THE SCHOOL FEAST.
Not on combat bent, nor of foemen in search, was this priest-led and
woman-officered company; yet their music played martial tunes, and, to
judge by the eyes and carriage of some--Miss Keeldar, for
instance--these sounds awoke, if not a martial, yet a longing spirit.
Old Helstone, turning by chance, looked into her face; and he laughed,
and she laughed at him.
"There is no battle in prospect," he said; "our country does not want us
to fight for it. No foe or tyrant is questioning or threatening our
liberty. There is nothing to be done. We are only taking a walk. Keep
your hand on the reins, captain, and slack the fire of that spirit. It
is not wanted, the more's the pity."
"Take your own advice, doctor," was Shirley's response. To Caroline she
murmured, "I'll borrow of imagination what reality will not give me. We
are not soldiers--bloodshed is not my desire--or if we are, we are
soldiers of the Cross. Time has rolled back some hundreds of years, and
we are bound on a pilgrimage to Palestine. But no; that is too
visionary. I need a sterner dream. We are Lowlanders of Scotland,
following a Covenanting captain up into the hills to hold a meeting out
of the reach of persecuting troopers. We know that battle may follow
prayer; and as we believe that in the worst issue of battle heaven must
be our reward, we are ready and willing to redden the peat-moss with our
blood. That music stirs my soul; it wakens all my life; it makes my
heart beat--not with its temperate daily pulse, but with a new,
thrilling vigour. I almost long for danger--for a faith, a land, or at
least a lover to defend."
"Look, Shirley!" interrupted Caroline. "What is that red speck above
Stilbro' Brow? You have keener sight than I. Just turn your eagle eye to
it."
Miss Keeldar looked. "I see," she said; then added presently, "there is
a line of red. They are soldiers--cavalry soldiers," she subjoined
quickly. "They ride fast. There are six of them. They will pass us. No;
they have turned off to the right. They saw our procession, and avoid it
by making a circuit. Where are they going?"
"Perhaps they are only exercising their horses."
"Perhaps so. We see them no more now."
Mr. Helstone here spoke.
"We shall pass through Royd Lane, to reach Nunnely Common by a short
cut," said he.
And into the straits of Royd Lane they accordingly defiled. It was very
narrow--so narrow that only two could walk abreast without falling into
the ditch which ran along each side. They had gained the middle of it,
when excitement became obvious in the clerical commanders. Boultby's
spectacles and Helstone's Rehoboam were agitated; the curates nudged
each other; Mr. Hall turned to the ladies and smiled.
"What is the matter?" was the demand.
He pointed with his staff to the end of the lane before them. Lo and
behold! another, an opposition, procession was there entering, headed
also by men in black, and followed also, as they could now hear, by
music.
"Is it our double?" asked Shirley, "our manifold wraith? Here is a card
turned up."
"If you wanted a battle, you are likely to get one--at least of looks,"
whispered Caroline, laughing.
"They shall not pass us!" cried the curates unanimously; "we'll not give
way!"
"Give way!" retorted Helstone sternly, turning round; "who talks of
giving way? You, boys, mind what you are about. The ladies, I know, will
be firm. I can trust them. There is not a churchwoman here but will
stand her ground against these folks, for the honour of the
Establishment.--What does Miss Keeldar say?"
"She asks what is it."
"The Dissenting and Methodist schools, the Baptists, Independents, and
Wesleyans, joined in unholy alliance, and turning purposely into this
lane with the intention of obstructing our march and driving us back."
"Bad manners!" said Shirley, "and I hate bad manners. Of course, they
must have a lesson."
"A lesson in politeness," suggested Mr. Hall, who was ever for peace;
"not an example of rudeness."
Old Helstone moved on. Quickening his step, he marched some yards in
advance of his company. He had nearly reached the other sable leaders,
when he who appeared to act as the hostile commander-in-chief--a large,
greasy man, with black hair combed flat on his forehead--called a halt.
The procession paused. He drew forth a hymn book, gave out a verse, set
a tune, and they all struck up the most dolorous of canticles.
Helstone signed to his bands. They clashed out with all the power of
brass. He desired them to play "Rule, Britannia!" and ordered the
children to join in vocally, which they did with enthusiastic spirit.
