to my own bedroom to make the few preparations needful for my visit. I
knew that Mrs Rodwell would not desire me to dress; but to arrange my
hair anew with a blue ribbon woven in it, and to change my dark merino
body for a clear muslin Garibaldi, made me look fresh and smart, without
taking up too much of the precious time I had to spend at her house.
Besides, were there not to be some gentlemen present? At that thought my
mind reverted to the wonderful news of Amy’s engagement, and I could
scarcely proceed with my toilet for thinking of it. Little Amy! younger
by five years than myself, who had always appeared so shy and modest and
retiring—was it possible she could have had a lover without my knowing
it? And now to be actually engaged! going to be married at her age! It
almost seemed incredible, until I remembered with a sudden sigh that I
had been no older myself when Bruce Armytage proposed to me, and had been
able to keep my secret very well until the necessity for doing so was
over.
But I would not let such thoughts engross me now, for I had no wish
to carry a long face to Mrs Rodwell’s house; and so I hurried on the
remainder of my things, and wrapping myself up warmly in a dark cloak,
hurried bravely out into the evening air. It was then six o’clock, and
the fog was denser than before; but what cared I for outer dulness any
longer? My imagination ran on before me, vividly picturing the cheerful
scene in which I should so soon mingle, and my feet tripped after it
joyous as my heart. I had not far to go, and my eagerness shortened the
way; so that in a few minutes I was rapping at Dr Rodwell’s hall door
and scraping my feet upon his scraper. How quickly it was opened by
little Amy herself! And what a mixture of bashfulness, pleasure, and
self-importance was in her blushing face as I threw my arms around her
neck and warmly congratulated her.
‘Come upstairs, Lizzie,’ she entreated in a whisper; ‘come up and take
off your things, and I’ll tell you all about it.’
We were soon in her own room—that cosy room in which she and her younger
sister Mattie slept, and which bore so many evidences of their mother’s
tender care and thought for them.
‘And so you are really engaged to be married, Amy?’ I exclaimed as the
door closed behind us. ‘That was a very astounding piece of intelligence
to me, who had never heard the faintest whisper of such a thing before.’
‘You forget you have not been near us for a month,’ she answered,
laughing; ‘but the truth is, Lizzie, it was all so uncertain till this
morning that mamma said it would be very unwise to mention it to anybody;
so that you were the first recipient of the news, after all.’
‘Well, I suppose I must be satisfied with that; and when did you meet
him, Amy?’
‘Last month, up in London, while I was staying with my Aunt Charlesworth.’
‘And is it a settled thing, then?’
‘Oh yes! His parents have consented, and are coming to Rockledge on
purpose to call on us. And—and—_he_ came down this morning to tell papa;
and I believe we are to be married in the spring.’
‘So soon?’ I ejaculated, thinking how easily some people’s courtships ran.
‘Yes,’ replied Amy, blushing; ‘and he is here this evening, you know,
with his cousin, who is staying at Rockledge with him. He talked so much
about this cousin, but oh! he is not _half_ so nice-looking as himself;
and—and—I hope you will like him, Lizzie dear,’ kissing me affectionately
as she spoke, ‘for I have told him so much about you.’
‘I am sure I shall, Amy,’ I replied as I returned her caress; we were on
the staircase at the time, descending to the dining-room. ‘I assure you I
am quite impatient to see your hero. By-the-bye, dear, what is his name?’
‘Armytage.’ And then, seeing my blank look of amazement, she repeated
it—‘Armytage. Have you never heard the name before? I think it’s such a
pretty one. Amy Armytage,’ she whispered finally in my ear, as, laughing
merrily, she pushed me before her into the dining-room.
It was all done so suddenly that I had no time to think about it, for
before the echo of her words had died away, I was in the midst of the
family group, being warmly kissed by Mrs Rodwell, and Mattie, and Nelly,
and Lotty, and shaken hands with by the dear, kind old doctor, and his
rough school-boys.
‘Well, Lizzie dear,’ exclaimed my motherly hostess, as she claimed me for
a second embrace, ‘this is quite an unexpected treat, to have you here
to-night; I thought we were never going to see you again. But you look
pale, my child; I am afraid you are kept too much in the house. Doctor,
what have you been about, not to take better care of Lizzie? You should
give her a tonic, or speak to Lady Cunningham on the subject.’
But the good old doctor stuck both his fingers into his ears.
