When I joined Mrs. Ellmer and her daughter that evening, I found that
the former lady was oppressed by the conviction that 'something had
happened,' something interesting of which there was an evil design
abroad to keep her in ignorance. She had been questioning Babiole I
felt sure, and getting no satisfactory replies; for while there was a
suspicious halo of pale rose-colour--which in my sight did not detract
from her beauty--about the younger lady's eyes, her mother made
various touching references to the cruelty of want of confidence, and
at last, after several tentative efforts, got on the right track by
observing that my 'young lady' was not very exacting, since I had not
been near her that day. This remark set both her daughter and me
blushing furiously, and Mrs. Ellmer, figuratively speaking, gave the
'view halloo.' After a very short run I was brought to earth, and
confessed that--er--Miss Farington and I--er--had had a--in fact a
disagreement--a mere lover's quarrel. It would soon blow over--but
just at present--that is for a day or two, why----
Mrs. Ellmer interrupted my laboured explanation with a delighted and
shrill little giggle.
'And so you've had a quarrel! Well, really, Mr. Maude, as an old
friend, you must allow me to take this opportunity--before you make it
up again, you know--to tell you that really I think you are throwing
yourself away.'
The truth was that the poor little woman had been smarting, ever
since Miss Farington's visit, from the supercilious scorn with which
that well-informed young lady had treated her. I protested, but very
mildly; for, indeed, to hear a little gentle disapprobation of my late
too matter-of-fact love gave me no acute pain.
'I wouldn't for the world have said anything before, you know, for if,
of course, a person's love affairs are not his own business, whose are
they? But having known you so long, I really must say, now that I can
open my lips without indiscretion, that the moment I saw that stuck-up
piece of affectation I said to myself: "She must have asked him!"'
I assured Mrs. Ellmer that was not the case, but she paid little heed
to my contradiction. She had relieved her feelings, that was the great
thing, and it was with recovered calmness that she inquired after the
friends who had made my yearly shooting party in the old times. I
knew little more of them than she did; for that last gathering, when
Fabian won my pretty witch's heart, had indeed been the farewell
meeting predicted by Maurice Brown. That young author having shocked
the public with one exceedingly nasty novel, had followed it up by
another which would have shocked them still more if they had read it;
this, however, they refrained from doing with a unanimity which might
have proved disastrous to his reputation if a well-known evening paper
had not offered him a good berth as a sort of inspector of moral
nuisances, a post which the clever young Irishman filled with all the
requisite zeal and indiscretion. As for Mr. Fussell, he had done well
for himself in the city, and now leased a shooting-box of his own.
While Edgar, my dear old friend and chum, had fallen back into the
prosperous ranks of the happily married, and was now less troubled by
political ambition than by a tendency to grow fat.
The ten days which followed the rupture of my engagement to Miss
Farington passed in a great calm, troubled only by a growing sense of
dread, both to Babiole and me, of what was to come after. She got well
rapidly, quite well, as nervous emotional creatures do when once the
moral atmosphere about them is right. For it was the loving sympathy
of every living being round her, from her mother down--or up to Ta-ta,
which worked the better part of her cure, though I admit that the
hills and the fir-trees and the fresh sweet air had their share in it.
She went out every day, sometimes with her mother and me, oftener with
me and Ta-ta, as Mrs. Ellmer's strong dislike to walking exercise did
not decrease as the years rolled on. As for Babiole, I thank God that
the pleasure of those walks in the crisp air up the hills and through
the glens was unallayed for her. The tarnish which want of warmth and
sympathy had breathed on her childlike and trusting nature was wearing
off; and her old faith in the companion to whom she had graciously
given a place in her heart as the incarnation of kindness had only
grown the stronger for the glimpses she had lately had of something
deeper underneath. I even think that in the languid and irresponsible
convalescence of her heart and mind from the wounds her unlucky
marriage had dealt to both, she cherished a superstitious feeling that
now I had returned from my travels it would come all right, and that I
should be able to mend the defects of the marriage by another exercise
of the magical skill which had brought it about. So she chattered or
sang or was silent at her pleasure, as we walked between the now bare
hedges beside the swollen Dee, or climbed on a thick carpet of
rustling brown oak leaves up Craigendarroch, and noticed how day by
day the mantle of snow on Lochnagar grew wider and ampler, and how the
soft wail of the wind among the fir-trees in summer-time had grown
into an angry and threatening roar, as if already hungering for those
days and nights of loud March when the tempest would tear up the young
saplings from the mountain-sides like reeds and hurl them down
pell-mell over the decaying trunks which already choked up the
hill-paths, and told of the storms of past years. She would look into
my face from time to time to see if I was happy, for she had got the
trick of reading through that ugly mask; if the look satisfied her,
she either talked or was silent as she pleased, but if she fancied she
detected the least sign of a cloud, she never rested until, by sweet
words and winning looks, she had driven it away.
