She is a child in years,
And though in wit a woman, yet her heart
Untempered by the discipline of pain
Is fancy led.
TAYLOR.
Margaret felt terribly shy as the carriage stopped at the Gages' door.
Not all the beautiful basket-work of her elaborate plaits of hair; not
even the long coveted black velvet which set off to so much advantage
her snowy neck and shoulders; not the pearly delicacy of her white and
silver gloves could reconcile her to the distress of entering the
drawing-room alone. She was tremblingly alive to everything; to the
stately appearance of the hall with its marble columns, and the
beautiful exotic creepers trained round them; the powerful scent of the
choice hot-house plants; the pompous manner of the servants, who took
her cloak from her; and when the drawing-room door was thrown open, she
did not see distinctly anything within, so overpowering was her shyness.
But Miss Gage met her almost on the threshold, took both her hands in
hers, and welcomed her so kindly and yet so calmly, that she felt quite
happy.
Captain Gage came forward, shook hands frankly with Margaret, and asked
after Mr. Grey's health; and then Miss Gage turned round and presented
her brother to Margaret. She saw then for the first time that he had
been standing on the hearth-rug beside his father. Indeed, it would not
have been particularly easy to have long overlooked him. All the Gages
were on a large scale, and Hubert Gage was as like his father and sister
as it was possible to be, except that his blue eyes had more of mischief
than Elizabeth's, and it may be said, rather less intelligence. Like
her, he had light brown hair of that silken texture which is stirred
with every breath of wind, straight features, and a fine upright
carriage which joined to his unusual height would have given an air of
great dignity to his deportment, but that his manner partook of that
restless enjoyment, and that careless frankness which is still not
uncommon among men of his fine profession. Directly Margaret was named
to him, he shook hands with her as if he took it for granted she was
somebody he ought to recollect very well, and sat down beside her.
"I am very sorry to hear that Mr. Grey has become such an invalid," he
said, "when I was last at home he did not shut himself up in this way."
"I did not know my uncle till lately," said Margaret, "but I understood
he was always in delicate health."
"So he was," remarked Miss Gage, "but as Hubert had the full range of
his orchards, and preserves, and sometimes met his kind old friend
walking on the terrace, he never had an idea that there could be
anything the matter with him."
"A pretty couple you were to be turned loose upon an invalid," said
Captain Gage, "you and Claude Haveloc."
"I am sure we always behaved admirably," said Hubert, "all the old women
in the parish used to hold us up as a pattern to every mischievous
urchin who plagued them. Did they not, Bessy?"
"I never heard it before," said Elizabeth, laughing.
"I allow we got into a scrape with the poachers," said Hubert; "poor Mr.
Grey was really frightened then."
"You came home on a pair of shutters. Did not you?" asked Captain Gage.
"Not so bad as that," replied Hubert; "but Haveloc had his arm broken.
You know Bessy, how I used to teaze him about it. I always declared that
one of the poachers struck at him with a broomstick."
"And did they?" asked Margaret, with wide opened eyes.
"No. It was the stock of a gun, I believe," said Hubert Gage, looking at
her with much complacency: "but if you had ever seen Claude Haveloc you
could imagine how little he would enjoy such an undignified
catastrophe."
"And poor Mr. Grey gave up game-keepers ever after," said Elizabeth,
"and entirely neglected his fine preserves. He was so shocked at the
danger two silly boys had brought upon themselves."
"And Claude got a shot in the shoulder in that adventure with the
bandits," said Hubert; "some people have the luck of it."
"Your father to wit," said Captain Gage.
Margaret noticed the proud admiring glance that Hubert Gage threw on his
father as he spoke; but at that moment dinner was announced. Captain
Gage came up to her and offered his arm; Hubert Gage whispered something
in her ear about his father cutting him out, which did not lessen the
tints on her cheek, and then fell back and led his sister from the room.
