ELIZABETH AND DENAS.
"There is no hate in a woman which is not born of love."
"Ever note, Lucilius,
When love begins to slacken and decay,
It uses an enforced ceremony:
There are no tricks in plain and simple faith."
--JULIUS CAESAR.
The rain was over on Wednesday morning, but the day was gray and chill
and the crisping turf and the hardening road indicated a coming frost.
There was nothing, however, to prevent the contemplated visit to
Burrell Court, and a painful momentary shadow flitted over John's face
when Denas came to breakfast in her new ruby-coloured merino dress.
She was so pretty, so full of the importance of her trip, so
affectionate, that he could not say a word to dash her spirits or warn
her carelessness, and yet he had a quick spasm of terror about the
danger she was going so gayly into. Of what use, alas! are our
premonitions if they do not bring with them the inexorable moral
courage necessary to enforce their warnings?
Denas had been accustomed to go to Elizabeth's very early in the
morning, and it did not come into her mind to make any change in this
respect because of Elizabeth's marriage. So after she had taken her
breakfast she put on her hat and ulster and her warm wool gloves and
took the cliff road. John, with his pipe in his mouth, leaned against
the door lintel and watched her. Joan stood by his side for a moment,
following with her eyes the graceful figure of her child, but she
quickly went back to her work. John's work was over for the day; he
had come in on the dawn tide with a good take. So he stood at the
door, in spite of the frosty air, and watched his little maid climb
the hilly road with the elastic step and untiring breath of happy
youth.
It was then only eight o'clock. No one at her home had thought the
hour too early. But when she reached Burrell Court Elizabeth had not
come downstairs and breakfast was not yet served. She was much annoyed
and embarrassed by the attitude of the servants. She had no
visiting-card, and the footman declined to disturb Mrs. Burrell at her
toilet. "Miss could wait," he said with an air of familiarity which
greatly offended Denas. For she considered herself, as the child of a
fisherman owning his own cottage and boat and lord of all the leagues
of ocean where he chose to cast his nets, immeasurably the superior of
any servant, no matter how fine his livery might be.
She sat down in the small reception-room into which she had been shown
and waited. She heard Elizabeth and her husband go through the hall
together, and the pleasant odours of coffee and broiled meats
certified to the serving of breakfast. But no one came near her. As
the minutes slipped away her wonder became anger; and she was
resolving to leave the inhospitable house when she heard Roland's
step. He came slowly down the polished oak stairs, went to the front
door, opened it and looked out into the frosty day; then turning
rapidly in from the cold, he went whistling softly through the hall to
the breakfast-room.
Just as he entered the footman was saying: "A young person, ma'am. She
had no card, and when I asked her name she only looked at me, ma'am."
"Where did you put her?" asked Elizabeth.
"In the small reception-room."
"Is the room warm?"
"Not very cold, ma'am."
At this point Robert Burrell looked at his wife and said: "It is
perhaps that little friend of yours, called Denas."
"Jove!" ejaculated Roland. "I should not wonder. You know, Elizabeth,
she was always an early visitor. Shall I go and see?"
"Frederick will go. Frederick, ask the young person her name." In a
few moments Frederick returned and said, "Miss Penelles is the name."
Then Robert Burrell and Roland both looked at Elizabeth. She had a
momentary struggle with herself; she hesitated, her brows made
themselves into a point, her colour heightened, and the dead silence
gave her a most eloquent chance to listen to her own heart. She rose
with leisurely composure and left the room. Mr. Burrell and Roland
took no notice of the movement. Mr. Burrell had his watch in his
hand; Roland was directing Frederick as to the particular piece of
fowl he wanted. Then there was a little laugh and the sound of voices,
and Elizabeth and Denas entered together. Elizabeth had made Denas
remove her hat and cloak, and the girl was exceedingly pretty. Roland
leaped to his feet and imperatively motioned Frederick to place a
chair beside his own, and Robert Burrell met her with a frank kindness
which was pleasantly reassuring.
