My lord Sebastian,
The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness
And time to speak it in: you rub the sore.
When you should bring the plaster.
Tempest.
The Evelyns spent several weeks at the Pool; and both mother and daughters
conceiving a great affection for Fleda kept her in their company as much
as possible For those weeks Fleda had enough of gayety. She was constantly
spending the day with them at the Pool, or going on some party of
pleasure, or taking quiet sensible walks and rides with them along or with
only one or two more of the most rational and agreeable people that the
place could command. And even Mrs. Rossitur was persuaded, more times than
one, to put herself in her plainest remaining French silk and entertain
the whole party, with the addition of one or two of Charlton's friends, at
her Queechy farm-house.
Fleda enjoyed it all with the quick spring of a mind habitually bent to
the patient fulfilment of duty and habitually under the pressure of rather
sobering thoughts. It was a needed and very useful refreshment. Charlton's
being at home gave her the full good of the opportunity more than would
else have been possible. He was her constant attendant, driving her to and
from the Pool, and finding as much to call him there as she had; for
besides the Evelyns his friend Thorn abode there all this time. The only
drawback to Fleda's pleasure as she drove off from Queechy would be the
leaving Hugh plodding away at his saw-mill. She used to nod and wave to
him as they went by, and almost feel that she ought not to go on and enjoy
herself while he was tending that wearisome machinery all day long. Still
she went on and enjoyed herself; but the mere thought of his patient smile
as she passed would have kept her from too much elation of spirits, if
there had been any danger. There never was any.
"That's a lovely little cousin of yours," said Thorn one evening, when he
and Rossitur, on horseback, were leisurely making their way along the up
and down road between Montepoole and Queechy.
"She is not particularly little," said Rossitur with a dryness that
somehow lacked any savour of gratification.
"She is of a most fair stature," said Thorn;--"I did not mean anything
against that,--but there are characters to which one gives instinctively a
softening appellative."
"Are there?" said Charlton.
"Yes. She is a lovely little creature."
"She is not to compare to one of those girls we have left behind us at
Montepoole," said Charlton.
"Hum--well perhaps you are right; but which girl do you mean?--for I
profess I don't know."
"The second of Mrs. Evelyn's daughters--the auburn-haired one."
"Miss Constance, eh?" said Thorn. "In what isn't the other one to be
compared to her?"
"In anything! Nobody would ever think of looking at her in the same room?"
"Why not?" said Thorn coolly.
"I don't know why not," said Charlton, "except that she has not a tithe of
her beauty. That's a superb girl!"
For a matter of twenty yards Mr. Thorn went softly humming a tune to
himself and leisurely switching the flies off his horse.
"Well,"--said he,--"there's no accounting for tastes--
'I ask no red and white
To make up my delight,
No odd becoming graces,
Black eyes, or little know-not-what in faces.'"
"What _do_ you want then?" said Charlton, half laughing at him, though his
friend was perfectly grave.
"A cool eye, and a mind in it."
"A cool eye!" said Rossitur.
"Yes. Those we have left behind us are arrant will-o'the-wisps--dancing
fires--no more."
"I can tell you there is fire sometimes in the other eyes," said Charlton.
"Very likely," said his friend composedly,--"I could have guessed as much;
but that is a fire you may warm yourself at; no eternal
phosphorescence;--it is the leaping up of an internal fire, that only
shews itself upon occasion."
"I suppose you know what you are talking about," said Charlton, "but I
can't follow you into the region of volcanos. Constance Evelyn has superb
eyes. It is uncommon to see a light blue so brilliant."
"I would rather trust a sick head to the handling of the lovely lady than
the superb one, at a venture."
"I thought you never had a sick head," said Charlton.
"That is lucky for me, as the hands do not happen to be at my service. But
no imagination could put Miss Constance in Desdemona's place, when Othello
complained of his headache,--you remember, Charlton,--
''Faith, that's with watching--'twill away again--
Let me but bind this handkerchief about it hard.'"
Thorn gave the intonation truly and admirably.
"Fleda never said anything so soft as that," said Charlton.
"No?"
"No."
