PASTORAL AND TRAGEDY
The news of the election, brought to Glenavelin by a couple of ragged
runners, had a different result from that forecast by Lewis. Alice
heard it with a heart unquickened; and when, an hour after, the flushed,
triumphant Mr. Stocks arrived in person to claim the meed of success,
he was greeted with a painful carelessness. Lady Manorwater had been
loud in her laments for her nephew, but to Mr. Stocks she gave the
honest praise which a warm-hearted woman cannot withhold from the
fighter.
"Our principles have won," she cried. "Now who will call the place a
Tory stronghold? Oh, Mr. Stocks, you have done wonderfully, and I am
very glad. I'm not a bit sorry for Lewis, for he well deserved his
beating."
But with Alice there could be neither pleasure nor its simulation. Her
terrible honesty forbade her the easy path of false congratulations.
She bit her lip till tears filled her eyes. What was this wretched
position into which she had strayed? Lewis was all she had feared, but
he was Lewis, and far more than any bundle of perfections. A hot,
passionate craving for his presence was blinding her to reason. And
this man who had won--this, the fortunate politician--she cared for him
not a straw. A strong dislike began to grow in her heart to the
blameless Mr. Stocks.
Dinner that night was a weary meal to the girl. Lady Manorwater
prattled about the day's events, and Lord Manorwater, hopelessly bored,
ate his food in silence. The lively Bertha had gone to bed with a
headache, and the younger Miss Afflint was the receptacle for the moment
of her hostess's confidences. Alice sat between Mr. Stocks and Arthur,
facing a tall man with a small head and immaculate hair who had ridden
over to dine and sleep. One of the two had the wisdom to see her humour
and keep silent, though the thought plunged him into a sea of ugly
reflections. It would be hard if, now that things were going well with
him, the lady alone should prove obdurate. For in all this politician's
daydreams a dainty figure walked by his side, sat at his table's head,
received his friends, fascinated austere ministers, and filled his pipe
of an evening at home.
Arthur was silent, and to him the lady turned in vain. He treated her
with an elaborate politeness which sat ill on his brusque manners, and
for the most part showed no desire to enliven the prevailing dulness.
But after dinner he carried her off to the gardens on the plea of fresh
air and a fine sunset, and the girl, who liked the boy, went gladly.
Then the reason of his silence was made plain. He dismayed her by
becoming lovesick.
"Tell me your age, Alice," he implored.
"I am twenty at Christmas time," said the girl, amazed at the question.
"And I am seventeen or very nearly that. Men sometimes marry women
older than themselves, and I don't see why I shouldn't. Oh, Alice,
promise that you will marry me. I never met a girl I liked so much, and
I am sure we should be happy."
"I am sure we should," said the girl, laughing. "You silly boy! what
put such nonsense in your head? I am far too old for you, and though I
like you very much, I don't in the least want to marry you." She seemed
to herself to have got out of a sober world into a sort of Mad
Tea-party, where people behaved like pantaloons and spoke in conundrums.
The boy flushed and his eyes grew cross. "Is it somebody else?" he
asked; at which the girl, with a memory of Mr. Stocks, reflected on the
dreadful monotony of men's ways.
A solution flashed upon his brain. "Are you going to marry Lewie
Haystoun?" he cried in a more cheerful voice. After all, Lewis was his
cousin, and a worthy rival.
Alice grew hotly uncomfortable. "I am not going to marry Mr. Lewis
Haystoun, and I am not going to talk to you any more." And she turned
round with a flaming face to the cool depths of the wood.
"Then it is that fellow Stocks. Oh, Lord!" groaned Arthur, irritated
into bad manners. "You can't mean it, Alice. He's not fit to black
your boots."
Some foolish impulse roused the girl to reply. She defended the very
man against whom all the evening she had been unreasonably bitter. "You
have no right to abuse him. He is your people's guest and a very
distinguished man, and you are only a foolish boy."
He paled below his sunburn. Now he believed the truth of the horrid
suspicion which had been fastening on his mind. "But--but," he
stammered, "the chap isn't a gentleman, you know."
