“SORROW THAT’S DEEPER THAN WE DREAM, PERCHANCE.”
Life flowed on its monotonous course, like the Fowey river gliding down
from Lostwithiel to the sea; and there seemed nothing in this world
that could again disturb Martin Disney’s domestic peace. Vansittart
Crowther made no further attempt to avenge himself for the night
attack upon his gates; nor did he demand any apology for the vulgar
abuse which he had suffered in the sanctuary of his own library. This
he endured, and even further outrage, in the shape of the following
letter from Colonel Disney:--
“Sir,
“As you have been pleased to take a certain old-womanish interest
in my domestic affairs, I think it may be as well to satisfy your
curiosity so far as to inform you that when your solicitor travelled
in the same train with my wife, she was returning from a visit to her
married sister’s house, a visit which had my sanction and approval.
I can only regret that her husband’s modest means constrained her to
travel alone, and subjected her to the impertinent attentions of one
cad and to the slanderous aspersions of another.
“I have the honour to be,
“Yours, etc.,
“Martin Disney.”
Mr. Crowther treated this letter with the silent contempt which he told
himself it merited. What could he say to a man so possessed by uxorious
hallucinations, so steeped in the poppy and mandragora of a blind
affection, that reason had lost all power over his mind.
“I spoke plain enough--as plain as I dared,” said Mr. Crowther. “He
may ride the high horse and bluster as much as he likes. I don’t think
he’ll ever feel quite happy again.”
Yet in spite of hints and insinuations from the enemy at his gates,
Martin Disney was happy--utterly happy in the love of his young wife,
and in the growing graces of his infant son. He no longer doubted
Isola’s affection. Her tender regard for him showed itself in every act
of her life; in every look of the watchful face that was always on the
alert to divine his pleasure, to forestall his wishes. Mrs. Baynham
went about everywhere expatiating on the domestic happiness of the
Disney family, to whom she was more than ever devoted, now that she
felt herself in a manner related to them, having been elevated to the
position of godmother to the firstborn--a very different thing to being
godmother to some sixth or seventh link in the family-chain, when all
thought of selection has been abandoned, and the only question mooted
by the parents has been, “What good-natured friend _can_ we ask this
time?”
Captain Hulbert took his yacht to other waters in November, only to
come sailing back again in December, when he finally laid up the
_Vendetta_ in winter quarters, and took up his abode at the Mount,
where he availed himself of his brother’s stud, which had been reduced
to two old hunters and a pair of carriage-horses of mediocre quality.
And so the shortening days drew on towards Christmas; baby’s first
Christmas, as that small person’s adorers remarked--as if it were
a wonderful thing for any young Christian to make a beginning of
life--and all was happiness at the Angler’s Nest. All was happiness
without a cloud, till one morning--Allegra and her brother being alone
in the library, where she sometimes painted at her little table-easel,
while he read--she put down her palette and went over to him, laying
her hand upon his shoulder as he sat in his accustomed place in the
old-fashioned bow-window.
“Martin, I want to speak to you about Isola,” she said, rather
tremulously.
“What about her? Why, she was here this minute,” he exclaimed. “Is
there anything amiss?”
“I do not think she is so strong as she ought to be. You may not
notice, perhaps. A woman is quicker to see these things than a
man--and she and I used to walk and row together--I am able to see the
difference in her since last year. She seems to me to have been going
back in her health for the last month or two, since her wonderful
recovery from her illness. Don’t be anxious, Martin!” she said,
answering his agonized look. “I feel sure there is nothing that a
little care cannot cure; but I want to put you on your guard. I asked
her to let me send for Mr. Baynham, and she refused.”
“Why, he sees her two or three times a week--he is in and out like one
of ourselves.”
“But he doesn’t see her professionally. He comes in hurriedly late in
the evening--or between the lights--to fetch his wife. He is tired, and
we all talk to him, and Isa is bright and lively. He is not likely to
notice the change in her in that casual way.”
“Is there a change?”