"You speak--well, but _soft_!--do you know what you are talking
about there?"
"Not very well," said Charlton. "I only remember there was nothing soft
about Othello,--what you quoted of his wife just now seemed to me to smack
of that quality."
"I forgive your memory," said Thorn, "or else I certainly would not
forgive you. If there is a fair creation in all Shakespeare it is
Desdemona, and if there is a pretty combination on earth that nearly
matches it, I believe it is that one."
"What one?"
"Your pretty cousin."
Charlton was silent.
"It is generous in me to undertake her defence," Thorn went on, "for she
bestows as little of her fair countenance upon me as she can well help.
But try as she will, she cannot be so repellant as she is attractive."
Charlton pushed his horse into a brisker pace not favourable to
conversation; and they rode forward in silence, till in descending the
hill below Deepwater they came within view of Hugh's workplace, the saw
mill. Charlton suddenly drew bridle.
"There she is."
"And who is with her?" said Thorn. "As I live!--our friend--what's his
name?--who has lost all his ancestors.--And who is the other?"
"My brother," said Charlton.
"I don't mean your brother, Capt. Rossitur," said Thorn throwing himself
off his horse.
He joined the party, who were just leaving the mill to go down towards the
house. Very much at his leisure Charlton dismounted and came after him.
"I have brought Charlton safe home, Miss Ringgan," said Thorn, who leading
his horse had quietly secured a position at her side.
"What's the matter?" said Fleda laughing. "Couldn't he bring
himself home?"
"I don't know what's the matter, but he's been uncommonly dumpish--we've
been as near as possible to quarrelling for half a dozen miles back."
"We have been--a--more agreeably employed," said Dr. Quackenboss looking
round at him with a face that was a concentration of affability.
"I make no doubt of it, sir; I trust we shall bring no unharmonious
interruption.--If I may change somebody else's words," he added more low
to Fleda,--"disdain itself must convert to courtesy in your presence."
"I am sorry disdain should live to pay me a compliment," said Fleda. "Mr.
Thorn, may I introduce to you Mr. Olmney?"
Mr. Thorn honoured the introduction with perfect civility, but then fell
back to his former position and slightly lowered tone.
"Are you then a sworn foe to compliments?"
"I was never so fiercely attacked by them as to give me any occasion."
"I should be very sorry to furnish the occasion,--but what's the harm in
them, Miss Ringgan?"
"Chiefly a want of agreeableness."
"Of agreeableness!--Pardon me--I hope you will be so good as to give me
the rationale of that?"
"I am of Miss Edgeworth's opinion, sir," said Fleda blushing, "that a lady
may always judge of the estimation in which she is held by the
conversation which is addressed to her."
"And you judge compliments to be a doubtful indication of esteem?"
"I am sure you do not need information on that point, sir."
"As to your opinion, or the matter of fact?" said he somewhat keenly.
"As to the matter of fact," said Fleda, with a glance both simple and
acute in its expression.
"I will not venture to say a word," said Thorn smiling. "Protestations
would certainly fall flat at the gates where _les douces paroles_ cannot
enter. But do you know this is picking a man's pocket of all his silver
pennies and obliging him to produce his gold."
"That _would_ be a hard measure upon a good many people," said Fleda
laughing. "But they're not driven to that. There's plenty of small
change left."
"You certainly do not deal in the coin you condemn," said Thorn bowing.
"But you will remember that none call for gold but those who can exchange
it, and the number of them is few. In a world where cowrie passes current
a man may be excused for not throwing about his guineas."
"I wish you'd throw about a few for our entertainment," said Charlton, who
was close behind. "I haven't seen a yellow-boy in a good while."
"A proof that your eyes are not jaundiced," said his friend without
turning his head, "whatever may be the case with you otherwise. Is he out
of humour with the country life you like so well, Miss Ringgan, or has he
left his domestic tastes in Mexico? How do you think he likes Queechy?"
"You might as well ask myself," said Charlton.
"How do you think he likes Queechy, Miss Ringgan?"