The enemy was sung and stormed down, his psalm quelled. As far as noise
went, he was conquered.
"Now, follow me!" exclaimed Helstone; "not at a run, but at a firm,
smart pace. Be steady, every child and woman of you. Keep together. Hold
on by each other's skirts, if necessary."
And he strode on with such a determined and deliberate gait, and was,
besides, so well seconded by his scholars and teachers, who did exactly
as he told them, neither running nor faltering, but marching with cool,
solid impetus--the curates, too, being compelled to do the same, as they
were between two fires, Helstone and Miss Keeldar, both of whom watched
any deviation with lynx-eyed vigilance, and were ready, the one with his
cane, the other with her parasol, to rebuke the slightest breach of
orders, the least independent or irregular demonstration--that the body
of Dissenters were first amazed, then alarmed, then borne down and
pressed back, and at last forced to turn tail and leave the outlet from
Royd Lane free. Boultby suffered in the onslaught, but Helstone and
Malone, between them, held him up, and brought him through the business,
whole in limb, though sorely tried in wind.
The fat Dissenter who had given out the hymn was left sitting in the
ditch. He was a spirit merchant by trade, a leader of the
Nonconformists, and, it was said, drank more water in that one afternoon
than he had swallowed for a twelvemonth before. Mr. Hall had taken care
of Caroline, and Caroline of him. He and Miss Ainley made their own
quiet comments to each other afterwards on the incident. Miss Keeldar
and Mr. Helstone shook hands heartily when they had fairly got the whole
party through the lane. The curates began to exult, but Mr. Helstone
presently put the curb on their innocent spirits. He remarked that they
never had sense to know what to say, and had better hold their tongues;
and he reminded them that the business was none of their managing.
About half-past three the procession turned back, and at four once more
regained the starting-place. Long lines of benches were arranged in the
close-shorn fields round the school. There the children were seated, and
huge baskets, covered up with white cloths, and great smoking tin
vessels were brought out. Ere the distribution of good things commenced,
a brief grace was pronounced by Mr. Hall and sung by the children. Their
young voices sounded melodious, even touching, in the open air. Large
currant buns and hot, well-sweetened tea were then administered in the
proper spirit of liberality. No stinting was permitted on this day, at
least; the rule for each child's allowance being that it was to have
about twice as much as it could possibly eat, thus leaving a reserve to
be carried home for such as age, sickness, or other impediment prevented
from coming to the feast. Buns and beer circulated, meantime, amongst
the musicians and church-singers; afterwards the benches were removed,
and they were left to unbend their spirits in licensed play.
A bell summoned the teachers, patrons, and patronesses to the
schoolroom. Miss Keeldar, Miss Helstone, and many other ladies were
already there, glancing over the arrangement of their separate trays and
tables. Most of the female servants of the neighbourhood, together with
the clerks', the singers', and the musicians' wives, had been pressed
into the service of the day as waiters. Each vied with the other in
smartness and daintiness of dress, and many handsome forms were seen
amongst the younger ones. About half a score were cutting bread and
butter, another half-score supplying hot water, brought from the coppers
of the rector's kitchen. The profusion of flowers and evergreens
decorating the white walls, the show of silver teapots and bright
porcelain on the tables, the active figures, blithe faces, gay dresses
flitting about everywhere, formed altogether a refreshing and lively
spectacle. Everybody talked, not very loudly, but merrily, and the
canary birds sang shrill in their high-hung cages.
Caroline, as the rector's niece, took her place at one of the three
first tables; Mrs. Boultby and Margaret Hall officiated at the others.
At these tables the _élite_ of the company were to be entertained,
strict rules of equality not being more in fashion at Briarfield than
elsewhere. Miss Helstone removed her bonnet and scarf, that she might be
less oppressed with the heat. Her long curls, falling on her neck,
served almost in place of a veil; and for the rest, her muslin dress was
fashioned modestly as a nun's robe, enabling her thus to dispense with
the encumbrance of a shawl.
