Julia Herbert had failed altogether in her object during that end of the
season which her relations had afforded her. Walter had not even come to
call. He had sent a hurried note excusing himself, and explaining that
he was "obliged to leave town," an excuse by which nobody was deceived.
It is not by any easy process that a girl, who begins with all a girl's
natural pride and pretensions, is brought down to recognise the fact
that a man is avoiding and fleeing from her, and yet to follow and seek
him. Hard poverty, and the memories of a life spent in the tiny cottage
with her mother, without any enlargement or wider atmosphere, and with
but one way of escape in which there was hope or even possibility, had
brought Julia to this pass. She had nothing in her life that was worth
doing except to scheme how she could dress and present the best
appearance, and how she could get hold of and secure that only
stepping-stone by which she could mount out of it--a man who would marry
her and open to her the doors of something better. In every other way it
is worth the best exertions of either man or woman to get these doors
opened, and to come to the possibility of better things; and a poor girl
who has been trained to nothing more exalted, who sees no other way,
notwithstanding that this poor way of hers revolts every finer spirit,
is there not something pitiful and tragic in her struggles, her sad and
degrading attempt after a new beginning? How much human force is wasted
upon it, what heart-sickness, what self-contempt is undergone, what a
debasement of all that is best and finest in her? She has no pity, no
sympathy in her pursuit, but ridicule, contempt, the derision of one
half of humanity, the indignation of the other. And yet her object after
all may not be entirely despicable. She may feel with despair that there
is no other way. She may intend to be all that is good and noble were
but this one step made, this barrier crossed, the means of a larger life
attained. It would be better for her no doubt to be a governess, or even
a seamstress, or to put up with the chill meannesses of a
poverty-stricken existence, and starve, modestly keeping up appearances
with her last breath.
But all women are not born self-denying. When they are young, the blood
runs as warmly in their veins as in that of men; they too want life,
movement, sunshine and happiness. The mere daylight, the air, a new
frock, however hardly obtained, a dance, a little admiration, suffice
for them when they are very young; but when the next chapter comes, and
the girl learns to calculate that, saving some great matrimonial
chance, there is no prospect for her but the narrowest and most meagre
and monotonous existence under heaven, the life of a poor, very poor
single woman who cannot dig and to beg is ashamed--is it to be wondered
at if she makes a desperate struggle anyhow (and alas! there is but one
_how_) to escape. Perhaps she likes too, poor creature, the little
excitement of flirtation, the only thing which replaces to her the
manifold excitement which men of her kind indulge in--the tumultuous
joys of the turf, the charms of play, the delights of the club, the
moors, and sport in general, not to speak of all those developments of
pleasure, so-called, which are impossible to a woman. She cannot dabble
a little in vice as a man can do, and yet return again, and be no worse
thought of than before. Both for amusement and profit she has this one
way, which, to be sure, answers the purpose of all the others in being
destructive of the best part in her, spoiling her character, and
injuring her reputation--but for how much less a cause, and with how
little recompense in the way of enjoyment! The husband-hunting girl is
fair game to whosoever has a stone to throw, and very few are so
charitable as to say, Poor soul! Julia Herbert had been as bright a
creature at eighteen as one could wish to see. At twenty-four she was
bright still, full of animation, full of good humour, clever in her way,
very pretty, high-spirited, amusing--and still so young! But how
profoundly had it been impressed upon her that she must not lose her
time! and how well she knew all the opprobrious epithets that are
directed against a young woman as she draws towards thirty--the very
flower and prime of her life. Was she to blame if she was influenced by
all that was said to this effect, and determined to fight with a sort of
mad persistence, for the hope which seemed so well within her reach?
Were she but once established as Lady Erradeen, there was not one of her
youthful sins that would be remembered against her. A veil of light
would fall over her and all her peccadilloes as soon as she had put on
her bridal veil. Her friends, instead of feeling her a burden and
perplexity, would be proud of Julia; they would put forth their
cousinhood eagerly, and claim her--even those who were most anxious now
to demonstrate the extreme distance of the connection--as near and dear.
And she liked Walter, and thought she would have no difficulty in loving
him, had she ever a right to do so. He was not too good for her; she
would have something to forgive in him, if he too in her might have
something to forgive. She would make him a good wife, a wife of whom he
should have no occasion to be ashamed. All these considerations made it
excusable--more than excusable, almost laudable--to strain a point for
so great an end.
And in her cousin's wife she had, so far as this went, a real friend.