At dinner, Margaret sat with perfect tranquillity listening to the
conversation, and replying quietly to everything said to her. Hubert was
exactly opposite to her, and though she seldom lifted her eyes to him,
she felt that he was looking at her much more constantly than he ought.
She was a rapid observer of character, a faculty common to shy people;
for the very sensitiveness which occasions that feeling, quickens their
perception of the qualities of others. She detected that Hubert Gage,
with a great deal of candour and good-nature, had but little
enthusiasm--his father had tenfold more ardour in his composition, even
at his age. He was anxious that no one should be able to discover that
he was a sailor by his language or appearance; took the greatest pains
that his dress should not betray the secret; never used a technical
term; affected not to know which way the wind was; and prided himself
with some reason upon his horsemanship; and this not because he had the
least dislike to his profession, but from an idea that it was vulgar to
display any traces of it.
Elizabeth was talking to Margaret about some book she was reading, when
she caught something her brother was saying to her father, and paused to
listen.
"What did you say, Hubert, about Sir Philip?" she asked.
"That he is to undertake this survey," he replied; "he has scarcely
returned before he will go out again. Before I landed, he was on his
road to London for his instructions, and he will be off I dare say in a
few days. Just the thing for him, Bessy."
"Very unwise in his state of health," said Captain Gage.
"Oh, Sir! pray let him kill himself his own way," said Hubert, laughing;
"he enjoys it amazingly."
"I wonder at you, Hubert," said Miss Gage, "such an honour as you ought
to feel it to have sailed under such a Captain."
"It is an honour I am very willing to resign," said her brother,
laughing still more, "we were always on the best of terms, but I don't
much like him."
Elizabeth regarded her brother in speechless amazement. Had he said he
did not like King William IV., she would hardly have thought the remark
more treasonable. Sir Philip d'Eyncourt, whose ship was a model ship,
whose scientific knowledge was quoted as infallible; who had been her
father's favourite officer; who had seen real service; who had been
shipwrecked in a romantic manner, on a romantic island; who was going
out to make a survey, when he ought to have come home for his health;
who pursued his profession after he had succeeded to a baronetcy, and a
large estate; who knew how to manage his crew, a very different thing
from commanding them. However, as she was struck quite dumb, she was
unable to inquire of her brother whether he was in the enjoyment of his
right senses.
"Oh, look at Bessy!" exclaimed Hubert, "I forgot that Sir Philip was her
hero."
"Never mind, Bessy," said her father; "I like Sir Philip, let that
content you."
Miss Gage smiled her approval of this sentiment; and nothing further
occurred until she left the table with Margaret.
"I must do the honours of my own sitting-room to you," said Miss Gage,
as she ushered Margaret into a room plainly furnished; but adorned with
abundant book-shelves, and a few pictures and busts. There was a round
table of green marble between the windows, on which stood a small bust
of Lord Nelson in white composition under a glass. Two masterly water
colour sketches of Captain Gage, and of Hubert, her favourite brother,
hung over the mantelpiece. She showed these to Margaret with a calm
pride in her eye and voice, that pretty plainly discovered the
estimation in which she held them. If she had a weakness, it was her
ardent admiration of the navy. If she could have been brought to
confession, I believe she would have owned that she thought it a
contemptible waste of time in any man to adopt another profession, if he
could by any means go on board a ship. She adored her father, not only
with the affection which so delightfully attaches parent and child; but
with a boundless admiration, a devoted pride, that made her seriously
consider him unequalled in character both private and professional. She
told Margaret of the engagement in which her father had lost his arm:--a
desperate encounter with a French ship shortly before the close of the
war.
"They tell me," she said, "that his arm might have been saved, if he
would have consented to leave the deck in time; but he knew his presence
was needful, and he remained until the Frenchman struck. My
father--there was always an accent on the word--would fight his ship as
long as he had a stick standing, and then blow it up, rather than
strike his colours. I am glad he lost his arm!"