‘Now, I’m not going to have any talk about pale looks or physic bottles
to-night,’ he said; ‘the time for doctoring to-day is over. Miss Lizzie,
you just come and sit between Tom and me, and we’ll give you something
that will beat all the tonics that were ever invented. Here, Mattie,
pass the scones and oatcakes down this way, will you? If you children
think you are going to keep all the good things up at your end of
the table, you are very much mistaken,’ and with no gentle touch my
hospitable friend nearly pulled me down into his own lap.
‘Now, doctor!’ exclaimed Mrs Rodwell, with an affectation of annoyance,
‘I will not have you treat my guests in this way. Lizzie has come to see
_me_, not _you_, and she sits by no side but mine. Besides, you have not
even given me time to introduce the gentlemen to her. Lizzie, my dear, we
must all be friends here this evening. Mr Bruce Armytage, Mr Frederick
Armytage—Miss Lacy. And now, doctor, we’ll go to tea as soon as you
please.’
I had known from the moment of my entering the room that there were
strangers in it, but I had not dared to glance their way. Amy’s
announcement of her lover’s name had come too unexpectedly to permit
me to form any fixed idea upon the subject, excepting that it was the
same as mine had borne, and yet, when Mrs Rodwell repeated it with the
familiar prefix, strange to say, I seemed to hear it with no second
shock, but to have known the bitter truth all along.
Not so, however, Bruce Armytage; for Mrs Rodwell’s introduction was
scarcely concluded before I heard his voice (unforgotten through the
lapse of years) exclaim, ‘Miss Lacy!’ in a tone of surprise, which could
not but be patent to all.
Cold and pulseless as I had felt before, the mere tones of his voice
sent the blood rushing from my heart to my head, till the room and the
tea-table and the group of living figures swam before my dazzled eyes. I
felt my weakness, but I determined all the more that no one else should
guess at it, and mentally stamped upon my heart to make it steady against
the moment when its energies should be required.
‘You have met Mr Armytage before, Lizzie?’ said Mrs Rodwell, with a
pleasant astonishment.
Then I lifted my eyes and looked at him. Good God! What is the vital
force of this feeling, called love, which Thou hast given to us, far
oftener to prove a curse than a blessing, that after years of separation,
coldness, and neglect, it has the strength to spring up again, warm and
passionate as ever, at the sight of a face, the tone of a voice, or the
touch of a hand? Has nothing the power to trample life out of it? Will
it always revive when we think it most dead, and turn its pale mutilated
features up to the glare of day? Shall our mortal dust, even when
coffined in the mould, stir and groan and vainly strive to make itself
heard, as the step of one whom we have loved passes sorrowfully over the
fresh grass beneath which we lie?
I lifted up my eyes, and looked upon Bruce Armytage, to be able to say
truly if I had met him before. Yes, it was he, but little altered during
our five years of separation, excepting that he had passed from a boy to
a man. He coloured vividly beneath my steady gaze; for a moment I thought
he was about to seize my hand, but my eyes forbade him, and he shrank
backward.
‘Mr Armytage and I _have_ met before,’ I said, with a marvellous
quietness, in answer to Mrs Rodwell’s previous question—‘when I was
living in my old home at Fairmead; but that is so many years ago that we
are nothing but strangers to each other now.’
At these words any purpose which he might have entertained of claiming me
as an old acquaintance evidently died out of Bruce Armytage’s mind; for,
retreating a few paces, he bowed coldly to me, and took a seat, where his
proper place now was, by Amy’s side.
‘Oh, not strangers, my dear—oh no!’ exclaimed Mrs Rodwell, who had taken
my answer in its literal sense. ‘You must all be friends together here,
you know, if it is only for Amy’s sake. Mr Frederick Armytage, will you
be so kind as to pass the muffins up this way? Thank you! Now, Lizzie, my
dear, you must make a good tea.’
I sat down between my host and hostess, triumphant on the subject of the
manner in which I had acquitted myself, and feeling strong enough for any
future trial; but before many minutes had elapsed I was overtaken by a
sickly and oppressive sensation for which I was quite unable to account.
The hot flush which had risen to my face whilst speaking to Bruce
Armytage died away, leaving a cold, leaden weight upon my breast instead;
my pulses ceased their quick leap and took to trembling; the rich
dainties which the doctor and his wife heaped upon my plate nauseated
me even to contemplate; and a whirring confusion commenced in my head,
which obliged me to rally all my forces before I could answer a simple
question. The noise and laughter of the tea-table seemed to increase
every minute; and if one might judge from the incessant giggling of Amy,
Mattie, Nelly, and Lotty, the two gentlemen at the other end were making
themselves very agreeable. I tried to eat; I tried to force the buttered
toast and plum cake and rich preserves down my throat, but there was
something there which utterly prevented my swallowing them.