Lady Herbert not only felt that to get Julia settled was most desirable,
and that, as Lady Erradeen, she would become a most creditable cousin,
and one who might return the favours showed to her, but also, which is
less general, felt within herself a strong inclination to help and
further Julia's object. She thought favourably of Lord Erradeen. She
thought he would not be difficult to manage (which was a mistake as the
reader knows). She thought he was not so strong as Julia, but once fully
within the power of her fascinations, would fall an easy prey. She did
not think less of him for running away. It was a sign of weakness, if
also of wisdom; and if he could be met in a place from which he could
not run away, it seemed to her that the victory would be easy. And Sir
Thomas must have a moor somewhere to refresh him after the vast labours
of a session in which he had recorded so many silent votes. By dint of
having followed him to many a moor, Lady Herbert had a tolerable
geographical knowledge of the Highlands, and it was not very difficult
for her to find out that Mr. Campbell of Ellermore, with his large
family, would be obliged this year to let his shootings. Every thing was
settled and prepared accordingly to further Julia's views, without any
warning on the point having reached Walter. She had arrived indeed at
the Lodge, which was some miles down the loch, beyond Birkenbraes, a few
days after Walter's arrival, and thus once more, though he was so far
from thinking of it, his old sins, or rather his old follies, were about
to find him out.
Lady Herbert had already become known to various people on the
loch-side. She had been at the Lodge since early in September, and had
been called upon by friendly folk on all sides. There had been a
thousand chances that Walter might have found her at luncheon with all
the others on his first appearance at Birkenbraes, and Julia had already
been introduced to that hospitable house. Katie did not recognise Lady
Herbert either by name or countenance. But she recognised Julia as soon
as she saw her.
"I think you know Lord Erradeen?" was almost her first greeting, for
Katie was a young person of very straight-forward methods.
"Oh yes," Julia had answered with animation, "I have known him all my
life."
"I suppose you know that he lives here?"
Upon this Julia turned to her chaperon, her relation in whose hands all
these external questions were.
"Did you know, dear Lady Herbert, that Lord Erradeen lived here?"
"Oh yes, he has a place close by. Didn't I tell you? A pretty house,
with that old castle near it, which I pointed out to you on the lock,"
Lady Herbert said.
"How small the world is!" cried Julia; "wherever you go you are always
knocking up against somebody. Fancy Walter Methven living here!"
Katie was not taken in by this little play. She was not even irritated
as she had been at Burlington House. If it might so happen that some
youthful bond existed between Lord Erradeen and this girl, Katie was not
the woman to use any unfair means against it.
"You will be sure to meet him," she said calmly. "We hope he is not
going to shut himself up as he did last year."
"Oh tell me!" Julia cried, with overflowing interest, "is there not some
wonderful ghost story? something about his house being haunted; and he
has to go and present himself and have an interview with the ghost?
Captain Underwood, I remember, told us----"
"Did you know Captain Underwood?" said Katie, in that tone which says so
much.
And then she turned to her other guests: for naturally the house was
full of people, and as was habitual in Birkenbraes a large party from
outside had come to lunch. The Williamsons were discussed with much
freedom among the visitors from the Lodge when they went away. Sir
Thomas declared that the old man was a monstrous fine old fellow, and
his claret worth coming from Devonshire to drink.
"No expense spared in that establishment," he cried; "and there's a
little girl, I should say, that would be worth a young fellow's while."
He despised Julia to the bottom of his heart, but he thought of his
young friends on the other side without any such elevated sentiment, and
decided it might not be a bad thing to have Algy Newton down, to whom it
was indispensable that he should marry money. Sir Thomas, however, had
not the energy to carry his intention out.
Next day it so happened that Lady Herbert had to return the visit of
Mrs. Forrester, who--though she always explained her regret at not
being able to entertain her friends--was punctilious in making the
proper calls. The English ladies were "charmed" with the isle. They said
there had never been anything so original, so delightful, so
unconventional; ignoring altogether, with a politeness which Mrs.
Forrester thought was "pretty," any idea that necessity might be the
motive of the mother and daughter in settling there.
"I am sure it is very kind of you to say so; but it is not just a matter
of choice, you know. It is just an old house that came to me from the
Macnabs--my mother's side. And it proved very convenient when all the
boys were away and nothing left but Oona and me. Women want but little
in comparison with gentlemen; and though it is a little out of the way
and inconvenient in the winter season, it is wonderful how few days
there are that we can't get out. I am very well content with the Walk
when there is a glint of sunshine; but Oona, she just never minds the
weather. Oh, you will not be going just yet! Tell Mysie, Oona, to bring
ben the tea. If it is a little early what matter? It always helps to
keep you warm on the loch, and my old cook is rather noted for her
scones. She just begins as soon as she hears there's a boat, and she
will be much disappointed if ye don't taste them. Our friends are all
very kind; we have somebody or other every day."
"It is you who are kind, I think," Lady Herbert said.
