It was on the evening of the day after Captain Underwood's arrival that
Lord Erradeen left Kinloch Houran for Auchnasheen. After labour, rest.
He could not but compare as he walked along in the early falling
autumnal twilight the difference between himself now, and the same self
a year ago, when he had fled from the place of torture to the house of
peace, a man nearly frantic with the consciousness of all the new bonds
upon him, the uncomprehended powers against which he had to struggle,
the sense of panic and impotence, yet of mad excitement and resistance,
with which his brain was on flame. The recollection of the ensuing time
spent at Auchnasheen, when he saw no one, heard no voice but his own,
yet lived through day after day of bewildering mental conflict, without
knowing who it was against whom he contended, was burned in upon his
recollection. All through that time he had been conscious of such a
desire to flee as hurried the pace of his thoughts, and made the
intolerable still more intolerable. His heart had sickened of the
unbearable fight into which he was compelled like an unwilling soldier
with death behind him. To resist had always been Walter's natural
impulse; but the impulse of flight had so mingled with it that his soul
had been in a fever, counting no passage of days, but feeling the whole
period long or short, he did not know which, as one monstrous
uninterrupted day or night, in which the processes of thought were never
intermitted. His mind was in a very different condition now. He had got
over the early panic of nature. The blinding mists of terror had melted
away from his eyes, and the novelty and horror of his position,
contending with unseen dominations and powers, had almost ceased for the
moment to affect his mind, so profoundly exhausted was he by the renewed
struggle in which he had been engaged.
The loch was veiled in mist, through which it glimmered faintly with
broken reflections, the wooded banks presenting on every side a sort of
ghostly outline, with the colour no more than indicated against the
dreary confusion of air and vapour. At some points there was the glimpse
of a blurred light, looking larger and more distant than it really was,
the ruddy spot made by the open door of the little inn, the whiter and
smaller twinkle of the manse window, the far-off point, looking no more
than a taper light in the distance, that shone from the isle. There was
in Walter's mind a darkness and confusion not unlike the landscape. He
was worn out: there was in him none of that vivid feeling which had
separated between his human soul in its despair and the keen sweetness
of the morning. Now all was night within him and around. His arms had
fallen from his hands. He moved along, scarcely aware that he was
moving, feeling everything blurred, confused, indistinct in the earth
about him and in the secret places of his soul. Desire for flight he had
none: he had come to see that it was impossible: and he had not energy
enough to wish it. And fear had died out of him. He was not afraid. Had
he been joined on the darkling way by the personage of whom he had of
late seen so much, it would scarcely have quickened his pulses. All such
superficial emotion had died out of him: the real question was so much
superior, so infinitely important in comparison with any such transitory
tremors as these. But at the present moment he was not thinking at all,
scarcely living, any more than the world around him was living, hushed
into a cessation of all energy and almost of consciousness, looking
forward to night and darkness and repose.
It was somewhat surprising to him to see the lighted windows at
Auchnasheen, and the air of inhabitation about the house with which he
had no agreeable associations, but only those which are apt to hang
about a place in which one has gone through a fever, full of miserable
visions, and the burning restlessness of disease. But when he stepped
into the hall, the door being opened to him by Symington as soon as his
foot was heard on the gravel, and turning round to go into the library
found himself suddenly in the presence of Captain Underwood, his
astonishment and dismay were beyond expression. The dismay came even
before the flush of anger, which was the first emotion that showed
itself. Underwood stood holding open the library door, with a smile that
was meant to be ingratiating and conciliatory. He held out his hand, as
Walter, with a start and exclamation, recognised him.
"Yes," he said, "I'm here, you see. Not so easy to get rid of when once
I form a friendship. Welcome to your own house, Erradeen."
Walter did not say anything till he had entered the room and shut the
door. He walked to the fire, which was blazing brightly, and placed
himself with his back to it, in that attitude in which the master of a
house defies all comers.
"I did not expect to find you here," he said. "You take me entirely by
surprise."
"I had hoped it would be an agreeable surprise," said the captain, still
with his most amiable smile. "I thought to have a friend's face waiting
for you when you came back from that confounded place would be a
relief."