"I am afraid something after the fashion of Touchstone," said Fleda
laughing;--"he thinks that 'in respect of itself it is a good life; but in
respect that it is a shepherd's life it is naught. In respect that it is
solitary, he likes it very well; but in respect that it is private, it is
a very vile life. Now in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth him
well; but in respect it is not in the court, it is tedious.'"
"There's a guinea for you, Capt. Rossitur," said his friend. "Do you know
out of what mint?"
"It doesn't bear the head of Socrates," said Charlton.
"'Hast no philosophy in thee,' Charlton?" said Fleda laughing back at him.
"Has not Queechy--a--the honour of your approbation, Capt. Rossitur?" said
the doctor.
"Certainly sir--I have no doubt of its being a very fine country."
"Only he has imbibed some doubts whether happiness be an indigenous crop,"
said Thorn.
"Undoubtedly," said the doctor blandly,--"to one who has roamed over the
plains of Mexico, Queechy must seem rather--a--rather flat place."
"If he could lose sight of the hills," said Thorn.
"Undoubtedly, sir, undoubtedly," said the doctor; "they are a marked
feature in the landscape, and do much to relieve--a--the charge of
sameness."
"Luckily," said Mr. Olmney smiling, "happiness is not a thing of
circumstance; it depends on a man's self."
"I used to think so," said Thorn;--"that is what I have always subscribed
to; but I am afraid I could not live in this region and find it so long."
"What an evening!" said Fleda. "Queechy is doing its best to deserve our
regards under this light. Mr. Olmney, did you ever notice the beautiful
curve of the hills in that hollow where the sun sets?"
"I do notice it now" he said.
"It is exquisite!" said the doctor. "Capt. Rossitur, do you observe,
sir?--in that hollow where the sun sets?--"
Capt. Rossitur's eye made a very speedy transition from the hills to
Fleda, who had fallen back a little to take Hugh's arm and placing herself
between him and Mr. Olmney was giving her attention undividedly to the
latter. And to him she talked perseveringly, of the mountains, the
country, and the people, till they reached the courtyard gate. Mr. Olmney
then passed on. So did the doctor, though invited to tarry, averring that
the sun had gone down behind the firmament and he had something to attend
to at home.
"You will come in, Thorn," said Charlton.
"Why--I had intended returning,--but the sun has gone down indeed, and as
our friend says there is no chance of our seeing him again I may as well
go in and take what comfort is to be had in the circumstances. Gentle
Euphrosyne, doth it not become the Graces to laugh?"
"They always ask leave, sir," said Fleda hesitating.
"A most Grace-ful answer, though it does not smile upon me," said Thorn.
"I am sorry, sir," said Fleda, smiling now, "that you have so many silver
pennies to dispose of we shall never get at the gold."
"I will do my very best," said he.
So he did, and made himself agreeable that evening to every one of the
circle; though Fleda's sole reason for liking to see him come in had been
that she was glad of everything that served to keep Charlton's attention
from home subjects. She saw sometimes the threatening of a cloud that
troubled her.
But the Evelyns and Thorn and everybody else whom they knew left the Pool
at last, before Charlton, who was sufficiently well again, had near run
out his furlough; and then the cloud which had only shewed itself by turns
during all those weeks gathered and settled determinately upon his brow.
He had long ago supplied the want of a newspaper. One evening in September
the family were sitting in the room where they had had tea, for the
benefit of the fire, when Barby pushed open the kitchen door and came in.
"Fleda will you let me have one of the last papers? I've a notion to
look at it."
Fleda rose and went to rummaging in the cupboards.
"You can have it again in a little while," said Barby considerately.
The paper was found and Miss Elster went out with it.
"What an unendurable piece of ill-manners that woman is!" said Charlton.
"She has no idea of being ill-mannered, I assure you," said Fleda.
His voice was like a brewing storm--hers was so clear and soft that it
made a lull in spite of him. But he began again.
"There is no necessity for submitting to impertinence. I never
would do it."
"I have no doubt you never will," said his father. "Unless you can't help
yourself."
"Is there any good reason, sir, why you should not have proper servants in
the house?"
"A very good reason," said Mr. Rossitur. "Fleda would be in despair."
