THE FLOWER.
"I saw the light that made the glossy leaves
More glossy; the fair arm, the fairer cheek,
Warmed by the eye intent on its pursuit;
I saw the foot that, although half erect
From its grey slipper, could not lift her up
To what she wanted; I held down a branch
And gathered her some blossoms."
LANDOR.
Amy went for a walk in the grounds; there being plenty of time before
the evening closed in, as Julia had purposely returned early. A solitary
walk is not much calculated to raise and cheer the spirits, and Amy's,
though not naturally dull or sad, were anything but cheerful during her
ramble. Miss Tremlow's questions had recalled sad scenes and memories
which she had tried to forget; but some things are never forgotten; out
of sight or laid aside for a time they may be, until some accident, or
circumstance slight and trivial perhaps in itself, recalls them; and
then there they are as vivid and fresh as ever, holding the same place
and clinging round the heart with the same weight and tightness as ever;
until again they fade away into the shade; crossed out, as a pen does a
wrong word, yet the writing is there, though faintly and imperfectly
visible, whatever pains we take to erase it.
How Amy's thoughts wandered as she walked along over the frosty ground!
Time was when she had been as gay as Julia, and as light-hearted; but
she began to think those were by-gone days, such as would never come
again, or if they did, she would no longer be the same as before, and
therefore would not enjoy them as she once had. Then she sighed over the
past, and tried to picture to herself the future; _tried_, because very
mercifully the future of our lives, the foreseeing things that may
happen, is denied us. What a dark future it appeared! To be all her
life going over the self-same tasks, the same dull routine day by day;
her pupils might dislike their lessons, but how much more distasteful
they were to her. What a dull, dreary path lay before her! She passed
into the conservatory as these thoughts filled her heart. It was getting
dusk, and entering hastily, she gathered a few flowers, and was turning
on her way out, when she was attracted by a beautiful white Camellia,
ranged amongst a number of plants rather higher up than she could reach.
She stretched her arm over those below--in vain, the flower was beyond
her still. She made a second attempt, when an arm was suddenly passed
across her, and it was severed from its stem by some one at her side.
"It was a thousand pities to have gathered it," said a tall,
gentlemanly-looking man; "but I saw you were determined to have it," and
he picked up the flower, which had fallen, and held it for her
acceptance.
"Thank you," said Amy, nervously. He had startled her; his help had
been so unexpected. She told him so.
"You did not perceive me? and yet I am by no means so small as to be
easily overlooked. I wish I could be sometimes; but I regret I
frightened you."
"Not exactly frightened; only, not seeing you or knowing you were there,
it----" and Amy stopped short.
"Frightened you," said he, decidedly.
She did not contradict him. It was evident he did not intend she should,
for he scarcely allowed her time to reply as he went on,
"There is another bud left on the same plant. Will you have it? I will
gather it in a moment."
"Oh, no, by no means. Perhaps I ought not to have taken this; but John
is not here to guide me; I am rather sorry I have it now."
"Never mind; it is I who am the culprit, not you. Will you have the
other? Say the word, and it is yours. It is a pity to leave it neglected
here, now its companion is gone," and he moved towards the flower.
"Indeed I would rather not. One will be quite enough for Mrs. Linchmore,
and, besides, I have so many flowers now."
"They are not for yourself, then? I could almost quarrel with you for
culling them for anyone else."
"I never wear flowers," replied Amy, somewhat chillingly, with a slight
touch of hauteur, as she moved away.
But he would not have it so, and claimed her attention again.
"Why do you pass over this sweet flower? just in your path, too; I do
not know its name, I am so little of a gardener, but I am sure it would
grace your bouquet; see what delicate white blossoms it has."
"Yes it is very pretty, but I have enough flowers, thank you."
"You will not surely refuse to accept it," and at the same moment he
severed it from its stem. "Will you give me the Camellia in exchange?"
"No. I would rather not have it."
"It is a pity I gathered it," and he threw it on the ground, and made as
though he would have crushed it with his foot.
"Do not do that," said Amy hastily; "give it to me, and I will place it
with the other flowers in my bouquet."
