the instrument he once had trifled with, a fine rust broke out upon his
countenance on the first day, a golden lichen on the second, and a fiery
stubble on the third to a degree which admitted of no further
postponement.
His disposition divided naturally into two, the boastful and the
cantankerous. When Festus put on the big pot, as it is classically
called, he was quite blinded ipso facto to the diverting effect of that
mood and manner upon others; but when disposed to be envious or
quarrelsome he was rather shrewd than otherwise, and could do some pretty
strokes of satire. He was both liked and abused by the girls who knew
him, and though they were pleased by his attentions, they never failed to
ridicule him behind his back. In his cups (he knew those vessels, though
only twenty-three) he first became noisy, then excessively friendly, and
then invariably nagging. During childhood he had made himself renowned
for his pleasant habit of pouncing down upon boys smaller and poorer than
himself, and knocking their birds' nests out of their hands, or
overturning their little carts of apples, or pouring water down their
backs; but his conduct became singularly the reverse of aggressive the
moment the little boys' mothers ran out to him, brandishing brooms,
frying-pans, skimmers, and whatever else they could lay hands on by way
of weapons. He then fled and hid behind bushes, under faggots, or in
pits till they had gone away; and on one such occasion was known to creep
into a badger's hole quite out of sight, maintaining that post with great
firmness and resolution for two or three hours. He had brought more
vulgar exclamations upon the tongues of respectable parents in his native
parish than any other boy of his time. When other youngsters snowballed
him he ran into a place of shelter, where he kneaded snowballs of his
own, with a stone inside, and used these formidable missiles in returning
their pleasantry. Sometimes he got fearfully beaten by boys his own age,
when he would roar most lustily, but fight on in the midst of his tears,
blood, and cries.
He was early in love, and had at the time of the story suffered from the
ravages of that passion thirteen distinct times. He could not love
lightly and gaily; his love was earnest, cross-tempered, and even savage.
It was a positive agony to him to be ridiculed by the object of his
affections, and such conduct drove him into a frenzy if persisted in. He
was a torment to those who behaved humbly towards him, cynical with those
who denied his superiority, and a very nice fellow towards those who had
the courage to ill-use him.
This stalwart gentleman and Anne Garland did not cross each other's paths
again for a week. Then her mother began as before about the newspaper,
and, though Anne did not much like the errand, she agreed to go for it on
Mrs. Garland pressing her with unusual anxiety. Why her mother was so
persistent on so small a matter quite puzzled the girl; but she put on
her hat and started.
As she had expected, Festus appeared at a stile over which she sometimes
went for shortness' sake, and showed by his manner that he awaited her.
When she saw this she kept straight on, as if she would not enter the
park at all.
'Surely this is your way?' said Festus.
'I was thinking of going round by the road,' she said.
'Why is that?'
She paused, as if she were not inclined to say. 'I go that way when the
grass is wet,' she returned at last.
'It is not wet now,' he persisted; 'the sun has been shining on it these
nine hours.' The fact was that the way by the path was less open than by
the road, and Festus wished to walk with her uninterrupted. 'But, of
course, it is nothing to me what you do.' He flung himself from the
stile and walked away towards the house.
Anne, supposing him really indifferent, took the same way, upon which he
turned his head and waited for her with a proud smile.
'I cannot go with you,' she said decisively.
'Nonsense, you foolish girl! I must walk along with you down to the
corner.'
'No, please, Mr. Derriman; we might be seen.'
'Now, now--that's shyness!' he said jocosely.
'No; you know I cannot let you.'
'But I must.'
'But I do not allow it.'
'Allow it or not, I will.'
'Then you are unkind, and I must submit,' she said, her eyes brimming
with tears.
'Ho, ho; what a shame of me! My wig, I won't do any such thing for the
world,' said the repentant yeoman. 'Haw, haw; why, I thought your "go
away" meant "come on," as it does with so many of the women I meet,
especially in these clothes. Who was to know you were so confoundedly
serious?'
As he did not go Anne stood still and said nothing.
'I see you have a deal more caution and a deal less good-nature than I
ever thought you had,' he continued emphatically.
'No, sir; it is not any planned manner of mine at all,' she said
earnestly. 'But you will see, I am sure, that I could not go down to the
hall with you without putting myself in a wrong light.'
'Yes; that's it, that's it. I am only a fellow in the yeomanry cavalry--a
plain soldier, I may say; and we know what women think of such: that they
are a bad lot--men you mustn't speak to for fear of losing your
character--chaps you avoid in the roads--chaps that come into a house
like oxen, daub the stairs wi' their boots, stain the furniture wi' their
drink, talk rubbish to the servants, abuse all that's holy and righteous,
and are only saved from being carried off by Old Nick because they are
wanted for Boney.'
'Indeed, I didn't know you were thought so bad of as that,' said she
simply.
'What! don't my uncle complain to you of me? You are a favourite of that
handsome, nice old gaffer's, I know.'
'Never.'
'Well, what do we think of our nice trumpet-major, hey?'
Anne closed her mouth up tight, built it up, in fact, to show that no
answer was coming to that question.
'O now, come, seriously, Loveday is a good fellow, and so is his father.'
'I don't know.'
'What a close little rogue you are! There is no getting anything out of
you. I believe you would say "I don't know," to every mortal question,
so very discreet as you are. Upon my heart, there are some women who
would say "I don't know," to "Will ye marry me?"'
The brightness upon Anne's cheek and in her eyes during this remark
showed that there was a fair quantity of life and warmth beneath the
discretion he complained of. Having spoken thus, he drew aside that she
might pass, and bowed very low. Anne formally inclined herself and went
on.