"What do you call a confounded place?" said Walter, testily. "You know
nothing about it, as far as I am aware. No, Underwood, it is as well to
speak plainly. It is not an agreeable surprise. I am sorry you have
taken the trouble to come so far for me."
"It was no trouble. If you are a little out of sorts, never mind. I am
not a man to be discouraged for a hasty word. You want a little cheerful
society----"
"Is that what you call yourself?" Walter said with a harsh laugh. He was
aware that there was a certain brutality in what he said; but the sudden
sight of the man who had disgusted him even while he had most influenced
him, and of whom he had never thought but with a movement of resentment
and secret rage, affected him to a sort of delirium. He could have
seized him with the force of passion and flung him into the loch at the
door. It would have been no crime, he thought, to destroy such vermin
off the face of the earth--to make an end of such a source of evil would
be no crime. This was the thought in his mind while he stood upon his
own hearth, looking at the man who was his guest and therefore sacred.
As for Captain Underwood, he took no offence; it was not in his _rôle_
to do so, whatever happened. What he had to do was to regain, if
possible, his position with the young man upon whom he had lived and
enriched himself for the greater part of the year, to render himself
indispensable to him as he had done to his predecessor. For this object
he was prepared to bear everything, and laugh at all that was too strong
to be ignored. He laughed now, and did his best, not very gracefully, to
carry out the joke. He exerted himself to talk and please throughout the
dinner, which Walter went through in silence, drinking largely, though
scarcely eating at all--for Kinloch Houran was not a place which
encouraged an appetite. After dinner, in the midst of one of
Underwood's stories, Walter lighted a candle abruptly, and saying he was
going to bed, left his companion without apology or reason given. It was
impossible to be more rude. The captain felt the check, for he had a
considerable development of vanity, and was in the habit of amusing the
people to whom he chose to make himself agreeable. But this affront,
too, he swallowed. "He will have come to himself by morning," he said.
In the morning, however, Walter was only more gloomy and unwilling to
listen, and determined not to respond. It was only when in the middle of
the breakfast he received a note brought by a mounted messenger who
waited for an answer, that he spoke. He flung it open across the table
to Underwood with a harsh laugh.
"Is this your doing, too?" he cried.
"My doing, Erradeen!"
Underwood knew very well what it was before he looked at it. It was from
Lady Herbert, explaining that she had only just heard that Lord Erradeen
was so near a neighbour, and begging him, if he was not, like all the
other gentlemen, on the hills, that he would come ("and your friend
Captain Underwood") to luncheon that day to cheer two forlorn ladies
left all by themselves in this wilderness. "And you will meet an old
friend," it concluded playfully. The composition was Julia's, and had
not been produced without careful study.
"My doing!" said Captain Underwood. "Can you suppose that _I_ want you
to marry, Erradeen?"
It was a case, he thought, in which truth was best.
Walter started up from his seat.
"Marry!" he cried, with a half-shout of rage and dismay.
"Well, my dear fellow, I don't suppose you are such a fool; but, of
course, that is what _she_ means. The fair Julia----"
"Oblige me," cried Lord Erradeen, taking up once more his position on
the hearth, "by speaking civilly when you speak of ladies in my house."
"Why, bless me, Erradeen, you gave me the note----"
"I was a fool--that is nothing new. I have been a fool since the first
day when I met you and took you for something more than mortal. Oh, and
before that!" cried Walter bitterly. "Do not flatter yourself that you
did it. It is of older date than you."
"The fair Julia----" Underwood began; but he stopped when his companion
advanced upon him threatening, with so gloomy a look and so tightly
strained an arm that the captain judged it wise to change his tone. "I
should have said, since we are on punctilio, that Miss Herbert and you
are older acquaintances than you and I, Erradeen."
"Fortunately you have nothing to do with that," Walter said, perceiving
the absurdity of his rage.
Then he walked to the window and looked out so long and silently that
the anxious watcher began to think the incident over. But it was not
till Walter, after this period of reflection, had written a note and
sent it to the messenger, that he ventured to speak.