"No, no; two ladies--it is nothing we have it in our power to do: but a
cup of tea, it is just a charity to accept it; and as you go down to
your boat I will let you see the view."
Julia, for her part, felt, or professed, a great interest in the girl
living the life of a recluse on this little island.
"It must be delightful," she said with enthusiasm; "but don't you
sometimes feel a little dull? It is the sweetest place I ever saw. But
shouldn't you like to walk on to the land without always requiring a
boat?"
"I don't think I have considered the subject," Oona said; "it is our
home, and we do not think whether or not we should like it to be
different."
"Oh what a delightful state of mind! I don't think I could be so
contented anywhere--so happy in myself. I think," said Julia with an
ingratiating look, "that you must be very happy in yourself."
Oona laughed. "As much and as little as other people," she said.
"Oh not as little! I should picture to myself a hundred things I wanted
as soon as I found myself shut up here. I should want to be in town. I
should want to go shopping. I should wish for--everything I had not got.
Don't you immediately think of dozens of things you want as soon as you
know you can't get them? But you are so good?"
"If that is being good! No, I think I rather refrain from wishing for
what I should like when I see I am not likely to get it."
"I call that goodness itself--but perhaps it is Scotch. I have the
greatest respect for the Scotch," said Julia. "They are so sensible."
Then she laughed, as at some private joke of her own, and said under her
breath, "Not all, however," and looked towards Kinloch Houran.
They were seated on the bench, upon the little platform, at the top of
the ascent which looked down upon the castle. The sound of Mrs.
Forrester's voice was quite audible behind in the house, pouring forth a
gentle stream. The sun was setting in a sky full of gorgeous purple and
golden clouds; the keen air of the hills blowing about them. But Julia
was warmly dressed, and only shivered a little out of a sense of what
was becoming: and Oona was wrapped in the famous fur cloak.
"It is so strange to come upon a place one has heard so much of," Julia
resumed. "No doubt you know Lord Erradeen?"
The name startled Oona in spite of herself. She was not prepared for any
allusion to him. She coloured involuntarily, and gave her companion a
look of surprise.
"Do you know him?" she asked.
"Oh, so well! I have known him almost all my life. People said
indeed----" said Julia, breaking off suddenly with a laugh. "But that
was nonsense. You know how people talk. Oh, yes, we have been like
brother and sister--or if not quite that--at least--Oh yes, I know
Walter, and his mother, and everything about him. He has been a little
strange since he came here; though indeed I have no reason to say so,
for he is always very nice to me. When he came home last year I saw a
great deal of him; but I don't think he was very communicative
about--what do you call it?--Kinloch----"
"He was not here long," Oona said.
"No? He did not give himself time to find out how many nice people there
are. He did not seem very happy about it when he came back. You see all
his habits were formed--it was something so new for him. And though the
people are extremely nice, and so hospitable and kind, they were
different--from those he had been used to."
Oona smiled a little. She did not see her new acquaintance from the best
side, and there came into her mind a slightly bitter and astonished
reflection that Walter, perhaps, preferred people like _this_ to
other--people. It was an altogether incoherent thought.
"Does he know that you are here?" she said.
"Oh, I don't think he does--but he will soon find me out," said Julia,
with an answering smile. "He always tells me everything. We are such old
friends, and perhaps something--more. To be sure that is not a thing to
talk of; but there is something in your face which is so sweet, which
invites confidence. With a little encouragement I believe I should tell
you everything I ever did."
She leant over Oona as if she would have kissed her: but compliments so
broad and easy disconcerted the Highland girl. She withdrew a little
from this close contact.
"The wind is getting cold," she said. "Perhaps we ought to go in. My
mother always blames me for keeping strangers, who are not used to it,
in this chilly air."
"Ah, you do not encourage me," Julia said. And then after a pause added,
with the look of one preoccupied by her subject--"Is he there now?"
"I think Lord Erradeen is still at Kinloch Houran, if that is what you
mean. That is another house of his among the trees."
"How curious! two houses so close together. If you see him," said Julia,
rising to join her cousin who had come out to the door of the cottage
with Mrs. Forrester, "if you see him, don't, please don't, tell him you
have met me. I prefer that he should find it out. He is quite sure, oh,
sooner than I want him, to find me out."
And then the ladies were attended to the boat in the usual hospitable
way.
"You will get back before it is dark," said Mrs. Forrester. "I am always
glad of that, for the wind is cold from the hills, especially to
strangers that are not used to our Highland climate. I take your visit
very kind, Lady Herbert. In these days I can do so little for my
friends: unless Sir Thomas would take his lunch with me some day--and
that is no compliment to a gentleman that is out on the hills all his
time--I have just no opportunity of showing attention. But if you are
going further north, my son, the present Mr. Forrester of Eaglescairn,
would be delighted to be of any service. He knows how little his mother
can do for her friends, perched up here in the middle of the water and
without a gentleman in the house. Hamish, have ye got the cushions in,
and are ye all ready? You'll be sure to take her ladyship to where the
carriage is waiting, and see that she has not a long way to walk."