The room was filling. Mr. Hall had taken his post beside Caroline, who
now, as she rearranged the cups and spoons before her, whispered to him
in a low voice remarks on the events of the day. He looked a little
grave about what had taken place in Royd Lane, and she tried to smile
him out of his seriousness. Miss Keeldar sat near--for a wonder, neither
laughing nor talking; on the contrary, very still, and gazing round her
vigilantly. She seemed afraid lest some intruder should take a seat she
apparently wished to reserve next her own. Ever and anon she spread her
satin dress over an undue portion of the bench, or laid her gloves or
her embroidered handkerchief upon it. Caroline noticed this _manège_ at
last, and asked her what friend she expected. Shirley bent towards her,
almost touched her ear with her rosy lips, and whispered with a musical
softness that often characterized her tones when what she said tended
even remotely to stir some sweet secret source of feeling in her heart,
"I expect Mr. Moore. I saw him last night, and I made him promise to
come with his sister, and to sit at our table. He won't fail me, I feel
certain; but I apprehend his coming too late, and being separated from
us. Here is a fresh batch arriving; every place will be taken.
Provoking!"
In fact, Mr. Wynne the magistrate, his wife, his son, and his two
daughters now entered in high state. They were Briarfield gentry. Of
course their place was at the first table, and being conducted thither,
they filled up the whole remaining space. For Miss Keeldar's comfort,
Mr. Sam Wynne inducted himself into the very vacancy she had kept for
Moore, planting himself solidly on her gown, her gloves, and her
handkerchief. Mr. Sam was one of the objects of her aversion, and the
more so because he showed serious symptoms of an aim at her hand. The
old gentleman, too, had publicly declared that the Fieldhead estate and
the De Walden estate were delightfully _contagious_--a malapropism which
rumour had not failed to repeat to Shirley.
Caroline's ears yet rung with that thrilling whisper, "I expect Mr.
Moore," her heart yet beat and her cheek yet glowed with it, when a note
from the organ pealed above the confused hum of the place. Dr. Boultby,
Mr. Helstone, and Mr. Hall rose, so did all present, and grace was sung
to the accompaniment of the music; and then tea began. She was kept too
busy with her office for a while to have leisure for looking round, but
the last cup being filled, she threw a restless glance over the room.
There were some ladies and several gentlemen standing about yet
unaccommodated with seats. Amidst a group she recognized her spinster
friend, Miss Mann, whom the fine weather had tempted, or some urgent
friend had persuaded, to leave her drear solitude for one hour of social
enjoyment. Miss Mann looked tired of standing; a lady in a yellow bonnet
brought her a chair. Caroline knew well that _chapeau en satin jaune_;
she knew the black hair, and the kindly though rather opinionated and
froward-looking face under it; she knew that _robe de soie noire_, she
knew even that _schall gris de lin_; she knew, in short, Hortense Moore,
and she wanted to jump up and run to her and kiss her--to give her one
embrace for her own sake and two for her brother's. She half rose,
indeed, with a smothered exclamation, and perhaps--for the impulse was
very strong--she would have run across the room and actually saluted
her; but a hand replaced her in her seat, and a voice behind her
whispered, "Wait till after tea, Lina, and then I'll bring her to you."
And when she _could_ look up she did, and there was Robert himself close
behind, smiling at her eagerness, looking better than she had ever seen
him look--looking, indeed, to her partial eyes, so very handsome that
she dared not trust herself to hazard a second glance; for his image
struck on her vision with painful brightness, and pictured itself on her
memory as vividly as if there daguerreotyped by a pencil of keen
lightning.
He moved on, and spoke to Miss Keeldar. Shirley, irritated by some
unwelcome attentions from Sam Wynne, and by the fact of that gentleman
being still seated on her gloves and handkerchief--and probably, also,
by Moore's want of punctuality--was by no means in good humour. She
first shrugged her shoulders at him, and then she said a bitter word or
two about his "insupportable tardiness." Moore neither apologized nor
retorted. He stood near her quietly, as if waiting to see whether she
would recover her temper; which she did in little more than three
minutes, indicating the change by offering him her hand. Moore took it
with a smile, half-corrective, half-grateful. The slightest possible
shake of the head delicately marked the former quality; it is probable a
gentle pressure indicated the latter.
"You may sit where you can now, Mr. Moore," said Shirley, also smiling.
"You see there is not an inch of room for you here; but I discern plenty
of space at Mrs. Boultby's table, between Miss Armitage and Miss
Birtwhistle. Go! John Sykes will be your _vis-à-vis_, and you will sit
with your back towards us."