"You have accepted, of course. In the circumstances it would be
uncivil----"
Walter looked at him for a moment, breaking off his sentence as if he
had spoken.
"I have something to tell you," he said. "My mother is coming to
Auchnasheen."
"Your mother!" Underwood's voice ran into a quaver of dismay.
"You will see that in the circumstances, as you say, I am forced to be
uncivil. When my mother is here she will, of course, be the mistress of
the house; and she, as you know----"
"Will not ask me to prolong my visit," said the captain, with an attempt
at rueful humour. "I think we may say as much as that, Erradeen."
"I fear it is not likely," Walter said.
Captain Underwood gave vent to his feelings in a prolonged whistle.
"You will be bored to death. Mark my words, I know you well enough. You
will never be able to put up with it. You will be ready to hang yourself
in a week. You will come off to me. It is the best thing that could
happen so far as I am concerned--wishing to preserve your friendship as
I do----"
"Is it friendship, then, that has bound us together?" said Lord
Erradeen.
"What else? Disinterested friendship on my part. I take your laugh
rather ill, Erradeen. What have I gained by it, I should like to know?
I've liked you, and I liked the last man before you. I have put up with
a great deal from you--tempers like a silly woman, vagaries of all
sorts, discontent and abuse. Why have I put up with all that?"
"Why indeed? I wish you had not," said the young man scornfully. "Yes,
you have put up with it, and made your pupil think the worse of you with
every fresh exercise of patience. I should like to pay you for all that
dirty work."
"Pay me!" the captain said, faltering a little. He was not a very brave
man, though he could hold his own; and there was a force of passion and
youth in his "pupil"--with what bitterness that word was said!--that
alarmed him a little. Besides, Walter had a household of servants behind
him--grooms, keepers, all sorts of people--who held Captain Underwood in
no favour. "Pay me! I don't know how you could pay me," he said.
"I should like to do it--in one way; and I shall do it--in another,"
said Walter still somewhat fiercely. Then once more he laughed. He took
out a pocket-book from his coat, and out of that a cheque. "You have
been at some expense on my account," he said; "your journey has been
long and rapid. I consider myself your debtor for that, and for
the--good intention. Will this be enough?"
In the bitter force of his ridicule and dislike, Walter held out the
piece of paper as one holds a sweetmeat to a child. The other gave a
succession of rapid glances at it to make out what it was. When he
succeeded in doing so a flush of excitement and eagerness covered his
face. He put out his hand nervously to clutch it with the excited look
of the child before whom a prize is held out, and who catches at it
before it is snatched away. But he would not acknowledge this feeling.
"My lord," he said, with an appearance of dignity offended, "you are
generous; but to pay me, as you say, and offer money in place of your
friendship----"
"It is an excellent exchange, Underwood. This is worth something, if not
very much--the other," said Walter with a laugh, "nothing at all."
Perhaps this was something like what Captain Underwood himself thought,
as he found himself, a few hours later, driving along the country roads
towards the railway station, retracing the path which he had travelled
two days before with many hopes and yet a tremor. His hopes were now
over, and the tremor too; but there was something in his breast pocket
better, for the moment at least, than any hopes, which kept him warm,
even though the wind was cold. He had failed in his attempt to fix
himself once more permanently on Lord Erradeen's shoulders--an attempt
in which he had not been very sanguine. It was a desperate venture, he
knew, and it had failed; but, at the same time, circumstances might
arise which would justify another attempt, and that one might not fail:
and, in the mean time, his heart rose with a certain elation when he
thought of that signature in his breast pocket. _That_ was worth an
effort, and nothing could diminish its value. Friendship might fail, but
a cheque is substantial. He had something of the dizzy feeling of one
who has fallen from a great height, and has not yet got the giddiness of
the movement out of his head. And yet he was not altogether discouraged.