Margaret shuddered, and looked with wonder at Elizabeth, who stood with
her bright eye kindled as if she were quite equal to perform the actions
she applauded. Yet there was nothing masculine or ungraceful in her
emotion. The phrases she used were those she had alone heard employed
from her childhood to describe certain transactions, and she would have
found it difficult to allude to them in other terms.
"But I must show you my other brothers," said Miss Gage, "or you will
call me an unnatural sister."
She opened two miniature cases which lay on the table.
These were the "troopers" Mr. Casement had mentioned. George Gage stared
arrogantly out of the ivory over an immense pair of very light
moustaches, and Everard stood looking so exceedingly languid, that he
threatened to drop into the background altogether. Miss Gage clasped
them up, rather carelessly, as Margaret thought, and then held a taper
to the bust of Nelson. "That is my hero, of course," she said, "that,
and the gallant King Christian IV.; here is a small oil painting of his
Danish Majesty. Have you read Carlyle on 'Hero Worship?'"
"No," Margaret said, "she feared she had read very little. It was so
difficult to find books, or time to pursue any study at school but those
assigned to you."
"I do believe," said Miss Gage, "that you are wise enough to begin your
education just where everybody ought to begin it; as soon as other
people have done teaching you."
"I have need to begin it," said Margaret looking round on the
book-shelves. "How much you know! Here are books in--how many
languages?"
"Oh!" said Miss Gage smiling, "I should never measure a person's
knowledge by the languages, or the accomplishments they happen to have
learned."
Margaret looked inquiringly at her, but had not courage to ask for an
explanation of so strange a remark. She knew that at school a girl who
learned German was thought more highly of than one who only learned
French, and one who played the guitar took precedence of the young lady
who only paid for lessons on the piano.
"I mean," said Miss Gage, "that the education which is of most value to
us through life, is that which teaches us to think and act with judgment
and integrity, which is quite independent of the knowledge of Spanish
and German, or of any accomplishment, however pleasing."
This was a new idea to Margaret, but before she could make any
observation upon it, a servant came to let them know that coffee was
ready, and they went immediately to the drawing-room.
After tea, Hubert Gage asked his sister for some music.
"Will you have the harp?" said Miss Gage ringing the bell, "I will just
give my father his book, and then play what you like. My harp, Davis."
"Why don't you keep it down here?" asked her brother.
"Ah! you know nothing of female politics," said Miss Gage, smiling; "the
young ladies like me a great deal better for keeping my harp, and some
other things in the background."
"But the young gentlemen don't;" said Hubert, as he stood leaning on the
harp.
"I am very sorry," said Miss Gage laughing, "I cannot arrange it to
please all parties; but in society where every one is anxious to play a
prominent part, I feel it to be a real kindness not to take up their
time by my performances."
"Don't you think Bessy spoils me?" asked Captain Gage of Margaret, as
his daughter found the place in his book, and arranged the wax lights
beside his chair.
She had not courage to make any other reply than a blush and a laugh.
"After all, Bessy, I am half tired of this book," said Captain Gage, "I
shall never have patience to get through it. Have you seen it?" he
asked, holding out the volume to Margaret. It was the 'Tour to the
Sepulchres of Etruria.'
She could hardly read it aright in her impatience. Here was undoubtedly
all she wanted to know--she would be able to find out at last who the
Etruscans were.
Elizabeth smiled, and told her when her father had made up his mind not
to finish it, which she foresaw would be very soon, she would send it to
her. "But," she said, "you must not expect too much; this is an account
of a lady's visit to some tombs. There is but little information
regarding the people, except what may be inferred from the degree of
excellence they displayed in the decoration of their sepulchres."
"But you know, Bessy," said her brother, "that a people's progress in
art is the best standard you can have of their degree of civilization."
"Yes; if you had looked upon them as a barbarous race," said Miss Gage
to Margaret, "you will find sufficient proof in this book that you had
not done them justice."