Moore, however, preferred lingering about where he was. He now and then
took a turn down the long room, pausing in his walk to interchange
greetings with other gentlemen in his own placeless predicament; but
still he came back to the magnet, Shirley, bringing with him, each time
he returned, observations it was necessary to whisper in her ear.
Meantime poor Sam Wynne looked far from comfortable. His fair neighbour,
judging from her movements, appeared in a mood the most unquiet and
unaccommodating. She would not sit still two seconds. She was hot; she
fanned herself; complained of want of air and space. She remarked that,
in her opinion, when people had finished their tea they ought to leave
the tables, and announced distinctly that she expected to faint if the
present state of things continued. Mr. Sam offered to accompany her into
the open air; just the way to give her her death of cold, she alleged.
In short, his post became untenable; and having swallowed his quantum of
tea, he judged it expedient to evacuate.
Moore should have been at hand, whereas he was quite at the other
extremity of the room, deep in conference with Christopher Sykes. A
large corn-factor, Timothy Ramsden, Esq., happened to be nearer; and
feeling himself tired of standing, he advanced to fill the vacant seat.
Shirley's expedients did not fail her. A sweep of her scarf upset her
teacup: its contents were shared between the bench and her own satin
dress. Of course, it became necessary to call a waiter to remedy the
mischief. Mr. Ramsden, a stout, puffy gentleman, as large in person as
he was in property, held aloof from the consequent commotion. Shirley,
usually almost culpably indifferent to slight accidents affecting dress,
etc., now made a commotion that might have become the most delicate and
nervous of her sex. Mr. Ramsden opened his mouth, withdrew slowly, and,
as Miss Keeldar again intimated her intention to "give way" and swoon on
the spot, he turned on his heel, and beat a heavy retreat.
Moore at last returned. Calmly surveying the bustle, and somewhat
quizzically scanning Shirley's enigmatical-looking countenance, he
remarked that in truth this was the hottest end of the room, that he
found a climate there calculated to agree with none but cool
temperaments like his own; and putting the waiters, the napkins, the
satin robe--the whole turmoil, in short--to one side, he installed
himself where destiny evidently decreed he should sit. Shirley subsided;
her features altered their lines; the raised knit brow and inexplicable
curve of the mouth became straight again; wilfulness and roguery gave
place to other expressions; and all the angular movements with which she
had vexed the soul of Sam Wynne were conjured to rest as by a charm.
Still no gracious glance was cast on Moore. On the contrary, he was
accused of giving her a world of trouble, and roundly charged with being
the cause of depriving her of the esteem of Mr. Ramsden and the
invaluable friendship of Mr. Samuel Wynne.
"Wouldn't have offended either gentleman for the world," she averred. "I
have always been accustomed to treat both with the most respectful
consideration, and there, owing to you, how they have been used! I shall
not be happy till I have made it up. I never am happy till I am friends
with my neighbours. So to-morrow I must make a pilgrimage to Royd
corn-mill, soothe the miller, and praise the grain; and next day I must
call at De Walden--where I hate to go--and carry in my reticule half an
oatcake to give to Mr. Sam's favourite pointers."
"You know the surest path to the heart of each swain, I doubt not," said
Moore quietly. He looked very content to have at last secured his
present place; but he made no fine speech expressive of gratification,
and offered no apology for the trouble he had given. His phlegm became
him wonderfully. It made him look handsomer, he was so composed; it made
his vicinage pleasant, it was so peace-restoring. You would not have
thought, to look at him, that he was a poor, struggling man seated
beside a rich woman; the calm of equality stilled his aspect; perhaps
that calm, too, reigned in his soul. Now and then, from the way in which
he looked down on Miss Keeldar as he addressed her, you would have
fancied his station towered above hers as much as his stature did.
Almost stern lights sometimes crossed his brow and gleamed in his eyes.
Their conversation had become animated, though it was confined to a low
key; she was urging him with questions--evidently he refused to her
curiosity all the gratification it demanded. She sought his eye once
with hers. You read, in its soft yet eager expression, that it solicited
clearer replies. Moore smiled pleasantly, but his lips continued sealed.