Denas had been feeling wronged and humiliated, but Elizabeth by a few
kind words of apology had caused a reaction which affected her
inexperienced guest with a kind of mental intoxication. Her
countenance glowed, her eyes sparkled, her hair appeared to throw off
light; her ruby-coloured dress with its edges of white lace
accentuated the marvellous colouring of her cheeks and lips, the
snow-white of her wide brows and slender throat, and the intense blue
of eyes that had caught the brightest tone of sea and sky.
She talked well, she was witty without being ill-natured, and she
described all that had happened in the little town since Elizabeth's
wedding-day with a subdued and charming mimicry that made the room
ring with laughter. Also, she ate her breakfast with such evident
enjoyment that she gave an appetite to the others. All took an extra
cup of coffee with her, and it seemed only a part of the general
conversation and delightful intercourse.
After breakfast Robert Burrell said he would delay his visit to London
for a train if Denas would sing for him once more; and they went
together to the parlour, and Roland fell at once into the rocking
measure of Robert's favourite, and in the middle of a bar Denas joined
her voice to it, and they went together as the wind goes through the
trees or the song of the water through its limpid flow.
As she finished, Roland looked at her with a certain intelligence in
his eyes, and then struck a few wild, startling chords. They proved to
be the basis of a sea-chant. Denas heard them with a quick movement of
her head and an involuntary though slight movement of the hands, as
she cried out in a musical cadence:
"Here beginneth the sea,
That ends not until the world ends.
Blow, westerly wind, for me!
When the wind and the tide are friends,
Westerly wind and little white star,
Safe are the fishermen over the bar."
She would sing no more when the chant was finished. She had seen a
look on Elizabeth's face, not intended for her to see, which took the
music out of her heart. Yet she had sung enough, for she had never
before sung so well. She was astonished at her own power, and Robert
Burrell thanked her with a sincerity beyond question.
"My brain will be among figures all the way to London, Miss Penelles,"
he said, "but I am quite sure my soul will be wandering on the
shingle, and feeling the blowing winds, and hearing the plash of the
waves, and singing with all its power:
"'Here beginneth the sea,
That ends not till the world ends.'"
Then he went away, and Elizabeth took her embroidery and sat down with
Denas. A great gulf suddenly opened between them. There was no subject
to talk about. Elizabeth had sent Roland away on the double pretence
of wanting him to take a message to Caroline and of wanting to have
Denas all to herself. And she watched Roland so cleverly that he had
no opportunity to say a word to Denas; and yet he had, for in bidding
her good-bye he managed, by the quick lift of his brows and the
wide-open look in his eyes, to give her assurance that he would be at
their usual place of meeting. Elizabeth was a clever woman, but no
match for a man who has love in his heart and his eyes to speak for
him.
So she had Denas all to herself, and then, in spite of everything she
could do, her manner became indifferent and icy. She asked after John
and Joan and more pointedly after Tris. And Denas thought there could
be no harm in talking of Tris and his affection for her. She chattered
away until she felt she was not being listened to. Then she tried to
talk of the past; Elizabeth said it was so associated with poor papa
she would rather not talk of it. It was very painful to her, and she
had promised Mr. Burrell not to indulge in painful thoughts. So Denas
felt that the past was a shut and clasped book between them for ever.
Nothing remained but to ask Elizabeth about her wedding-trip. She
answered her, but not as she would have answered an acquaintance of
her own circle. In her heart she felt it to be a presumption in Denas.
Why should this girl question her about her opinions and doings? Her
conscience had continually to urge her to justice, and she felt the
strife of feeling to be very uncomfortable.
Denas had hoped to be shown all the pretty dresses and cloaks and
knick-knacks of fine wearing apparel that Elizabeth had bought in
London, Paris, and other European capitals. These things had been much
talked of in the town, and it would have been a little distinction to
Denas to have seen and handled them. Perhaps, also, there had been, in
her deepest consciousness, a hope that Elizabeth had brought her some
special gift--some trinket that she could be proud of all her life and
keep in memory of their early friendship.