The words quickened her vexation. A gentleman! The cant word, the
fetish of this ring of idle aristocrats--she knew the hollowness of the
whole farce. The democrat in her made her walk off with erect head and
bright eyes, leaving a penitent boy behind; while all the time a sick,
longing heart drove her to the edge of tears.
* * * * *
The days dragged slowly for the girl. The brightness had gone out of
the wide, airy landscape, and the warm August days seemed chill. She
hated herself for the wrong impression she had left on the boy Arthur's
mind, but she was too proud to seek to erase it; she could but trust to
his honour for silence. If Lewis heard--the thought was too terrible to
face! He would resign himself to the inevitable; she knew the temper of
the man. Good form was his divinity, and never by word or look would he
attempt to win another man's betrothed. She must see him and learn the
truth: but he came no more to Glenavelin, and Etterick was a far cry for
a girl's fancy. Besides, the Twelfth had come and the noise of guns on
every hill spoke of other interests for the party at Etterick. Lewis
had forgotten his misfortunes, she told herself, and in the easy way of
the half-hearted found in bodily fatigue a drug for a mind but little in
need of it.
* * * * *
One afternoon Lady Manorwater came over the lawn waving a letter. "Do
you want to go and picnic to-morrow, Alice?" she cried. "Lewis is to
be shooting on the moors at the head of the Avelin, and he wants us to
come and lunch at the Pool of Ness. He wants the whole party to come,
particularly Mr. Stocks, and he wants to know if you have forgiven him.
What can the boy mean?"
As the cheerful little lady paused, Alice's heart beat till she feared
betrayal. A sudden fierce pleasure burned in her veins. Did he still
seek her good opinion? Was he, as well as herself, miserable alone?
And then came like a stab the thought that he had joined her with
Stocks. Did he class her with that alien world of prigs and dullards?
She ceased to think, and avoiding her hostess and tea, ran over the
wooden bridge to the slope of hill and climbed up among the red heather.
A month ago she had been heart-whole and young, a simple child. The
same prejudices and generous beliefs had been hers, but held loosely
with a child's comprehension. But now this old world had been awakened
to arms against a dazzling new world of love and pleasure. She was led
captive by emotion, but the cold rook of scruple remained. She had read
of women surrendering all for love, but she felt dismally that this
happy gift had been denied her. Criticism, a fierce, vulgar antagonism,
impervious to sentiment, not to be exorcised by generous impulse--such
was her unlovely inheritance.
As she leaned over a pool of clear brown water in a little burn, where
scented ferns dipped and great rocks of brake and heather shadowed, she
saw her face and figure mirrored in every colour and line. Her
extraordinary prettiness delighted her, and then she laughed at her own
vanity. A lady of the pools, with the dark eyes and red-gold hair of
the north, surely a creature of dawn and the blue sky, and born for no
dreary self-communings. She returned, with her eyes clear and something
like laughter in her heart. To-morrow she should see him, to-morrow!
* * * * *
It was the utter burning silence of midday, when the man who toils loses
the skin of his face, and the man who rests tastes the joys of deep
leisure. The blue, airless sky, the level hilltops, the straight lines
of glen, the treeless horizon of the moors--no sharp ridge or cliff
caught the tired eye, only an even, sleep-lulled harmony. Five very
hungry, thirsty, and wearied men lay in the shadow above the Pool of
Ness, and prayed heaven for luncheon.
Lewis and George, Wratislaw and Arthur Mordaunt were there, and Doctor
Gracey, who loved a day on the hills. The keepers sat farther up the
slope smoking their master's tobacco--sure sign of a well-spent morning.
For the party had been on the moors by eight, and for five burning hours
had tramped the heather. All wore light and airy shooting-clothes save
the doctor, who had merely buckled gaiters over his professional black
trousers. All were burned to a tawny brown, and all lay in different
attitudes of gasping ease. Few things so clearly proclaim a man's past
as his posture when lounging. Arthur and Wratislaw lay, like townsmen,
prone on their faces with limbs rigidly straight. Lewis and George--old
campaigners both--lay a little on the side, arms lying loosely, and
knees a little bent. But one and all gasped, and swore softly at the
weather.