Then she was piqued, and turned away; but he recalled her attention in
two minutes. He seemed making promises, which he soothed her into
accepting in lieu of information.
It appeared that the heat of the room did not suit Miss Helstone. She
grew paler and paler as the process of tea-making was protracted. The
moment thanks were returned she quitted the table, and hastened to
follow her cousin Hortense, who, with Miss Mann, had already sought the
open air. Robert Moore had risen when she did--perhaps he meant to speak
to her; but there was yet a parting word to exchange with Miss Keeldar,
and while it was being uttered Caroline had vanished.
Hortense received her former pupil with a demeanour of more dignity than
warmth. She had been seriously offended by Mr. Helstone's proceedings,
and had all along considered Caroline to blame in obeying her uncle too
literally.
"You are a very great stranger," she said austerely, as her pupil held
and pressed her hand. The pupil knew her too well to remonstrate or
complain of coldness. She let the punctilious whim pass, sure that her
natural _bonté_ (I use this French word because it expresses just what I
mean--neither goodness nor good-nature, but something between the two)
would presently get the upper hand. It did. Hortense had no sooner
examined her face well, and observed the change its somewhat wasted
features betrayed, than her mien softened. Kissing her on both cheeks,
she asked anxiously after her health. Caroline answered gaily. It would,
however, have been her lot to undergo a long cross-examination, followed
by an endless lecture on this head, had not Miss Mann called off the
attention of the questioner by requesting to be conducted home. The poor
invalid was already fatigued. Her weariness made her cross--too cross
almost to speak to Caroline; and besides, that young person's white
dress and lively look were displeasing in the eyes of Miss Mann. The
everyday garb of brown stuff or gray gingham, and the everyday air of
melancholy, suited the solitary spinster better; she would hardly know
her young friend to-night, and quitted her with a cool nod. Hortense
having promised to accompany her home, they departed together.
Caroline now looked round for Shirley. She saw the rainbow scarf and
purple dress in the centre of a throng of ladies, all well known to
herself, but all of the order whom she systematically avoided whenever
avoidance was possible. Shyer at some moments than at others, she felt
just now no courage at all to join this company. She could not, however,
stand alone where all others went in pairs or parties; so she approached
a group of her own scholars, great girls, or rather young women, who
were standing watching some hundreds of the younger children playing at
blind-man's buff.
Miss Helstone knew these girls liked her, yet she was shy even with them
out of school. They were not more in awe of her than she of them. She
drew near them now, rather to find protection in their company than to
patronize them with her presence. By some instinct they knew her
weakness, and with natural politeness they respected it. Her knowledge
commanded their esteem when she taught them; her gentleness attracted
their regard; and because she was what they considered wise and good
when _on_ duty, they kindly overlooked her evident timidity when off.
They did not take advantage of it. Peasant girls as they were, they had
too much of our own English sensibility to be guilty of the coarse
error. They stood round her still, civil, friendly, receiving her slight
smiles and rather hurried efforts to converse with a good feeling and
good breeding--the last quality being the result of the first--which
soon set her at her ease.
Mr. Sam Wynne coming up with great haste, to insist on the elder girls
joining in the game as well as the younger ones, Caroline was again left
alone. She was meditating a quiet retreat to the house, when Shirley,
perceiving from afar her isolation, hastened to her side.
"Let us go to the top of the fields," she said. "I know you don't like
crowds, Caroline."
"But it will be depriving you of a pleasure, Shirley, to take you from
all these fine people, who court your society so assiduously, and to
whom you can, without art or effort, make yourself so pleasant."
"Not quite without effort; I am already tired of the exertion. It is but
insipid, barren work, talking and laughing with the good gentlefolks of
Briarfield. I have been looking out for your white dress for the last
ten minutes. I like to watch those I love in a crowd, and to compare
them with others. I have thus compared you. You resemble none of the
rest, Lina. There are some prettier faces than yours here. You are not a
model beauty like Harriet Sykes, for instance--beside her your person
appears almost insignificant--but you look agreeable, you look
reflective, you look what I call interesting."
"Hush, Shirley! you flatter me."
"I don't wonder that your scholars like you."
"Nonsense, Shirley! Talk of something else."
"We will talk of Moore, then, and we will watch him. I see him even
now."