But Elizabeth showed her nothing and gave her nothing; moreover, when
Denas spoke of the beautiful morning robe she wore, Elizabeth frowned
slightly and answered with an evident disinclination to discuss the
subject, "Yes, it is beautiful." For though Elizabeth did not analyse
the feeling, she was annoyed at even a verbal return to a time when
gowns of every kind had been a consideration worth while discussing
with one whose taste and skill would help to fashion them. Poverty
casts only shadows on memory, and few people like to stand voluntarily
again in them.
About noon there was a visitor, and Elizabeth received her in another
room. She made an apology to Denas, but the girl, left to herself,
began to be angry with herself. She could hear Elizabeth and her
caller merrily discussing the affairs of their own set, and Elizabeth
had quite a different voice; it was sympathetic, ready to break into
laughter, full of confidential tones. Denas remembered this voice
well. She had once been used to hear it and to blend her own with it.
Her heart burned when she called to mind her old friend's excessive
civility; her hardly concealed weariness; the real coldness of feeling
which no pleasant words could warm. There was no longer any sympathy
between them; there was not even any interest which could take the
place of sympathy. Elizabeth did not really care whether Denas was
offended or not, but she had a conscience, and it urged her to be kind
and just. And she did try to obey the order, but when orders
perversely go against inclination they do not obtain a cheerful
service.
Denas felt and thought quickly: "I am not wanted here. I ought to
go away, and I will go." These resolutions were arrived at by
apprehension, not by any definable process of reasoning. She touched
a bell, asked for her hat and cloak, left a message for Elizabeth,
and went away from Burrell Court at once.
The rapid walk to St. Penfer relieved her feelings. "I have been
wounded to-day," she sobbed, "just as really as if Elizabeth had flung
a stone at me or stabbed me with a knife. I am heart-hurt. I am sorry
I went to see her. Why did I go? She is afraid of Roland! Good! I
shall pay her back through Roland. If she will not be a friend to me,
she may have to call me sister." Then she remembered what Roland had
said about her voice and her face was illumined by the thought, and
she lifted her head and stepped loftily to it. "She may be proud
enough of me yet. I wonder what I have done?"
To such futile questions and reflections, she walked back to St.
Penfer. She had not yet found out that the sum of her offending lay in
her ability to add the four letters which spelled the word fair to her
name. If she had been strikingly ugly and dull, instead of strikingly
pretty and bright, Elizabeth would have found it easier to be kind and
generous to her.
Denas went to Priscilla Mohun's. Reticence is a cultivated quality,
and Denas had none of it; so she told the whole story of her
ill-treatment to Priscilla and found her full of sympathy. Priscilla
had her own little slights to relate, and if all was true she told
Denas, then Elizabeth had managed in a week's time to offend many of
her old acquaintances irreconcilably.
Denas remained with Priscilla until three o'clock; then she walked
down the cliff to the little glade where she hoped to find Roland. He
was not there. She calculated the distance he had to ride, she made
allowance for his taking lunch with Caroline Burrell, and she
concluded that he ought to have been at the trysting-place before she
was. She waited until four o'clock, growing more angry every moment,
then she hastened away. "I am right served," she muttered. "I will let
Roland Tresham and Elizabeth Burrell alone for the future." The tide
of anger rose swiftly in her heart, and she stepped homeward to its
flow.
She had gone but a little way when she heard Roland calling her. She
would not answer him. She heard his rapid footsteps behind, but she
would not turn her head. When he reached her he was already vexed at
her perverse mood. "I could not get here sooner, Denas," he said
crossly. "Do be reasonable."
"You need not have come at all."
"Denas, stop: Listen to me. If you walk so quickly we shall be seen
from the village."
"I wish father to see us. I will call him to come to me."
"Denas, what have I done?"
"You! You are a part of the whole. Your sister has taught me to-day
the difference between us. I am glad there is a difference--I intend
to forget you both from this day."
"Will you punish me because Elizabeth was unkind?"
"Some day you also will change just as she has done. I will not wait
for that day. No, indeed! To be sure, I shall suffer. Father, mother,
everybody suffers in one way or another. I can bear as much as others
can."