Thus talking, the kind lady saw her visitors off, and stood on the beach
waving her hand to them. The fur cloak had been transferred to her
shoulders. It was the one wrap in which everybody believed. Oona, who
moved so much more quickly, and had no need to pause to take breath, did
not now require such careful wrapping. She too stood and waved her hand
as the boat turned the corner of the isle. But her farewells were not so
cordial as her mother's. Julia's talk had been very strange to Oona; it
filled her with a vague fear. Something very different from the
sensation with which she had heard Katie's confessions on the subject of
Lord Erradeen moved her now. An impression of unworthiness had stolen
into her mind, she could not tell how. It was the first time she had
been sensible of any thought of the kind. Walter had not been revealed
to her in any of the circumstances of his past life. She had known him
only during his visit at Kinloch Houran, and when he was in profound
difficulty and agitation, in which her presence and succour had helped
him she could not tell how, and when his appeal to her, his dependence
on her, had seized hold of her mind and imagination with a force which
it had taken her all this time to throw off, and which, alas! his first
appearance and renewed appeal to her to stand by him had brought back
again in spite of her resistance and against her will. She had been
angry with herself and indignant at this involuntary subjugation--which
he had not desired so far as she knew, nor she dreamt of, until she had
fallen under it--and had recognised, with a sort of despair and angry
sense of impotence, the renewal of the influence, which she seemed
incapable of resisting.
But Julia's words roused in her a different sentiment. Julia's laugh,
the light insinuations of her tone, her claim of intimacy and previous
knowledge, brought a revulsion of feeling so strong and powerful that
she felt for the moment as if she had been delivered from her bonds.
Delivered--but not with any pleasure in being free: for the deliverance
meant the lowering of the image of him in whom she had suddenly found
that union of something above her with something below, which is the
man's chief charm to the woman, as probably it is the woman's chief
charm to the man. He had been below her, he had needed her help, she had
brought to him some principle of completeness, some moral support which
was indispensable, without which he could not have stood fast. But now
another kind of inferiority was suggested to her, which was not that in
which a visionary and absolute youthful mind could find any charm, which
it was difficult even to tolerate, which was an offence to her and to
the pure and overmastering sentiment which had drawn her to him. If he
was so near to Miss Herbert, so entirely on her level, making her his
confidant, he could be nothing to Oona. She seemed to herself to burst
her bonds and stand free--but not happily. Her heart was not the lighter
for it. She would have liked to escape, yet to be able to bear him the
same stainless regard, the same sympathy as ever; to help him still, to
honour him in his resistance to all that was evil.
All this happened on the afternoon of the day which Walter had begun
with a despairing conviction that Oona's help must fail him _when she
knew_. She had begun to know without any agency of his: and if it moved
her so to become aware of a frivolous and foolish connection in which
there was levity and vanity, and a fictitious counterfeit of higher
sentiments but no harm, what would her feelings be when all the truth
was unfolded to her? But neither did she know of the darker depths that
lay below, nor was he aware of the revelation which had begun. Oona
returned to the house with her mother's soft-voiced monologue in her
ears, hearing vaguely a great many particulars of Lady Herbert's family
and connections and of her being "really an acquisition, and Sir Thomas
just an honest English sort of man, and Miss Herbert very pretty, and a
nice companion for you, Oona," without reply, or with much consciousness
of what it was. "It is time you were indoors, mamma, for the wind is
very cold," she said.
"Oh yes, Oona, it is very well for you to speak about me: but you must
take your own advice and come in too. For you have nothing about your
shoulders, and I have got the fur cloak."
"I am coming, mother," Oona said, and with these words turned from the
door and going to the rocky parapet that bordered the little platform,
cast an indignant glance towards the ruined walls so far beneath her on
the water's edge, dark and cold, out of the reach of all those autumn
glories that were fading in the sky. There was no light or sign of life
about Kinloch Houran. She had looked out angrily, as one defrauded of
much honest feeling had, she felt, a right to do; but something softened
her as she looked and gazed--the darkness of it, the pathos of the ruin,
the incompleteness, and voiceless yet appealing need. Was it possible
that there was no need at all or vacancy there but what Miss Herbert,
with her smiles and dimples, her laughing insinuations, her claim upon
him from the past, and the first preference of youth, could supply?
Oona felt a great sadness take the place of her indignation as she
turned away. If that was so, how poor and small it all was--how
different from what she had thought!