"Where?" And as Caroline asked the question she looked not over the
fields, but into Miss Keeldar's eyes, as was her wont whenever Shirley
mentioned any object she descried afar. Her friend had quicker vision
than herself, and Caroline seemed to think that the secret of her eagle
acuteness might be read in her dark gray irides, or rather, perhaps, she
only sought guidance by the direction of those discriminating and
brilliant spheres.
"There is Moore," said Shirley, pointing right across the wide field
where a thousand children were playing, and now nearly a thousand adult
spectators walking about. "There--can you miss the tall stature and
straight port? He looks amidst the set that surround him like Eliab
amongst humbler shepherds--like Saul in a war-council; and a war-council
it is, if I am not mistaken."
"Why so, Shirley?" asked Caroline, whose eye had at last caught the
object it sought. "Robert is just now speaking to my uncle, and they are
shaking hands. They are then reconciled."
"Reconciled not without good reason, depend on it--making common cause
against some common foe. And why, think you, are Messrs. Wynne and
Sykes, and Armitage and Ramsden, gathered in such a close circle round
them? And why is Malone beckoned to join them? Where _he_ is summoned,
be sure a strong arm is needed."
Shirley, as she watched, grew restless; her eyes flashed.
"They won't trust me," she said. "That is always the way when it comes
to the point."
"What about?"
"Cannot you feel? There is some mystery afloat; some event is expected;
some preparation is to be made, I am certain. I saw it all in Mr.
Moore's manner this evening. He was excited, yet hard."
"Hard to _you_, Shirley?"
"Yes, to _me_. He often is hard to me. We seldom converse _tête-à-tête_
but I am made to feel that the basis of his character is not of eider
down."
"Yet he seemed to talk to you softly."
"Did he not? Very gentle tones and quiet manner. Yet the man is
peremptory and secret: his secrecy vexes me."
"Yes, Robert is secret."
"Which he has scarcely a right to be with me, especially as he commenced
by giving me his confidence. Having done nothing to forfeit that
confidence, it ought not to be withdrawn; but I suppose I am not
considered iron-souled enough to be trusted in a crisis."
"He fears, probably, to occasion you uneasiness."
"An unnecessary precaution. I am of elastic materials, not soon crushed.
He ought to know that. But the man is proud. He has his faults, say what
you will, Lina. Observe how engaged that group appear. They do not know
we are watching them."
"If we keep on the alert, Shirley, we shall perhaps find the clue to
their secret."
"There will be some unusual movements ere long--perhaps to-morrow,
possibly to-night. But my eyes and ears are wide open. Mr. Moore, you
shall be under surveillance. Be you vigilant also, Lina."
"I will. Robert is going; I saw him turn. I believe he noticed us. They
are shaking hands."
"Shaking hands, with emphasis," added Shirley, "as if they were
ratifying some solemn league and covenant."
They saw Robert quit the group, pass through a gate, and disappear.
"And he has not bid us good-bye," murmured Caroline.
Scarcely had the words escaped her lips when she tried by a smile to
deny the confession of disappointment they seemed to imply. An unbidden
suffusion for one moment both softened and brightened her eyes.
"Oh, that is soon remedied!" exclaimed Shirley: "we'll _make_ him bid us
good-bye."
"_Make_ him! That is not the same thing," was the answer.
"It _shall_ be the same thing."
"But he is gone; you can't overtake him."
"I know a shorter way than that he has taken. We will intercept him."
"But, Shirley, I would rather not go."
Caroline said this as Miss Keeldar seized her arm and hurried her down
the fields. It was vain to contend. Nothing was so wilful as Shirley
when she took a whim into her head. Caroline found herself out of sight
of the crowd almost before she was aware, and ushered into a narrow
shady spot, embowered above with hawthorns, and enamelled under foot
with daisies. She took no notice of the evening sun chequering the turf,
nor was she sensible of the pure incense exhaling at this hour from tree
and plant; she only heard the wicket opening at one end, and knew Robert
was approaching. The long sprays of the hawthorns, shooting out before
them, served as a screen. They saw him before he observed them. At a
glance Caroline perceived that his social hilarity was gone; he had left
it behind him in the joy-echoing fields round the school. What remained
now was his dark, quiet, business countenance. As Shirley had said, a
certain hardness characterized his air, while his eye was excited, but
austere. So much the worse timed was the present freak of Shirley's. If
he had looked disposed for holiday mirth, it would not have mattered
much; but now----
"I told you not to come," said Caroline, somewhat bitterly, to her
friend. She seemed truly perturbed. To be intruded on Robert thus,
against her will and his expectation, and when he evidently would rather
not be delayed, keenly annoyed her. It did not annoy Miss Keeldar in the
least. She stepped forward and faced her tenant, barring his way. "You
omitted to bid us good-bye," she said.