I, poor devil, was of course happy after a very different fashion. The
blood has not yet cooled to any great extent at six and thirty, and
blue eyes that have haunted you for seven years lose none of their
witchery at that age, when the demon Reason throws his weight into the
scale on the side of Evil, and tells you that the years are flitting
by, carrying away the time for happiness, and that the beauty which
steeps you to the soul in longing has been left unheeded by its
possessor like a withered flower. But Babiole's perfect confidence was
her safeguard and mine, and like the wind among the pines, I kept my
tumults within due bounds. I was, however, occasionally distressed by
a consideration for which I had never cared a straw before--what the
neighbours would say. If I, an indifferent honest man, really had
some trouble in keeping unworthy thoughts and impulses down within me,
what sort of conduct these carrion-hunting idiots would ascribe to a
man, whom they looked upon as an importer of foreign vices and the
type of all that was godless and lawless, was pretty evident. They
would all, in a commonplace chorus, take the part of the commonplace
Miss Farington, and unite in condemnation of poor Babiole. Now no man
likes to let the reputation of his queen of the earth be pulled to
pieces by a cackling crew of idiots, and, therefore, though I had not
enough strength of mind to suggest giving up those treasured walks, I
began, torn by my struggling feelings, to look forward feverishly to
the letter which Fabian had promised to send off as soon as he knew on
what date he would be free to come north. His wife herself showed no
eagerness.
'He is the very worst of correspondents,' she said. 'He will probably
write a letter to say he is coming just before starting, post it at
one of the last stations he passes through, and arrive here before
it.'
It did not comfort me to learn thus that he might come at any moment.
My conscience was pretty clear, but I wanted to have a fair notice of
his arrival, that I might receive him in such a manner as to prepare
the peccant husband for the desperately earnest sermon I had made up
my mind to preach him on what his wife called neglect, but what I felt
sure was infidelity.
A very serious addition to the cares I felt on behalf of my old pupil
came upon me in the shape of a rumour, communicated by Ferguson in a
mysterious manner, that a strange figure had been seen by the keepers
in the course of the past week, wandering about the hills in the
daytime and hovering in the vicinity of the Hall towards evening. I
spoke with one of the men who had seen him, and from what he said I
could have no doubt that the wanderer was the unlucky Ellmer who, as I
found by sending off a telegram to the lunatic asylum where he had
been for some time confined, had been missing for four days and was
supposed to be dangerous. I at once gave orders for a search to be
made for him, being much alarmed by the possibility of his presenting
himself suddenly to either of the two poor ladies, who were not even
aware of his condition. The first day's scouring of the hills and of
the forest proved fruitless, however, while Babiole was much surprised
at the pertinacity with which I insisted that the wind was too keen
for her to go out. On the second day I think she began to have
suspicions that something was being kept from her, for on my
suggesting that she had better stay indoors again, as the keepers
were out shooting very near the Hall, she gave me a shy apprehensive
glance, but made no remonstrance. As I started to 'make a round with
the keeper,' as I truly told her, though I did not explain with what
object, she came to the door with me, making a beautiful picture under
the ivy of the portico, her white throat rising out of her dark gown
like a lily, and the pink colour which the mountain air had brought
back again flushing and fading in her face.
'Well,' said I, looking at her with a great yearning over the fairness
and brightness which were so soon to disappear from my sight, to be
swallowed up in the fogs and the fever of London life, 'Well, I shall
call at the post-office, and see if I can't charm out of the
post-mistress's fingers a letter from Fabian.'
'Ah, you want to get rid of us!' said she, half smiling, half
reproachful.
'No-o,' said I, looking down at my gaiters, 'Not so particularly.'
Then we neither of us said any more, but stood without looking at each
other. I don't know what she was thinking about, but I know that I
began to grow blind and deaf even to the sight of her and the sound of
the tapping of her little foot upon the step; the roar of the
rain-swollen Muick in the valley below seemed to have come suddenly
nearer, louder, to be thundering close to my ears, raising to tempest
height the passionate excitement within me, and shrieking out
forebodings of the desolation which would fall upon me when my poor
witch should have fled away. I was thankful to be brought back to
commonplace by the shrill tones of Mrs. Ellmer, who had followed her
daughter to the doorstep, and who encouraged me with much banter about
my shooting powers as I set off.
The gillie who accompanied me was a long, lank, weedy young
Highlander, silent and shrewd, who was already a valuable servant, and
who promised to develop into a fine specimen of stalwart Gaelic
humanity before many years were over. We made the circuit of that part
of the forest near the Hall which had been appointed our beat for the
day, but failed to find any trace of the fugitive. Jock was not
surprised at this.
'A mon wi' a bee in's bonnet's nae sa daft but a' can mak' the canny
ones look saft if a' will,' said he with a wise look.
And his opinion, which I apprehensively shared, was that the fugitive
would not be secured until he had given us some trouble.