"Is there none beside that?" said Charlton dryly.
"None--except a trifling one," Mr. Rossitur answered in the same tone.
"We cannot afford it, dear Charlton," said his mother softly.
There was a silence, during which Fleda moralized on the ways people take
to make themselves uncomfortable.
"Does that man--to whom you let the farm--does he do his duty?"
"I am not the keeper of his conscience."
"I am afraid it would be a small charge to any one," said Fleda.
"But are you the keeper of the gains you ought to have from him? does he
deal fairly by you?"
"May I ask first what interest it is of yours?"
"It is my interest, sir, because I come home and find the family living
upon the exertions of Hugh and Fleda and find them growing thin and pale
under it."
"You, at least, are free from all pains of the kind, Capt. Rossitur."
"Don't listen to him, uncle Rolf!" said Fleda going round to her uncle,
and making as she passed a most warning impression upon Charlton's
arm,--"don't mind what he says--that young gentleman has been among the
Mexican ladies till he has lost an eye for a really proper complexion.
Look at me!--do I look pale and thin?--I was paid a most brilliant
compliment the other day upon my roses--Uncle, don't listen to him!--he
hasn't been in a decent humour since the Evelyns went away."
She knelt down before him and laid her hands upon his and looked up in his
face to bring all her plea; the plea of most winning sweetness of entreaty
in features yet flushed and trembling. His own did not unbend as he gazed
at her, but he gave her a silent answer in a pressure of the hands that
went straight from his heart to hers. Fleda's eye turned to Charlton
appealingly.
"Is it necessary," he repeated, "that that child and this boy should spend
their days in labour to keep the family alive?"
"If it were," replied Mr. Rossitur, "I am very willing that their
exertions should cease. For my own part I would quite as lief be out of
the world as in it."
"Charlton!--how can you!--" said Fleda, half beside herself,--you should
know of what you speak or be silent!--Uncle, don't mind him! he is talking
wildly--my work does me good."
"You do not understand yourself," said Charlton obstinately;--"it is
more than you ought to do, and I know my mother thinks so too."
[Illustration: She knelt down before him.]
"Well!" said Mr. Rossitur,--"it seems there is an agreement in my own
family to bring me to the bar--get up, Fleda,--let us hear all the charges
to be brought against me, at once, and then pass sentence. What have your
mother and you agreed upon, Charlton?--go on!"
Mrs. Rossitur, now beyond speech, left the room, weeping even aloud. Hugh
followed her. Fleda wrestled with her agitation for a minute or two, and
then got up and put both arms round her uncle's neck.
"Don't talk so, dear uncle Rolf!--you make us very unhappy--aunt Lucy did
not mean any such thing--it is only Charlton's nonsense. Do go and tell
her you don't think so,--you have broken her heart by what you said;--do
go, uncle Rolf!--do go and make her happy again! Forget it all!--Charlton
did not know what he was saying--won't you go, dear uncle Rolf?--"
The words were spoken between bursts of tears that utterly overcame her,
though they did not hinder the utmost caressingness of manner. It seemed
at first spent upon a rock. Mr. Rossitur stood like a man that did not
care what happened or what became of him; dumb and unrelenting; suffering
her sweet words and imploring tears, with no attempt to answer the one or
stay the other. But he could not hold out against her beseeching. He was
no match for it. He returned at last heartily the pressure of her arms,
and unable to give her any other answer kissed her two or three times,
such kisses as are charged with the heart's whole message; and disengaging
himself left the room.
For a minute after he was gone Fleda cried excessively; and Charlton, now
alone with her, felt as if he had not a particle of self-respect left to
stand upon. One such agony would do her more harm than whole weeks of
labour and weariness. He was too vexed and ashamed of himself to be able
to utter a word, but when she recovered a little and was leaving the room
he stood still by the door in an attitude that seemed to ask her to speak
a word to him.
"I am sure, Charlton," she said gently, "you will be sorry to-morrow for
what you have done."
"I am sorry now," he said. But she passed out without saying
anything more.