‘Lizzie, my dear, are you not well?’ inquired Mrs Rodwell, presently. The
friendly interrogation saved me. I had just been relapsing into a state
of weakness which might have resulted in hysteria: her words recalled
me to myself. Should all the table know that I was grieving? Or rather
should he—he who had deserted me, and had forsworn himself, who now
sat by the side of his newly betrothed—guess that his presence had the
slightest power to affect me? Good heavens! where was my pride? where the
contempt which I had hoped to have an opportunity of showing for him? I
almost sprang from my chair at the thought.
‘Not well, dear Mrs Rodwell!’ I exclaimed, speaking as fast and as
shrilly as people generally do under the circumstances; ‘why, what can
make you think so? I never felt better in my life. But, really, you do
so oppress me with good things that it is quite impossible I can do
justice to them all, and talk at the same time. No, doctor, not another
piece of cake. I couldn’t, really; thank you all the same. You know there
is a limit to all things, though you never seem to think so where I am
concerned.’
Whilst my voice thus rang out, harshly and unnaturally, across the table,
I felt the dark eyes of Bruce Armytage were regarding me from the other
end, and I wished I had the courage to stare him down, but I had not.
By-and-by, however, when he was again engaged in conversation, I tried
to let my eyes rove in his direction, as though I were an uninterested
hearer, but the moment that they reached him, he raised his own as if by
intuition, and my lids dropped again. I hated myself for this indecision,
though I felt it was but nervousness, and that were we alone together but
for five minutes I should have strength of mind to look him in the face,
and tell him what I thought of his behaviour. As it was, however, it was
a great relief to me when the doctor gave the order to march, and the
whole party adjourned to the drawing-room. As soon as we had entered it,
Amy left her lover’s side and flew to mine.
‘Oh, Lizzie,’ she whispered as we sat in a corner together, ‘do tell me
what you think of him! I am dying to hear. Is he not very handsome?’
‘Very handsome,’ I answered with closed lips.
‘Much better looking than his cousin?’
‘Yes, certainly; there is no comparison between them,’ which was true,
inasmuch as Frederick Armytage, with his fair hair and blue eyes, was a
washed-out, sickly-looking creature by the side of his dark, stalwart
cousin Bruce.
‘I knew you would say so, Lizzie; I was sure you would agree with me.
But just fancy your having met Bruce before! Where was it, and when?
I couldn’t ask you a lot of questions at tea-time, but you made me so
curious.’
‘Amy,’ I said suddenly, for I felt this was a subject on which she must
not be inquisitive, ‘when I knew Mr Bruce Armytage, I was living at home
with my dear father and mother at Fairmead, and you must be aware that an
allusion to those days cannot be a pleasant allusion to me. So, please,
like a dear girl, don’t ask me any more questions about it, or let me
remember that I ever saw your friend before I met him here to-night.’
‘I won’t,’ said Amy, submissively. ‘Poor, dear Lizzie!’ and she stroked
my hand with her soft little palm.
‘And do not mention me to him, either. Our acquaintance was but a brief
one: he can have no interest left in the matter.’
‘Oh, but he has though, Lizzie,’ with a shy upward glance. ‘He was
talking about you all tea-time; his cousin and I thought he would never
stop. He asked where you were, and what you were doing, and seemed so
sorry when I told him of Lady Cunningham, and what a cross old thing she
is, and said several times that he could not get over the surprise of
having met you here to-night.’
‘Indeed! He has a more retentive memory than I have; you can tell him
so next time he speaks of me.’ I answered so haughtily that little Amy
looked timidly up in my face, and I remembered suddenly that I was
speaking of her lover. ‘There is your mamma beckoning to you, Amy; and
Mattie and Tom are clearing away the chairs and tables. I suppose they
want a dance. Tell them I shall be charmed to play for them;’ and then,
seeing that Bruce Armytage was crossing the room with a view to seeking
Amy, I quickly left my seat, and taking possession of the music-stool,
commenced to rattle off a polka. Soon they were all busily engaged
in dancing, and the noise occasioned by their feet and voices almost
prevented my hearing the conversation which Mrs Rodwell, who had taken up
a station with her knitting close to the piano, addressed to me.
‘You were very much surprised to hear our news, Lizzie, I’m sure,’ she
began, as she bent toward my ear.
‘Very much surprised, Mrs Rodwell—never more so.’
‘Ah!’ with a sigh, ‘dear Amy is full young—only eighteen last October,
you know, Lizzie; but I think she’ll be happy. I’m sure I trust so. He is
a very steady young man, and they are to live in Rockledge, which is a
great comfort to me.’