“Yes, I am sure there is. Although I see her every day, I am conscious
of the change.”
“Baynham shall talk to her this afternoon.”
“That’s right, Martin--and if I were you I’d have the doctor from
Plymouth again.”
Life had been so full of bliss lately, and yet he had not been afraid.
Yes, it was the old story. “Metuit secundis.” That is what the wise man
does. Fools do otherwise--hug themselves in their short-lived gladness,
and say in their hearts, “There is no death.”
* * * * *
Mr. Baynham came in the afternoon, in answer to a little note from
Martin Disney, and he and Isola were closeted together in the library
for some time, with baby’s nurse in attendance to assist her mistress
in preparing for the ordeal by stethoscope. Happily that little
instrument which thrills us all with the aching pain of fear when we
see it in the doctor’s hand, told no evil tidings of Isola’s lungs or
heart. Thero was nothing organically wrong--but the patient was in a
very weak state.
“You really are uncommonly low,” said Mr. Baynham, looking at her
intently as she stood before him in the wintry sunlight. “I don’t know
what you’ve been doing to yourself to bring yourself down so much since
last summer--after all the trouble I took to build you up, too. I’m
afraid you’ve been worrying yourself about the youngster--a regular
young Hercules. I don’t know whether he’d be up to strangling a pair of
prize pythons; but I’m sure he could strangle you. I shall send you a
tonic; and you’ll have to take a good deal more care of yourself than
you seem to have been taking lately.”
And then he laid down severe rules as to diet, until it seemed to Isola
that he wished her to be eating and drinking all day--new-laid eggs,
cream, old port, beef-tea--all the things which she had loathed in the
dreary days of her long illness.
Mr. Baynham had a serious talk with the colonel after he left Isola,
and it was agreed between them that she should be taken to Plymouth
next day to see the great authority.
“You are giving yourself a great deal too much trouble about me,
Martin,” she said. “There is nothing wrong. I am only a little weak and
tired sometimes.”
Her husband looked at her heart-brokenly. Weak and tired. Yes; there
were all the signs of failing life in those languid movements of
the long, slender limbs, in the transparent pallor of the ethereal
countenance. Decay was lovely in this fair young form; but he felt
that it was decay. There must be something done to stop Misfortune’s
hastening feet.
He questioned his wife, he questioned his own memory, as to when the
change had begun, and on looking back thus thoughtfully it seemed to
him that her spirits and her strength had flagged from the time of
Captain Hulbert’s arrival at Fowey. She had seemed tolerably cheerful
until then, interested in life, ready to participate in any amusement
or occupation of Allegra’s; but from the beginning of their yachting
excursions there had been a change. She had shrunk from any share in
their plans or expeditions. She had gone on board the yacht--on the
two or three occasions when she had been persuaded to go--with obvious
reluctance, and she had been silent and joyless all the time she was
there. Within the last fortnight, when Captain Hulbert had pressed her
to go to luncheon or afternoon tea at the Mount, she had persistently
refused. She had begged her husband to take Allegra, and to excuse her.
“The walk up the hill would tire me,” she said.
“My love, why should we walk? I will drive you there, of course.”
“I really had rather not go. I can’t bear leaving baby so long; and
there is no necessity for me to be with you. Allegra is the person
who is wanted. You must understand that, Martin. You can see how much
Captain Hulbert admires her.”
“And I am to go and play propriety while you do baby-worship at home.
Rather hard upon me.”
This kind of thing had occurred three or four times since the
sailor’s establishment at the Mount, and Colonel Disney had attached
no significance to the matter; but now that he had begun to torture
himself by unending speculations upon the cause of her declining
health, he could but think that Captain Hulbert’s society had been
distasteful to her. It might be that Mr. Crowther’s insulting allusions
to Lord Lostwithiel had made any association with that name painful;
and yet this would seem an overstrained sensitiveness, since her own
innocence of all evil should have made her indifferent to a vulgarian’s
covert sneers.