"Turn round, Tommy," said George, glancing up, "or you'll get sunstroke
at the back of the neck. I've had it twice, so I ought to know. You
want to wet your handkerchief and put it below your cap. Why don't you
wear a deer-stalker instead of that hideous jockey thing? Feugh, I am
warm and cross and thirsty. Lewis, I'll give your aunt five minutes,
and then I shall go down and drink that pool dry."
Lewis sat up and watched the narrow ribbon of road which coiled up the
glen to the pool's edge. He only saw some hundreds of yards down it,
but the prospect served to convince him that his erratic aunt was late.
"If my wishes had any effect," said George, "at this moment I should be
having iced champagne." And he cast a longing eye to the hampers.
"You won't get any," said Lewis. "We are not sybarites in this
glen, and our drinks are the drinks of simple folk. Do you
remember Cranstoun? I once went stalking with him, and we had
_pate-de-foie-gras_ for luncheon away up on the side of a rugged
mountain. That sort of thing sets my teeth on edge."
"Honest man!" cried George. "But here are your friends, and you had
better stir yourself and make them welcome."
Five very cool and leisurely beings were coming up the hill-path, for,
having driven to above the village, they had had an easy walk of
scarcely half a mile. Lewis's eye sought out a slight figure behind the
others, a mere gleam of pink and white. As she stepped out from the
path to the heather his eye was quick to seize her exquisite grace.
Other women arrayed themselves in loose and floating raiment, ribbons
and what not; but here was one who knew her daintiness, and made no
effort to cloak it. Trim, cool, and sweet, the coils of bright hair
above the white frock catching the noon sun--surely a lady to pray for
and toil for, one made for no facile wooing or easy conquest.
Lewis advanced to Mr. Stocks as soon as he had welcomed his aunt, and
shook hands cordially. "We seem to have lost sight of each other during
the last few days. I never congratulated you enough, but you probably
understood that my head was full of other things. You fought
splendidly, and I can't say I regret the issue. You will do much better
than I ever could."
Mr. Stocks smiled happily. The wheel of his fortunes was bringing him
very near the top. All the way up he had had Alice for a companion; and
that young woman, happy from a wholly different cause, had been
wonderfully gracious. He felt himself on Mr. Lewis Haystoun's level at
last, and the baffling sense of being on a different plane, which he had
always experienced in his company, was gone, he hoped, for ever. So he
became frank and confidential, forgot the pomp of his talk and his
inevitable principles, and assisted in laying lunch.
Lady Manorwater drove her nephew into a corner.
"Where have you been, Lewis, all these days? If you had been anybody
else, I should have said you were sulking. I must speak to you
seriously. Do you know that Alice has been breaking her heart for you?
I won't have the poor child made miserable, and though I don't in the
least want you to marry her, yet; I cannot have you playing with her."
Lewis had grown suddenly very red.
"I think you are mistaken," he said stiffly. "Miss Wishart does not
care a straw for me. If she is in love with anybody, it is with
Stocks."
"I am much older than you, my dear, and I should know better. I may as
well confess that I hoped it would be Mr. Stocks, but I can't
disbelieve my own eyes. The child becomes wretched whenever she hears
your name."
"You are making me miserably unhappy, because I can't believe a word of
it. I have made a howling fool of myself lately, and I can't be blind
to what she thinks of me."
Lady Manorwater looked pathetic. "Is the great Lewis ashamed of
himself?"
"Not a bit. I would do it again, for it is my nature to, as the hymn
says. I am cut all the wrong way, and my mind is my mind, you know.
But I can't expect Miss Wishart to take that point of view."
His aunt shook a hopeless head. "Your moral nature is warped, my dear.
It has always been the same since you were a very small boy at
Glenavelin, and read the Holy War on the hearthrug. You could never be
made to admire Emmanuel and his captains, but you set your heart on the
reprobates Jolly and Griggish. But get away and look after your guests,
sir."