"Omitted to bid you good-bye! Where did you come from? Are you fairies?
I left two like you, one in purple and one in white, standing at the top
of a bank, four fields off, but a minute ago."
"You left us there and find us here. We have been watching you, and
shall watch you still. You must be questioned one day, but not now. At
present all you have to do is to say good-night, and then pass."
Moore glanced from one to the other without unbending his aspect. "Days
of fête have their privileges, and so have days of hazard," observed he
gravely.
"Come, don't moralize. Say good-night, and pass," urged Shirley.
"Must I say good-night to you, Miss Keeldar?"
"Yes, and to Caroline likewise. It is nothing new, I hope. You have bid
us both good-night before."
He took her hand, held it in one of his, and covered it with the other.
He looked down at her gravely, kindly, yet commandingly. The heiress
could not make this man her subject. In his gaze on her bright face
there was no servility, hardly homage; but there were interest and
affection, heightened by another feeling. Something in his tone when he
spoke, as well as in his words, marked that last sentiment to be
gratitude.
"Your debtor bids you good-night! May you rest safely and serenely till
morning."
"And you, Mr. Moore--what are you going to do? What have you been saying
to Mr. Helstone, with whom I saw you shake hands? Why did all those
gentlemen gather round you? Put away reserve for once. Be frank with
me."
"Who can resist you? I will be frank. To-morrow, if there is anything to
relate, you shall hear it."
"Just now," pleaded Shirley; "don't procrastinate."
"But I could only tell half a tale. And my time is limited; I have not a
moment to spare. Hereafter I will make amends for delay by candour."
"But are you going home?"
"Yes."
"Not to leave it any more to-night?"
"Certainly not. At present, farewell to both of you."
He would have taken Caroline's hand and joined it in the same clasp in
which he held Shirley's, but somehow it was not ready for him. She had
withdrawn a few steps apart. Her answer to Moore's adieu was only a
slight bend of the head and a gentle, serious smile. He sought no more
cordial token. Again he said "Farewell," and quitted them both.
"There! it is over," said Shirley when he was gone. "We have made him
bid us good-night, and yet not lost ground in his esteem, I think,
Cary."
"I hope not," was the brief reply.
"I consider you very timid and undemonstrative," remarked Miss Keeldar.
"Why did you not give Moore your hand when he offered you his? He is
your cousin; you like him. Are you ashamed to let him perceive your
affection?"
"He perceives all of it that interests him. No need to make a display of
feeling."
"You are laconic; you would be stoical if you could. Is love, in your
eyes, a crime, Caroline?"
"Love a crime! No, Shirley; love is a divine virtue. But why drag that
word into the conversation? It is singularly irrelevant."
"Good!" pronounced Shirley.
The two girls paced the green lane in silence. Caroline first resumed.
"Obtrusiveness is a crime, forwardness is a crime, and both disgust; but
love! no purest angel need blush to love. And when I see or hear either
man or woman couple shame with love, I know their minds are coarse,
their associations debased. Many who think themselves refined ladies and
gentlemen, and on whose lips the word 'vulgarity' is for ever hovering,
cannot mention 'love' without betraying their own innate and imbecile
degradation. It is a low feeling in their estimation, connected only
with low ideas for them."
"You describe three-fourths of the world, Caroline."
"They are cold--they are cowardly--they are stupid on the subject,
Shirley! They never loved--they never were loved!"
"Thou art right, Lina. And in their dense ignorance they blaspheme
living fire, seraph-brought from a divine altar."
"They confound it with sparks mounting from Tophet."
The sudden and joyous clash of bells here stopped the dialogue by
summoning all to the church.