Who could tell what turn the wheel of fortune might take? and, in the
mean time, there was that bit of paper. The horse was fresh, and flew
along the road, up and down, at a pace very different from that of Big
John's steeds, which had brought Captain Underwood to Auchnasheen. About
half-way along he came up to the waggonette from Birkenbraes, in which
was Mr. Braithwaite and his luggage, along with two other guests,
ladies, bound for the station, and escorted by Mr. Williamson and Katie,
as was their way.
"Dear me, is that Underwood?" cried Mr. Williamson with the lively and
simple curiosity of rural use and wont. "So you're there, captain," he
said, as the dog-cart came up behind the heavier carriage.
"No, I'm not here--I'm going," said Underwood, quickly, "hurrying to
catch the train."
"Oh, there is plenty of time; we are going too (Bless me," he said
aside, "how many visitors think you they can have had in yon old place?)
I am thinking ye have been with our young neighbour, Lord Erradeen."
"That is an easy guess. I am leaving him, you mean. Erradeen is a
reformed character. He is turning over a new leaf--and full time too,"
Captain Underwood cried, raising his voice that he might be heard over
the rattle of the two carriages. Notwithstanding the cheque which kept
him so warm, he had various grudges against Walter, and did not choose
to lose the opportunity for a little mischief.
"It is always a good thing," said Mr. Williamson, "to turn over a new
leaf. We have all great occasion to do that."
"Especially when there are so many of them," the captain cried, as his
light cart passed the other. He met the party again at the station,
where they had to wait for the train. Katie stood by herself in a
thoughtful mood while the departing guests consulted over their several
boxes, and Captain Underwood seized the moment: "I am sorry to lose the
fun," he said, in a confidential tone, "but I must tell you, Miss
Williamson, what is going to happen. Erradeen has been pursued up here
into his stronghold by one of the many ladies----I expect to hear she
has clutched hold of him before long, and then you'll have a wedding."
"Is that why you are going away, Captain Underwood?"
"He has gone a little too far, you know, that is the truth," said the
captain. "I am glad he is not going to take in any nice girl. I couldn't
have stood by and seen that. I should have had to warn her people. Even
Miss Julia, by Jove! I'm sorry for Miss Julia, if she gets him. But she
is an old campaigner; she will know how to take care of herself."
"Is it because Lord Erradeen is so bad that you are leaving him, or
because he is going to be good?" Katie asked. Captain Underwood on
ordinary occasions was a little afraid of her; but his virtuous object
fortified him now.
"Oh, by Jove! he goes too far," said Underwood. "I am not squeamish,
heaven knows, but he goes too far. I can speak now that it's all over
between him and me. I never could bear to see him with nice girls; but
he's got his match in Miss Julia. The fair Julia--that is another pair
of shoes."
"Who was he meaning with his fair Julias?" said Mr. Williamson as they
drove away. "Yon's a scoundrel, if there ever was one, and young
Erradeen is well rid of him. But when thieves cast out, honest folk get
their ain. Would yon be true?"
Katie was in what her father called "a brown study," and did not care to
talk. She only shook her head--a gesture which could be interpreted as
any one pleased.
"I am not sure," said Mr. Williamson, in reply. "He knows more about
Lord Erradeen than any person on the loch. But who is the fair Julia,
and is he really to be married to her? I would like fine to hear all
about it. I will call at Auchnasheen in the afternoon and see what he
has to say."
But Katie remained in her brown study, letting her father talk. She knew
very well who the fair Julia was. She remembered distinctly the scene at
Burlington House. She saw with the clearest perception what the tactics
were of the ladies at the Lodge. Katie had been somewhat excited by the
prospect of being Oona's rival, which was like something in a book. It
was like the universal story of the young man's choice, not between
Venus and Minerva, or between good and evil, but perhaps, Katie thought,
between poetry and prose, between the ideal and the practical. She was
interested in that conflict and not unwilling in all kindness and honour
to play her part in it. Oona would be the ideal bride for him, but she
herself, Katie felt, would be better in a great many ways, and she did
not feel that she would have any objection to marry Lord Erradeen. But
here was another rival with whom she did not choose to enter the lists.
It is to be feared that Katie in her heart classified Miss Herbert as
Vice, as the sinner against whom every man is to be warned, and turned
with some scorn from any comparison with her meretricious attractions.