‘In Rockledge!’ Was I to undergo the pain of continual intercourse with
him, or the alternative of quitting my present situation? ‘Did I hear you
rightly, Mrs Rodwell?’
‘Yes, my dear. His papa, who appears to be a very pleasant old gentleman,
has decided to set him up in an office here, that Amy may not be
separated from her family. So thoughtful of him, Lizzie, is it not?’
‘Very!’ I remembered the pleasant old gentleman’s conduct on a similar
occasion more immediately concerning myself, and could scarcely trust my
voice to answer her.
‘You have heard that Mr Armytage is in the law, have you not?’ I nodded
my head: I had heard it. ‘A nice profession—so gentlemanly; and he is a
fine-looking young man too; don’t you think so? I have heard that some
people prefer his cousin’s looks to his; but beauty is such a matter of
taste, and Amy is quite satisfied on the subject. You may stop playing
now, my dear, for they have all done dancing. Nelly, child, how hot you
are! Come away at once from the draught of the door.’
‘A waltz, a waltz, Lizzie!’ they all shouted as they surrounded the piano.
‘Perhaps Miss Lacy is tired,’ suggested the deep voice of Bruce Armytage.
I had been going to plead for a brief respite, but at that sound the
desire for repose fled, and without a look in his direction I returned to
the instrument and began to play the dance they had asked for. But I had
not been so occupied long before I became aware that some one amongst
them continued to hover about the piano, and felt by intuition that it
was Bruce Armytage. At that discovery my fingers flew faster and more
gaily, and I regarded the notes before me with a fixed smile, whilst, in
order to keep up my courage, I kept repeating to myself: ‘He deserted me:
he left me for no fault of mine. My father and mother died, and he never
came near me in my sorrow. He is fickle, base, dishonourable—unworthy of
regard.’ I tried to set the notes of the waltz that I was playing to the
words, ‘Fickle, base, dishonourable!’ but they refused to be so matched,
and only seemed to repeat instead, ‘I loved him, I loved him, I loved
him!’ and then a blurred mist came before my eyes, and I had to play from
memory; for Bruce Armytage had taken up his station at the back of the
piano and was looking me full in the face.
‘It is a long time since we met, Miss Lacy,’ he remarked presently, but
in so low a voice that had my hearing not been sharpened by anger at his
daring to address me, I do not think I should have caught the words.
‘Do you think so?’ I answered carelessly, for I felt that I must say
something.
‘How can you ask? Have the last five years passed so pleasantly as to
leave no evidence of the flight of time?’
‘Considering,’ I replied, panting with indignation at what appeared to
me such thorough indifference to my feelings, ‘considering, Mr Armytage,
that during the years you speak of I have lost both my dear parents, I
should think you might have spared me the allusion.’
‘Forgive me. I did not mean to wound you. But if the loss of your parents
is the only loss you have to regret during those five years, you are
happier than some, Miss Lacy. Death is natural, but there are griefs (the
loss of love and hope, for instance) almost too unnatural to be borne.’
How dared he, how dared he—he who had treated me in so cruel and
unnatural a manner himself, who had but just plighted his faith afresh
to my friend—quietly stand there, looking me in the face with his dark,
searching eyes, and taunt me with the barrenness of the life which he
had made sterile? Much as I had loved him—much as I feared I loved him
still—I could have stood up at that moment and denounced him to them all
as a traitor and a coward. But I thought of Amy, dear little innocent,
confiding Amy, and I was silent.
‘_I_ have not lost them,’ I answered him, quietly. ‘Therefore I cannot
sympathise with your allusion. The death of my dear parents was more than
sufficient trouble for me; all else of solace that this world can give me
is mine.’
‘Do you mean to tell me—’ he commenced quickly.
‘I mean to tell nothing,’ I replied in the same cold tones. ‘I am not in
the habit of discussing my private affairs with strangers. Had you not
better go to Amy? I see that she is sitting out this dance.’
Upon which he gravely inclined his head in acquiescence, and left me to
myself.
‘Lizzie, Lizzie, how fast you have been playing! We are all out of
breath,’ exclaimed Mattie, as she and Tom danced up to my side. ‘Get up,
there’s a good girl, and let me take your place; we are going to have a
game of “Magical Music.” Tom, will you go out first? That’s right; now,
girls, what shall we hide? Oh, papa’s keys; they will do, and then, if he
wants them, he will take quite an interest in coming and joining in the
game himself.’