It was a cold and gloomy day. The chilling penetrating Scotch mist
shrouded the whole landscape with a mournful gray veil, and gave
place, as the day wore on and the leaden clouds grew heavier, to a
thin but steady snow-fall. I left Jock, as the time drew near for the
arrival of the train that brought the London letters, to return to the
Hall without me, and got to Ballater post-office just as the mail-bag
was being carried across from the little station, which is just
opposite. In a few minutes I had got my papers, and a letter for
Babiole in her husband's handwriting. The snow was falling faster by
this time, and already drifting before the rising wind into little
heaps and ridges by the wayside and on the exposed stretch of somewhat
bare and barren land which lies between Ballater and the winding Dee.
I walked back at a quick pace, scanning the small snow-drifts
narrowly, measuring with my eyes the progress the soft white covering
was making, and wondering with the foolish heart-quiver and
miracle-hunger of a school-boy on the last day of the holidays,
whether that snow-fall would have the courage and strength of mind to
go on bravely as it had begun, and snow us up! If only the train would
stop running--it did sometimes in the depths of a severe winter--and
cut off all possibility of my witch being taken away from me for
another month. I had worshipped her so loyally, I had been so 'good,'
as she used to say--I couldn't resist giving myself this little pat on
the back--that surely Providence might trust me with my wistful but
well-conducted happiness a little longer. And all the time I knew that
my solicitous questionings of sky and snow were futile and foolish,
that I was carrying the death-warrant of my dangerous felicity in my
pocket, and that if I had a spark of sense or manliness left in my
wool-gathering old head, I ought to be heartily glad of it.
The notion of the death-warrant disturbed me, however, and when I
burst into the drawing room where Mrs. Ellmer was darning a handsome
old tapestry curtain, and looking, with her worn delicate face, pink
with interest, rather pretty over it, I felt nervous as I asked for
Babiole. She entered behind me before the question was out of my
mouth, and I put the letter into her hands without another word, and
retreated to one of the windows while she opened and read it. She was
moved too, and her little fingers shook as they tore the envelope. I
felt so guiltily anxious to know whether she was pleased that I was
afraid if I glanced in her direction she would look up suddenly and
detect my meanness. So I looked out of the window and watched the snow
collecting on the branches of the firs outside, while Mrs. Ellmer,
without pausing in her work, wondered volubly whether Fabian wasn't
ashamed of himself for having left his wife so long without a letter,
and would like to know what he had got to say for himself now he had
written. Then suddenly the mother gave a little piercing cry, and I,
turning at once, saw that Babiole, standing on the same spot where I
had seen her last, and holding her husband's letter tightly clenched
in her hands, seemed to have changed in a moment from a young, sweet,
and beautiful woman into a livid and haggard old one. She had lost all
command of the muscles of her face, and while her eyes, from which the
dewy blue had faded, stared out before her in a meaningless gaze, the
pallid lips of her open mouth twitched convulsively, although she did
not attempt to utter a word.
Her mother was by her side in a moment, while I stood looking stupidly
on, articulating hoarsely and with difficulty--
'The letter! Is it the letter!'
Mrs. Ellmer snatched the paper out of her daughter's hands so
violently that she tore it, and supporting Babiole with one arm, read
the letter through to the end, while I kept my eyes fixed upon her in
a tumult of feelings I did not dare to analyse. As she read the last
word she tossed it over to me with her light eyes flashing like steel.
'Read it, read it!' she cried, as the paper fell at my feet. 'See what
sort of a husband you have given my poor child!'
The words and the action roused Babiole, who had scarcely moved except
to shiver in her mother's arms. She drew herself away as if stung back
to life, and a painful rush of blood flowed to her face and neck as
she made two staggering steps forward, picked up the letter, and
walked quietly, noiselessly, with her head bent and her whole frame
drooping with shame, out of the room. Mrs. Ellmer would have followed,
but I stopped her.
'Don't go,' I said in a husky voice. 'Leave her to herself a little
while first. If she wants comforting, it will come with more force
later when she has got over the first shock. What was it?'
'Oh, nothing,' said Mrs. Ellmer, who had become more acid on her
daughter's behalf than she had ever been on her own. 'Nothing but what
every married woman must expect.'
'Well, and what's that?'
She gave a little grating laugh.
'You a man and you ask that!'
'I'm a man, but not a married man, remember. Don't impute to me the
misdemeanours I have had no chance of committing. Now what was it?
Fabian wrote unkindly, I suppose.'
'Oh, _dear_ no. It was very much the kindest letter from him I have
ever seen.'
'Did he put off his coming then?'
'Not at all. He made an appointment to meet his darling in Edinburgh.'
'Edinburgh!' I echoed in amazement. 'Why Edinburgh?'
'Why not, Mr. Maude?' said she, in a harder voice than ever. 'It's a
very pretty place, and two people who are fond of each other may spend
a pleasant enough time together there. Only Mr. Scott spoilt his nice
little plan by a stupid mistake. Into the envelope he had addressed to
his wife he slipped his letter to another woman!'
With a glance of disgust at me which was meant to include my whole
sex, Mrs. Ellmer, with the best tragic manner of her old stage days,
left me stupefied with rage and remorse, as she sailed out of the
room.