But she was fair and just, and her heart had nothing particular to do
with the matter; so that she was able calmly to wait for information,
which was not Oona's case.
It had been entirely at random that Lord Erradeen had announced his
mother's approaching arrival to Underwood. The idea had come into his
mind the moment before he made use of it, and he had felt a certain
amusement in the complete success of this hastily-assumed weapon. It had
been so effectual that he began to think it might be available in other
conflicts as well as this: and in any case he felt himself pledged to
make it a matter of fact. He walked to the village when Underwood had
gone, to carry at once his intention into effect. Though it was only a
cluster of some half-dozen houses, it had a telegraph-office--as is so
general in the Highlands--and Walter sent a brief, emphatic message,
which he felt would carry wild excitement into Sloebury. "You will do me
a great favour if you will come at once, alone," was Walter's message.
He was himself slightly excited by it. He began to think over all those
primitive relationships of his youth as he walked along the quiet road.
There was sweetness in them, but how much conflict, trouble,
embarrassment!--claims on one side to which the other could not
respond--a sort of authority, which was no authority--a duty which did
nothing but establish grievances and mutual reproach. His mind was still
in the state of exhaustion which Captain Underwood had only temporarily
disturbed; and a certain softening was in the weakened faculties, which
were worn out with too much conflict. Poor mother, after all! He could
remember, looking back, when it was his greatest pleasure to go home to
her, to talk to her, pouring every sort of revelation into her
never-wearied ears; all his school successes and tribulations, all
about the other fellows, the injustices that were done, the triumphs
that were gained. Could women interest themselves in all that as she had
seemed to interest herself? or had she sometimes found it a bore to have
all these schoolboy experiences poured forth upon her? Miss Merivale had
very plainly thought it a bore; his voice had given her a headache. But
Mrs. Methven never had any headaches, or anything that could cloud her
attention. He remembered now that his mother was not a mere nursery
woman--that she read a great deal more than he himself did, knew many
things he did not know, was not silly, or a fool, or narrow-minded, as
so many women are. Was it not a little hard, after all, that she should
have nothing of her son but the schoolboy prattle? She had been
everything to him when he was a boy, and now she was nothing to him;
perhaps all the time she might have been looking forward to the period
when he should be a man, and have something more interesting to talk
over with her than a cricket-match--for, to be sure, when one came to
think of it, she could have no personal interest in a cricket-match. A
momentary _serrement_ of compunction came to Walter's heart. Poor
mother! he said to himself; perhaps it was a little hard upon her. And
she must have the feeling, to make it worse, that she had a right to
something better. He could not even now get his mind clear about that
right.
As he returned from the telegraph-office he too met the waggonette from
Birkenbraes, which was stopped at sight of him with much energy on the
part of Mr. Williamson.
"We've just met your friend Captain Underwood. If you'll not take it
amiss, Lord Erradeen, I will say that I'm very glad you're not keeping a
man like that about you. But what is this about--a lady? I hear there's
a lady--the fair----What did he call her, Katie? I am not good at
remembering names."
"It is of no consequence," said Katie, with a little rising colour,
"what such a man said."
"That's true, that's true," said her father; "but still, Erradeen, you
must mind we are old friends now, and let us know what's coming. The
fair----Toots, I thought of it a minute ago? It's ridiculous to forget
names."
"You may be sure I shall let you know what's coming. My mother is
coming," Walter said.
And this piece of news was so unexpected and startling that the
Williamsons drove off with energy to spread it far and near. Mr.
Williamson himself was as much excited as if it had been of personal
importance to him.
"Now that will settle the young man," he said; "that will put many
things right. There has not been a lady at Auchnasheen since ever I have
been here. A mother is the next best thing to a wife, and very likely
the one is in preparation for the other, and ye will all have to put on
your prettiest frocks for her approval." He followed this with one of
his big laughs, looking round upon a circle in which there were various
young persons who were very marriageable. "But I put no faith in
Underwood's fair--what was it he called her?" Mr. Williamson said.