Capt. Rossitur passed the night in unmitigated vexation with himself. But
his repentance could not have been very genuine, since his most painful
thought was, what Fleda must think of him.
He was somewhat reassured at breakfast to find no traces of the evening's
storm; indeed the moral atmosphere seemed rather clearer and purer than
common. His own face was the only one which had an unusual shade upon it.
There was no difference in anybody's manner towards himself; and there was
even a particularly gentle and kind pleasantness about Fleda, intended, he
knew, to soothe and put to rest any movings of self-reproach he might
feel. It somehow missed of its aim and made him feel worse; and after on
his part a very silent meal he quitted the house and took himself and his
discontent to the woods.
Whatever effect they had upon him, it was the middle of the morning before
he came back again. He found Fleda alone in the breakfast-room, sewing;
and for the first time noticed the look his mother had spoken of; a look
not of sadness, but rather of settled patient gravity; the more painful to
see because it could only have been wrought by long-acting causes, and
might be as slow to do away as it must have been to bring. Charlton's
displeasure with the existing state of things had revived as his remorse
died away, and that quiet face did not have a quieting effect upon him.
"What on earth is going on!" he began rather abruptly as soon as he
entered the room. "What horrible cookery is on foot?"
"I venture to recommend that you do not inquire," said Fleda. "It was set
on foot in the kitchen and it has walked in here. If you open the window
it will walk out."
"But you will be cold?"
"Never mind--in that case I will walk out too, into the kitchen."
"Into the thick of it!--No--I will try some other way of relief. This is
unendurable!"
Fleda looked, but made no other remonstrance, and not heeding the look Mr.
Charlton walked out into the kitchen, shutting the door behind him.
"Barby," said he, "you have got something cooking here that is very
disagreeable in the other room."
"Is it?" said Barby. "I reckoned it would all fly up chimney I guess the
draught ain't so strong as I thought it was."
"But I tell you it fills the house!"
"Well, it'll have to a spell yet," said Barby, "'cause if it didn't, you
see, Capt. Rossitur, there'd be nothing to fill Fleda's chickens with."
"Chickens!--where's all the corn in the land?"
"It's some place besides in our barn," said Barby. "All last year's is
out, and Mr. Didenhover ha'n't fetched any of this year's home; so I
made a bargain with 'em they shouldn't starve as long as they'd eat
boiled pursley."
"What do you give them?"
"'Most everything--they ain't particler now-a days--chunks o' cabbage, and
scarcity, and pun'kin and that--all the sass that ain't wanted."
"And do they eat that?"
"Eat it!" said Barby. "They don't know how to thank me for't!"
"But it ought to be done out of doors," said Charlton, coming back from a
kind of maze in which he had been listening to her. "It is unendurable!"
"Then I guess you'll have to go some place where you won't know it," said
Barby;--"that's the most likely plan I can hit upon; for it'll have to
stay on till it's ready."
Charlton went back into the other room really down-hearted, and stood
watching the play of Fleda's fingers.
"Is it come to this!" he said at length. "Is it possible that you are
obliged to go without such a trifle as the miserable supply of food your
fowls want!"
"That's a small matter!" said Fleda, speaking lightly though she smothered
a sigh. "We have been obliged to do without more than that."
"What is the reason?"
"Why this man Didenhover is a rogue I suspect, and he manages to spirit
away all the profits that should come to uncle Rolf's hands--I don't know
how. We have lived almost entirely upon the mill for some time."
"And has my father been doing nothing all this while?"
"Nothing on the farm."
"And what of anything else?"
"I don't know," said Fleda, speaking with evident unwillingness. "But
surely, Charlton, he knows his own business best. It is not our affair."
"He is mad!" said Charlton, violently striding up and down the floor.
"No," said Fleda with equal gentleness and sadness--"he is only
unhappy;--I understand it all--he has had no spirit to take hold of
anything ever since we came here."
"Spirit!" said Charlton;--"he ought to have worked off his fingers to
their joints before he let you do as you have been doing!"