"You are an absurd little thing. Come, darling! Come back with me! I
want to tell you a very particular secret."
"Do you think you can pet, or coax, or tell me tales like a cross
child? I am a woman, and I have been hurt in every place a woman can
be hurt by your sister. I will not go back with you."
"Very well, Denas. You will repent this temper, I can tell you, my
dear."
"No, I shall not repent it. I will go to my father and mother. I will
tell them how bad I have been and ask them to forgive me. I shall
never repent that, I know."
She drew her arm from his clasp and, without lifting her eyes to him,
went forward with a swift, purposeful step. He watched her a few
moments, and then with a dark countenance turned homeward. "This is
Elizabeth's doing," he muttered. "Elizabeth is too, too detestably
respectable for anything. I saw and felt her sugared patronage of
Denas through all her soft phrases; she treats me in the same way
sometimes. When women get a husband they are conceited enough, but
when they get a husband and money also they are--the devil only knows
what they are."
He entered Elizabeth's presence very sulkily. Robert was in London and
there was no reason why he should keep his temper in the background.
"There is Caroline's answer," he said, throwing a letter on the table,
"and I do wish, Elizabeth, you would send me pleasanter errands in the
future. Caroline kept me waiting until she returned from a lunch at
Colonel Prynne's. And then she hurried me away because there was to be
a grand dinner-party at the Pullens'."
"At the Pullens'? It is very strange Robert and I were not invited."
"I should say very strange indeed, seeing that Caroline is their
guest. But Lord and Lady Avonmere were to be present, and of course
they did not want any of us."
"Any of us? Pray, why not?"
"Father's bankruptcy is not forgotten. We were nobodies until you
married Robert Burrell, and even Robert's money is all trade money."
"You are purposely trying to say disagreeable things, Roland. What
fresh snub has Caroline been giving you?"
"Snubs are common to all. Big people are snubbed by lesser people, and
these by still smaller ones, and so _ad infinitum_. You are a bit
bigger than Denas, so you snub her, and Denas, of course, passes on
the snub. Why should she not? Where is Denas?"
"She has gone home, and I do hope she will never come here again. She
behaved very impertinently."
"That I will not believe. Put the shoe on your own foot, Elizabeth.
You were rude before I left, and I dare swear you were rude, ruder,
rudest after you were alone with the girl. For pure spite and
ill-nature, a newly married woman beats the devil."
"Who are you talking to, Roland?"
"To you. I have to talk plainly to you occasionally--birds in their
little nests agree, but brothers and sisters do not; in fact, they
cannot. For instance, I should be a brute if I agreed with you about
Denas."
"I say that Denas behaved very rudely. She went away without my
knowledge and without bidding me good-bye. I shall decline to have
any more to do with her."
"I have no doubt she has already declined you in every possible form.
As far as I can judge, she is a spirited little creature. But
gracious! how she did sing this morning! I'll bet you fifty pounds if
Robert Burrell had heard her sing a year ago you would not have been
mistress of Burrell Court to-day."
"Either you or I must leave the room, Roland. I will not listen any
longer to you."
"Sit still. I am very glad to go. I shall take a room at the Black
Lion to-morrow. The atmosphere of the Court is so exquisitely rarefied
and refined that I am choking in it. I only hope you may not smother
Robert in it. Good-night! I notice Robert goes to London pretty often
lately. Good-night."
Then he closed the door sharply and went smiling to his room. "I think
I have made madame quite as uncomfortable as she has made me," he
muttered, "and I will go to the Black Lion to-morrow. From there I can
reach Denas without being watched at both ends. John Penelles to the
right and Elizabeth Burrell to the left of me are too much and too
many. For Denas I must see. I must see her if I have to dress myself
in blue flannels and oil-skins to manage it."
In the morning Elizabeth ate her breakfast alone. She had determined
to have a good quarrel with Roland, and make him ashamed of his speech
and behaviour on the previous evening. But before she rose Roland had
gone to the Black Lion, and moreover he had left orders for his packed
traps and trunks to be sent after him. He had a distinct object in
this move. At the Court he was constantly under surveillance, and he
was also very much at Elizabeth's commands. He had little time to give
to the pursuit of Denas, and that little at hours unsuitable for the
purpose. But at the Black Lion his time was all his own. He could
breakfast and dine at whatever hour suited his occupation; he could
watch the movements of Denas without being constantly suspected and
brought to book.