"Why, Bessy," said Hubert, "no Ph[oe]nician colony ever was, or could
be, in a state of barbarism."
"Assuming that they were Ph[oe]nicians," said Elizabeth.
"There can be no doubt of that," returned her brother, "their character
is sufficient evidence of their origin. The old Greek character, written
from right to left, after the fashion of the Ph[oe]nicians."
Elizabeth unlocked a cabinet, and took out a gold serpent-ring--she
showed it to Margaret as an undoubted Etruscan relic, which her brother
had brought her from Rome. Margaret looked at it with great
reverence--it was thick and heavy, and the gold was of a dull
colour--not like the bright trinkets in a jeweller's shop; but it was
delightful to hold in her hand something that was two thousand years
old.
Miss Gage went on to talk of the circlets of gold leaves found in some
of the tombs; of the city of C[oe]re, and the origin of the Vestal
Virgins; and the degree of religious knowledge enjoyed by the Etruscans;
and Hubert took pencil and paper, and sketched for Margaret one of the
allegorical processions painted on the wall in the tombs; taking care to
exaggerate, as much as possible, the evil spirits which figure in those
decorations.
Margaret listened earnestly--she was afraid to lose a word--it was not
to her a dry narrative of facts, but a dim unfolding of the pages of a
gorgeous and mystical romance. A people so magnificent, and of whom no
written literature remains, appeared to her so contradictory and so
tantalising, that she longed to seize the book at once, and never rest
until she had read it through. She hoped Miss Gage would say something
more on the subject, but just then Elizabeth saw Captain Gage trying to
open one of the illustrations in his book, and she went to his chair to
help him. Margaret noticed that Miss Gage was always on the watch, and
whenever her father was at a loss, from having only one hand, she
supplied the deficiency; and that so quickly and quietly that few people
would have been aware of it.
"Now for your harp, Bessy," said her brother, "we had forgotten all
about it."
"Because we have been better employed;" said Miss Gage, placing herself
at the harp; "music is always a _pis aller_; when people cannot talk,
they very naturally have recourse to a noise."
Margaret could not echo this remark: she loved music from her heart, and
she sat absorbed in the sweet sounds, quite unconscious this time that
Hubert Gage's eyes were fixed upon her face. Elizabeth played
splendidly--better than any young lady at her school, and without a
book. She sat watching her fine marble hand and arm as she stilled the
harp-strings, and began to fancy that she should like to play the harp
instead of the organ.
Hubert Gage pressed her very much to play in her turn, but she declined
with a feeling of panic that almost made her giddy; and Elizabeth, at
her request, sung her a ballad. It was the first time she had ever heard
a song _spoken_, if the phrase may be applied to vocal music, and it
moved her almost to tears. Hubert asked her if Bessy did not sing very
well, and Margaret, lifting up her dewy eyes, said, "beautifully!" and
looked so beautiful when she said it, that he leaned across to his
sister, and declared that there was not upon the face of the earth such
an exquisite little creature as her friend.
Miss Gage rose from the harp, and they sat round the fire for a chat,
but there was no time for any more conversation, for Margaret's carriage
was announced.
Captain Gage told her that she must soon come to see Bessy again.
Elizabeth took an affectionate leave of her, and Hubert led her into the
hall and wrapped her cloak all round her, much as one would muffle up a
little child, talking and laughing all the time, and stopping to gather
her flowers from the creepers in the hall in the intervals of handing
her gloves, and winding her boa round her neck. He then went to the
door, and assuring her that it was a hard frost, he offered her a cloak
of his own, which she had some difficulty in preventing him from putting
on, and which he absolutely insisted on throwing to the bottom of the
carriage to keep her feet warm.