"Don't say so!" said Fleda, looking even pale in her eagerness--"don't
think so, Charlton! it isn't right. We cannot tell what he may have had to
trouble him--I know he has suffered and does suffer a great deal.--Do not
speak again about anything as you did last night!--Oh," said Fleda, now
shedding bitter tears,--"this is the worst of growing poor! the difficulty
of keeping up the old kindness and sympathy and care for each other!--"
"I am sure it does not work so upon you," said Charlton in an
altered voice.
"Promise me, dear Charlton," said Fleda looking up after a moment and
drying her eyes again, "promise me you will not say any more about these
things! I am sure it pains uncle Rolf more than you think. Say you will
not,--for your mother's sake!"
"I will not, Fleda--for your sake. I would not give _you_ any more trouble
to bear. Promise me; that you will be more careful of yourself in future."
"O there is no danger about me," said Fleda with a faint smile and taking
up her work again.
"Who are you making shirts for?" said Charlton after a pause.
"Hugh."
"You do everything for Hugh, don't you?"
"Little enough. Not half so much as he does for me."
"Is he up at the mill to-day?"
"He is always there," said Fleda sighing.
There was another silence.
"Charlton," said Fleda looking up with a face of the loveliest
insinuation.--"isn't there something _you_ might do to help us a little?"
"I will help you garden, Fleda, with pleasure."
"I would rather you should help somebody else," said she, still
looking at him.
"What, Hugh?--You would have me go and work at the mill for him, I
suppose!"
"Don't be angry with me, Charlton, for suggesting it," said Fleda looking
down again.
"Angry!"--said he. "But is that what you would have me do?"
"Not unless you like,--I didn't know but you might take his place once in
a while for a little, to give him a rest,--"
"And suppose some of the people from Montepoole that know me should come
by? What are you thinking of?" said he in a tone that certainly justified
Fleda's deprecation.
"Well!"--said Fleda in a kind of choked voice,--"there is a strange rule
of honour in vogue in the world!"
"Why should I help Hugh rather than anybody else?"
"He is killing himself!--" said Fleda, letting her work fall and hardly
speaking the words through thick tears. Her head was down and they came
fast. Charlton stood abashed for a minute.
"You sha'n't do so, Fleda," said he gently, endeavouring to raise
her,--"you have tired yourself with this miserable work!--Come to the
window--you have got low-spirited, but I am sure without reason about
Hugh,--but you shall set me about what you will--You are right, I dare
say, and I am wrong; but don't make me think myself a brute, and I will do
anything you please."
He had raised her up and made her lean upon him. Fleda wiped her eyes and
tried to smile.
"I will do anything that will please you, Fleda."
"It is not to please _me_,--" she answered meekly.
"I would not have spoken a word last night if I had known it would have
grieved you so."
"I am sorry you should have none but so poor a reason for doing right,"
said Fleda gently.
"Upon my word, I think you are about as good reason as anybody need have,"
said Charlton.
She put her hand upon his arm and looked up,--such a look of pure rebuke
as carried to his mind the full force of the words she did not
speak,--'Who art thou that carest for a worm which shall die, and
forgettest the Lord thy Maker!'--Charlton's eyes fell. Fleda turned gently
away and began to mend the fire. He stood watching her for a little.
"What do you think of me, Fleda?" he said at length.
"A little wrong-headed," answered Fleda, giving him a glance and a smile.
"I don't think you are very bad."
"If you will go with me, Fleda, you shall make what you please of me!"
He spoke half in jest, half in earnest, and did not himself know at the
moment which way he wished Fleda to take it. But she had no notion of any
depth in his words.
"A hopeless task!" she answered lightly, shaking her head, as she got down
on her knees to blow the fire;--"I am afraid it is too much for me. I
have been trying to mend you ever since you came, and I cannot see the
slightest change for the better!"
"Where is the bellows?" said Charlton in another tone.
"It has expired--its last breath," said Fleda. "In other words, it has
lost its nose."
"Well, look here," said he laughing and pulling her away,--"you will stand
a fair chance of losing your face if you put it in the fire. You sha'n't
do it. Come and shew me where to find the scattered parts of that old wind
instrument and I will see if it cannot be persuaded to play again."