Lunch came just in time to save five hungry men from an undignified end.
The Glenavelin party looked on with amusement as the ravenous appetites
were satisfied. Mr. Stocks, in a huge good humour, talked discursively
of sport. He inquired concerning the morning's bag, and called up
reminiscences of friends who had equalled or exceeded it. Lewis was
uncomfortable, for he felt that in common civility Mr. Stocks should
have been asked to shoot. He could not excuse himself with the plea of
an unintentional omission, for he had heard reports of the gentleman's
wonderful awkwardness with a gun, and he had not found it in his heart
to spoil the sport of five keen and competent hands.
He dared not look at Alice, for his aunt's words had set his pulses
beating hotly. For the last week he had wrestled with himself, telling
his heart that this lady was beyond his ken for ever and a day, for he
belonged by nature to the clan of despondent lovers. Before, she had
had all the icy reserve, he all the fervours. The hint of some spark of
fire behind the snows of her demeanour filled him with a delirious joy.
Every movement of her body pleased him, every word which she spoke, the
blitheness of her air and the ready kindness. The pale, pretty Afflint
girls, with their wit and their confidence, seemed old and womanly
compared with Alice. Let simplicity be his goddess
henceforth--simplicity and youth.
The Pool of Ness is a great, black cauldron of clear water, with berries
above and berries below, and high crags red with heather. There you may
find shade in summer, and great blaeberries and ripening rowans in the
wane of August. These last were the snare for Alice, who was ever an
adventurer. For the moment she was the schoolgirl again, and all sordid
elderly cares were tossed to the wind. She teased Doctor Gracey to that
worthy's delight, and she bade George and Arthur fetch and carry in a
way that made them her slaves for life. Then she unbent to Mr. Stocks
and made him follow her out on a peninsula of rock, above which hung a
great cluster of fruit. The unfortunate politician was not built for
this kind of exercise, and slipped and clung despairingly to every root
and cleft. Lewis followed aimlessly: her gaiety did not fit with his
mood; and he longed to have her to himself and know his fortune.
He passed the panting Stocks and came up with the errant lady.
"For heaven's sake be careful, Miss Wishart," he cried in alarm.
"That's an ugly black swirl down there."
The girl laughed in his face.
"Isn't the place glorious!" she cried. "It's as cool as winter, and
oh! the colours of that hillside. I'm going up to that birk-tree to
sit. Do you think I can do it?"
"I am coming up after you," said Lewis.
She stopped and regarded it with serious eyes. "It's hard, but I'm
going to try. It's harder than the Midburn that I climbed up on the
day I saw you fishing."
She remembered! Joy caught at his heart, and he laughed so gladly that
Alice turned round to look at him. Something in his eyes made her turn
her head away and scan the birk-tree again.
Then suddenly there was a slip of soil, a helpless clutch at fern and
heather, a cry of terror, and he was alone on the headland. The black
swirl was closing over the girl's head.
He had been standing rapt in a happy fancy, his thoughts far in a world
of their own, and his eyes vacant of any purpose. Startled to
alertness, he still saw vaguely, and for a second stood irresolute and
wondering. Then came another splash, and a heavy body flung itself into
the pool from lower down the rock. He knew the black head and the round
shoulders of Mr. Stocks.
The man caught the girl as she struggled to get out of the swirl and
with strong ugly strokes began to make for shore. Lewis stood with a
sick heart, slow to realize the horror which had overtaken him. She was
out of danger, though the man was swimming badly; dismally he noted the
fact of his atrocious swimming. But this was the hero; he had stood
irresolute. The thought burned him like a hot iron.
Half a dozen pairs of hands relieved the swimmer of his burden. Alice
was little the worse, a trifle pale, very draggled and unhappy, and
utterly tired. Lady Manorwater wept over her and kissed her, and hailed
the dripping Stocks as her preserver. Lewis alone stood back. He
satisfied himself that she was unhurt, and then, on the plea of getting
the carriage, set off down the glen with a very grey, quivering face.