Margaret drove off a little taller than she was before. She wondered
what the girls at school would have said if they had heard a young man
declare he thought her an exquisite creature. She believed nobody
thought her so at school. Girls had often told her that young men had
quite looked at them, and squeezed their hands at a Christmas dance,
but she wondered whether they ever threw their cloaks at their feet,
almost like Sir Walter Raleigh and Queen Elizabeth. She had learned some
few things that evening. She had spent several hours with a young lady
who had not acquired a proficiency in an accomplishment for the sake of
exhibiting to her acquaintance, but in order to make her home cheerful.
Miss Gage had never asked her for a list of the things she had learned,
a list so important to school girls who graduate, by its length, their
good opinion of every girl they met.
Margaret had always a thirst for knowledge, and she felt more desirous
than ever to cultivate her intellect, now that she found how agreeable
it was to converse, or to listen to persons who talked well. She was
ashamed to think that she did not know who King Christian was; she had
been hurried, when at school, through a compressed History of England,
but there had been no hurry in the way she had journeyed through
Chaulieu's and Czerney's Exercises. Once impressed with the importance
of acquiring information, she determined that nothing should divert her
from a steady course of application.
In the midst of these reflections the carriage stopped, and she hastened
to the drawing-room to give Mr. Grey an account of her visit before she
went to bed. To her great vexation, she found him seated in earnest
discourse with a stranger. The candles had burned low, one of the lamps
had gone out, and the room was only half lighted. Margaret paused at the
door, but Mr. Grey called her in.
"Come here, my child," said he, "I am afraid it is a very cold night. I
hope you have taken no chill. Claude, my niece. Well, did you pass a
pleasant evening?"
Mr. Haveloc, on being named to Margaret, rose and bowed slightly, placed
her a chair, and returned to his own. She felt all her shyness return:
coloured, bowed without raising her eyes, and went up to Mr. Grey.
"Well, and how are they all?" said Mr. Grey.
Margaret, standing with her back to Mr. Haveloc, and her hand in Mr.
Grey's, felt her courage somewhat restored. "I dare say they are all
very well, Sir," she said in a low voice: "but oh! I wish you had heard
Miss Gage sing, Sir, and play on the harp; and she has such a nice
sitting-room of her own, Sir, and so many books! She is going to lend me
one about Etruria. Elizabeth wore such a beautiful nosegay, Sir, of
azaleas--sweet smelling ones. May Richard get me some azalias?"
"Yes, my love, that he shall--to-morrow," said Mr. Grey. "And what did
you talk about?"
"Oh! most about Etruria. I wish Miss Gage had told me some more curious
things. I think she knows more about it than Mr. Warde. He told me if he
met with some things in Livy, he would mark them and read them to me; I
wish he would. Look, Sir, I cannot think how this stain came on my
glove. Oh! I recollect: I was gathering myrtle in the green-house just
before I went."
"What a little bit of a hand it is," said Mr. Grey, "are you sleepy, my
child?"
"A little, Sir. Mr. Warde said he would teach me Latin, if I wished to
learn it, but I think I had better leave it alone till I know more of
other things."
"Oh, my child! don't learn Latin whatever you do," said Mr. Grey, "it
really will--quite wrinkle her, won't it, Claude?"
Mr. Haveloc gave a short laugh, and Margaret recollected that he was in
the room, and grew uncomfortable again.
"Elizabeth never plays in company, do you know," said she, after a short
pause, "Is not that odd? Oh dear, Sir, what a dreadful thing it is to
have only one arm!"
"Why, my child, Elizabeth Gage has--oh true! she is thinking of the
father--yes, very awkward indeed!"
"Well, I shall wish you good night, uncle, I am quite tired," said
Margaret, and stooping her head a very little as she passed Mr. Haveloc,
who held open the door for her, she went up-stairs without having the
slightest idea of his personal appearance, for she had never once raised
her eyes to his face. She merely thought, as her maid brushed out her
luxuriant hair, that Mr. Hubert Gage had taken a great deal more notice
of her, and was a much more agreeable person.