She had been at vexation point all the time that he was present, from a
haunting sense that he would not have spoken to her so freely had she
been a young woman with thriving male relatives to keep forward admirers
in check. But she had been struck, now as at their previous meeting,
with the power she possessed of working him up either to irritation or to
complacency at will; and this consciousness of being able to play upon
him as upon an instrument disposed her to a humorous considerateness, and
made her tolerate even while she rebuffed him.
When Anne got to the hall the farmer, as usual, insisted upon her reading
what he had been unable to get through, and held the paper tightly in his
skinny hand till she had agreed. He sent her to a hard chair that she
could not possibly injure to the extent of a pennyworth by sitting in it
a twelvemonth, and watched her from the outer angle of his near eye while
she bent over the paper. His look might have been suggested by the sight
that he had witnessed from his window on the last occasion of her visit,
for it partook of the nature of concern. The old man was afraid of his
nephew, physically and morally, and he began to regard Anne as a fellow-
sufferer under the same despot. After this sly and curious gaze at her
he withdrew his eye again, so that when she casually lifted her own there
was nothing visible but his keen bluish profile as before.
When the reading was about half-way through, the door behind them opened,
and footsteps crossed the threshold. The farmer diminished perceptibly
in his chair, and looked fearful, but pretended to be absorbed in the
reading, and quite unconscious of an intruder. Anne felt the presence of
the swashing Festus, and stopped her reading.
'Please go on, Miss Anne,' he said, 'I am not going to speak a word.' He
withdrew to the mantelpiece and leaned against it at his ease.
'Go on, do ye, maidy Anne,' said Uncle Benjy, keeping down his tremblings
by a great effort to half their natural extent.
Anne's voice became much lower now that there were two listeners, and her
modesty shrank somewhat from exposing to Festus the appreciative
modulations which an intelligent interest in the subject drew from her
when unembarrassed. But she still went on that he might not suppose her
to be disconcerted, though the ensuing ten minutes was one of
disquietude. She knew that the bothering yeoman's eyes were travelling
over her from his position behind, creeping over her shoulders, up to her
head, and across her arms and hands. Old Benjy on his part knew the same
thing, and after sundry endeavours to peep at his nephew from the corner
of his eye, he could bear the situation no longer.
'Do ye want to say anything to me, nephew?' he quaked.
'No, uncle, thank ye,' said Festus heartily. 'I like to stay here,
thinking of you and looking at your back hair.'
The nervous old man writhed under this vivisection, and Anne read on;
till, to the relief of both, the gallant fellow grew tired of his
amusement and went out of the room. Anne soon finished her paragraph and
rose to go, determined never to come again as long as Festus haunted the
precincts. Her face grew warmer as she thought that he would be sure to
waylay her on her journey home to-day.
On this account, when she left the house, instead of going in the
customary direction, she bolted round to the further side, through the
bushes, along under the kitchen-garden wall, and through a door leading
into a rutted cart-track, which had been a pleasant gravelled drive when
the fine old hall was in its prosperity. Once out of sight of the
windows she ran with all her might till she had quitted the park by a
route directly opposite to that towards her home. Why she was so
seriously bent upon doing this she could hardly tell but the instinct to
run was irresistible.
It was necessary now to clamber over the down to the left of the camp,
and make a complete circuit round the latter--infantry, cavalry, sutlers,
and all--descending to her house on the other side. This tremendous walk
she performed at a rapid rate, never once turning her head, and avoiding
every beaten track to keep clear of the knots of soldiers taking a walk.
When she at last got down to the levels again she paused to fetch breath,
and murmured, 'Why did I take so much trouble? He would not, after all,
have hurt me.'
As she neared the mill an erect figure with a blue body and white thighs
descended before her from the down towards the village, and went past the
mill to a stile beyond, over which she usually returned to her house.
Here he lingered. On coming nearer Anne discovered this person to be
Trumpet-major Loveday; and not wishing to meet anybody just now Anne
passed quickly on, and entered the house by the garden door.
'My dear Anne, what a time you have been gone!' said her mother.
'Yes, I have been round by another road.'
'Why did you do that?'
Anne looked thoughtful and reticent, for her reason was almost too silly
a one to confess. 'Well, I wanted to avoid a person who is very busy
trying to meet me--that's all,' she said.
Her mother glanced out of the window. 'And there he is, I suppose,' she
said, as John Loveday, tired of looking for Anne at the stile, passed the
house on his way to his father's door. He could not help casting his
eyes towards their window, and, seeing them, he smiled.
Anne's reluctance to mention Festus was such that she did not correct her
mother's error, and the dame went on: 'Well, you are quite right, my
dear. Be friendly with him, but no more at present. I have heard of
your other affair, and think it is a very wise choice. I am sure you
have my best wishes in it, and I only hope it will come to a point.'
'What's that?' said the astonished Anne.
'You and Mr. Festus Derriman, dear. You need not mind me; I have known
it for several days. Old Granny Seamore called here Saturday, and told
me she saw him coming home with you across Park Close last week, when you
went for the newspaper; so I thought I'd send you again to-day, and give
you another chance.'
'Then you didn't want the paper--and it was only for that!'
'He's a very fine young fellow; he looks a thorough woman's protector.'
'He may look it,' said Anne.
'He has given up the freehold farm his father held at Pitstock, and lives
in independence on what the land brings him. And when Farmer Derriman
dies, he'll have all the old man's, for certain. He'll be worth ten
thousand pounds, if a penny, in money, besides sixteen horses, cart and
hack, a fifty-cow dairy, and at least five hundred sheep.'
Anne turned away, and instead of informing her mother that she had been
running like a doe to escape the interesting heir-presumptive alluded to,
merely said 'Mother, I don't like this at all.'