Her temper the previous evening, while it seriously annoyed, did not
dishearten him. He really liked her better for its display. He never
supposed that it would last. He expected her to make a visit to St.
Penfer the next day; she would hope that he would be on the watch for
her; she would be sure of it.
But Denas did not visit St. Penfer that week, and Roland grew
desperate. On Saturday night he went down the cliff after dark and
hung around John's cottage, hoping that for some reason or other Denas
would come to the door. He had a note in his hand ready to put into
her hand if she did so. He could see her plainly, for the only screen
to the windows was some flowering plants inside and a wooden shutter
on the outside, never closed but in extreme bad weather. Joan was
making the evening meal, John sat upon the hearth, and Denas, with her
knitting in her hands, was by his side. Once or twice he saw her rise
and help her mother with some homely duty, and finally she laid down
her work, and, kneeling on the rug at her father's feet, she began to
toast the bread for their tea. Her unstudied grace, the charm of her
beauty and kindness, the very simplicity of her dress, fascinated him
afresh.
"That is the costume--the very costume--she ought to sing in," he
thought. "With some fishing nets at her feet and the mesh in her
hands, how that dark petticoat and that little scarlet josey would
tell; the scarlet josey cut away just so at the neck. What a ravishing
throat she has! How white and round!"
At this point in his reverie he heard footsteps, and he walked
leisurely aside. His big ulster in the darkness was a sufficient
disguise; he had no fear of being known by any passer-by. But these
footsteps stopped at John's door and then went inside the cottage.
That circumstance roused in Roland's heart a tremor he had never known
before. He cautiously returned to his point of observation. The
visitor was a young and handsome fisherman. It was Tris Penrose.
Roland saw with envy his welcome and his familiarity. He saw that Joan
had placed for him a chair on the hearth opposite John; Denas,
therefore, was at his feet also. Tris could feed his eyes upon her
near loveliness. He could speak to her. He did speak to her, and Denas
looked up with a smile to answer him. When the toast was made Tris
helped Denas to her feet; he put her chair to the table, he put his
own beside it. He waited upon her with such delight and tender
admiration that Roland was made furiously angry and miserable by his
rival's happiness. The poor ape jealousy began meddling in all his
better feelings.
He hung around the cottage until he was freezing with cold and burning
with rage. "And this is Elizabeth's doing," he kept muttering as he
climbed the cliff to the upper town. He could not sleep all night. He
thought of everything that could add to his despairing uncertainty.
The next day was the Sabbath. Denas would go to chapel with her father
and mother. Tris would be sure to meet her there, to return home with
her, to sit again at her side on that bright, homelike hearthstone.
"I wish I were a fisher," he cried passionately. "They know what it is
to live, for their boats make their cottages like heaven." He could
not deny to himself that Tris was a very handsome fellow and that
Denas smiled pleasantly at him. "But she never smiled once as she
smiles at me. He never once drew her soul into her face, as I can draw
it. She does not love him as she loves me." With such assertions he
consoled his heart, the while he was trying to form some plan which
would give him an opportunity to get Denas once more under his
influence.
On Monday morning he went to see Priscilla Mohun. He had a long
conversation with the dressmaker, and that afternoon Priscilla walked
down to John's cottage and made a proposal to Denas. It was so blunt
and business-like, so tight in regard to money matters, that John and
Joan, and Denas also, were completely deceived. She said she had
heard that Denas and Tris Penrose were to be married, and she thought
Denas might like to make some steady money to help the furnishing. She
would give her two shillings a day and her board and lodging. Also,
she could have Saturday and Sunday at her home if she wished.
Denas, who was fretted by the monotony of home duties really too
few to employ both her mother and herself, was glad of the offer.