I resigned my seat, and stole a hasty glance at the other end of the
room. Mrs Rodwell was busily engaged upon her knitting, and Bruce was
sitting on an ottoman close by Amy’s side; so, gasping for fresh air and
one moment’s solitude, and unperceived by the laughing group of children,
I left the apartment and ran hastily up to the bedroom which I had first
entered. The gas was lighted there, and the fire burned warmly on the
hearth, but in my present state of feeling neither warmth nor light
was what I most desired. I felt as though I were choking—as though, if
no relief were at hand, I must scream aloud, or dash my head against
the wall, for my nerves were overstrung, and the demon of hysteria was
gaining strength with every minute, and I almost feared would win the
victory. But pride came to my assistance—that mighty supporter of human
weakness—and flying to the window, I raised the sash and leaned my head
out of it, drinking in deep draughts of the foggy night air. And as I
did so, watching the bustle in the street below, and the calm stars in
the sky above, I felt strength return to me,—strength, not to avoid
suffering, but to suffer in patience. The tears rose to my eyes and
fell quietly over my cheeks, and as they fell they seemed to dissolve
the hard, dry lump which had settled in my throat and threatened to
deprive me of breath. I thought of Bruce Armytage as I had known him in
the past, and my tears fell fast for the loss I had sustained in him;
but I thought of him also as I saw him in the present, and pride and
jealousy made me dash them from my eyes, and resolve that if I died—yes,
if I died of grief and love and longing combined—he should never have
the gratification of knowing that I had retained one particle of my old
affection for him. With which intent I hurried on my walking things,
determined not to expose myself any longer to the danger of betrayal; but
before I had finished doing so, Mrs Rodwell was in the room, all anxiety
to know what had occasioned my sudden absence.
‘What is the matter, Lizzie? Did you feel the heat of the room? Why, my
dear child, you are never going! It is only just nine o’clock.’
‘Yes, dear Mrs Rodwell, I think I had better do so. Lady Cunningham will
not be late to-night, and you know how particular she is about my being
home before her. Please let me go.’
‘Well, dear, it must not be so long again before we see you. We must try
and get up a few parties this winter, as it will be Amy’s last in the
home circle. And mind, Lizzie, you are to be one of her bridesmaids; she
insists upon it.’
‘Ah! She is very kind, as you all are, but we will talk of that when the
time comes. Good-night, dear Mrs Rodwell. Kiss the girls for me. I won’t
go into the drawing-room, such a figure as I am.’
But Mrs Rodwell accompanied me down the stairs, conversing as she went.
‘I am sorry the doctor is from home, my dear; he would have seen you
round to Northampton Lodge; but he is never to be depended on from one
hour to another, you know.’
‘Oh, it is of no consequence, Mrs Rodwell; I am used to going alone.’
‘But I don’t half like your doing it, Lizzie: the night is so very dark,
and—’
‘Allow me to have the pleasure of accompanying Miss Lacy, Mrs Rodwell,’
said the voice of Bruce Armytage. We had reached the drawing-room floor
by that time, and he stood on the threshold of the open door.
‘No, no!’ I exclaimed, as I shrank backward; ‘I do not desire it—I
would rather go alone;’ and with a hasty kiss on Mrs Rodwell’s cheek, I
ran down the remaining stairs and out at the hall door. The wind was
blowing fresh and cold as I turned into the open air, and the night was
very dark, but I thought of nothing but his offer to accompany me, and I
hurried onward. Did he wish to add insult to injury?
But I had not gone far when I heard the sound of footsteps running after
me; and I had hardly realised it was indeed himself before he was by my
side, apologising for his presence by the excuse that Mrs Rodwell had
desired him to overtake me and see me home. Would I forgive what might
otherwise seem an intrusion to me? I was too indignant to vouchsafe him
any answer.
We walked on in silence side by side for several minutes, I with my
head bent down and holding my thick cloak around me, and he vainly
endeavouring to look me in the face. At last, as though making a great
effort, he cleared his throat, and said,—
‘I suppose, after the manner in which you spoke to me at the piano this
evening, my pride ought to forbid my attempting any further explanation
with you, but in this case I have one feeling more powerful than pride,
Miss Lacy, and I must ask you what you meant by saying that all that
this world could give of solace was yours?’
‘I meant what I said,’ I answered abruptly, ‘or rather, that I require no
pity from you or any other stranger. Our paths in life are widely enough
divided now: let each walk in his own track, without interfering with the
other.’
‘That is easier said than done, perhaps,’ he replied; ‘it is difficult in
this world for people to forget what they have been.’
‘It does not appear so to me.’