John, who had a little vein of parsimony in his fine nature,
thought of the ten shillings a week and of how soon it would grow to
be ten pounds. Joan remembered how much there was to see and hear at
Miss Priscilla's, and Denas was so dull at home! Why should she
not have a good change when it was well paid for? And then she
remembered the happy week-ends there would be, with so much to tell
and to talk over.
She asked Priscilla to stay and have a cup of tea with them, and so
settle the subject. And the result was that Denas went back to St.
Penfer with Priscilla and began her duties on the next day. That
evening she had a letter from Roland. It was a letter well adapted to
touch her heart. Roland was really miserable, and he knew well how to
cry out for comfort. He told her he had left his sister's home because
Elizabeth had insulted her there. He led her to believe that Elizabeth
was in great distress at his anger, but that nothing she could say or
do would make him forgive her until Denas herself was satisfied.
And Denas was glad that Elizabeth should suffer. She hoped Roland
would make her suffer a great deal. For Denas had not yet reached that
divine condition in which it is possible to love one's enemies. She
was happy to think that Roland was at the Black Lion with all his
possessions; for she knew how the gossip on this occurrence would
annoy all the proprieties in Mrs. Burrell's social code.
Her anger served Roland's purpose quite as much as her love. After the
third letter she wrote a reply. Then she agreed to meet him; then she
was quite under his influence again, much more so, indeed, than she
had ever been before. In a week or two he got into the habit of
dropping into Priscilla's shop for a pair of gloves, for writing
paper, for the _Daily News_, for a bottle of cologne--in short, there
were plenty of occasions for a visit, and he took them. And as
Priscilla's was near the Black Lion and the only news depot in town,
and as other gentlemen went frequently there also for the supply of
their small wants, no one was surprised at Roland's purchases. His
intercourse with Priscilla was obviously of the most formal character;
she treated him with the same short courtesy she gave to all and
sundry, and Denas was so rarely seen behind the counter that she was
not in any way associated with the customers. This indeed had been the
stipulation on which John had specially insisted.
One morning Roland came hurriedly into the shop. "My sister is
coming here, I am sure, Miss Mohun," he said. "Tell Denas, if you
please, she said she wished to meet her again. Tell her I will
remain here and stand by her." There was no time to deliberate, and
Denas, acting upon the feeling of the moment, came quickly to Roland,
and was talking to him when Mrs. Burrell entered. They remained in
conversation a moment or two, as if loth to part; then Denas
advanced to the customer with an air of courtesy, but also of
perfect ignorance as to her personality.
"Well, Denas?" said the lady.
"What do you wish, madam?"
"I wish to see Miss Priscilla."
Denas touched a bell and returned to Roland, who had appeared to be
unconscious of his sister's presence. Elizabeth glanced at her
brother; then, without waiting for Priscilla, left the shop. The
lovely face of Denas was like a flame. "Thank you, Roland!" she said
with effusion. "You have paid my account in full for me."
"Then, darling, let me come here to-night and say something very
important to us both. Priscilla will give me house-room for an hour, I
know she will. Here she comes. Let me ask her."
Priscilla affected reluctance, but really she was prepared for the
request. She had expected it before and had been uneasy at its delay.
She was beginning to fear Roland's visits might be noticed, might be
talked about, might injure her custom. It pleased her much to
anticipate an end to a risky situation. She managed, without urging
Denas, to make the girl feel that her relations with Roland ought
either to be better understood or else entirely broken off.
So Roland went back to his inn with a promise that made him
light-hearted. "Elizabeth has done me one good turn," he soliloquized.
"Now let me see. I will consider my plea and get all in order. First,
I must persuade Denas to go to London. Second, the question is,
marriage or no marriage? Third, her voice and its cultivation. Fourth,
the hundred pounds in St. Merryn's Bank. Fifth, everything as soon as
can be--to-morrow night if possible. Sixth, my own money from
Tremaine. I should have about four hundred pounds. Heigho! I wish it
was eight o'clock. And what an old cat Priscilla is! I do not think I
shall give her the fifty pounds I promised her. She does not deserve
it--and she never durst ask me for it."