"But those flowers are for some one else, not for yourself. You said so;
and I gathered this for you. Will you not have it?"
"You have no right to offer it," replied Amy, determined not to be
conciliated, "and I will only accept it on the terms I have said; if you
will pull it to pieces I cannot help it."
"No. I have not the heart to kill it so soon; I will keep it for some
other fair lady less obdurate," and he opened the door to allow of her
passing out. "I suppose we are both going the same way," said he,
overtaking her, notwithstanding she had hurried on.
"I am going home," replied Amy, now obliged to slacken her steps, and
hardly knowing whether to feel angry or not.
"So am I; if by home you mean Brampton House. How cold it is! are you
not very lightly clad for such inclement weather? The cold is intense."
"This shawl is warmer than it looks. We feel it cold just leaving the
conservatory; it was so very warm there."
"True; but we shall soon get not only warm, but out of breath if we
hurry on at this pace."
Amy smiled, and slackened her steps again. She felt she had been
hurrying on very fast.
"I think I saw you the day the Stricklands arrived?"
Then as Amy looked at him enquiringly; he added, "you were coming up the
long walk with the children and helped Miss Tremlow upstairs when she
was able to leave the library."
"I did," replied Amy, "but you? I do not remember you in the least. Oh!
yes I do, you were at the horses' heads. Yes, I remember quite well
now; it was you who first ran forward as they came up at that headlong
pace and stopped them. How stupid of me not to recollect you again."
"Not at all. I scarcely expected you would."
"Yes, but I ought to have, because out of the number of men collected
you were the only one who led the way; the only one it seemed to me who
had any presence of mind; there were plenty who _followed_, but none who
took the lead." Amy was quite eloquent and at home with him now, and he
smiled to himself as she went on. "I had not patience with all those
men, talking, screaming to one another, ordering here, calling there,
none knowing what ought to be done, all talking at random as the horses
dashed on, when suddenly you sprung from among them, the only one silent
amongst all the noise; the horses were stopped; the carriage stood
still; and the by-standers had nothing to do but cease talking, and
follow the example you set them."
"Really you will make me out a hero; I only did a very simple action."
Amy was silent, she was afraid she had said too much. "Do you know how
Miss Tremlow is?" continued he; "poor lady, I fear she was seriously
alarmed."
"She was indeed, but is now getting better, and I hope will soon make
her appearance downstairs."
"I am not surprised she was frightened, my only wonder is the accident
did not end more seriously. This Goody Grey, whoever she is, is greatly
to blame; mad she undoubtedly must be, and I cannot understand Mr.
Linchmore's allowing her to go at large."
"I believe she is quite harmless. I am going to see her some day; she
lives in a cottage down in the wood yonder."
"This was no harmless action, it looks like malice prepense, unless
indeed they excited her anger unintentionally."
"That is exactly what I have been thinking, and I intend finding out
more about it when I see her."
"I should be cautious how I went to see her; she may not be so harmless
as you imagine. At all events do not go alone; I will accompany you with
pleasure if you will allow me?"
"Thank you, I am not afraid. What harm could she do me? and as for her
foretelling future events I simply do not believe it, and should pay
little or no heed to anything she told, whether for good or ill," said
Amy, laughing as they reached the Terrace, when, wishing him good-bye,
she went in.
"I hope you have had a pleasant walk with Miss Neville, Mr. Vavasour,"
said Anne Bennet, coming up just behind as Amy disappeared, "Mr. Hall
and I have been close to you nearly all the way home, but you were too
busily engaged to perceive us."
"I hope you also have had a pleasant walk. Have you been far?" asked Mr.
Vavasour, evading a direct answer.
"An awful distance!" answered her companion, evidently a clergyman, by
the cut of his coat and white neck band.
"You know nothing at all about it," exclaimed Anne, turning sharp round,
"or I am sure you would not call it far; why we only went across the
fields round by the church and so home again. I thought you said you
enjoyed it extremely?"
"I am ready to take another this moment if you like. What say you? shall
we make a start of it?"
"No, decidedly not, it is too dark; but I will hold you to your word
to-morrow. I know of a lovely walk; only three or four hedges to
scramble through, but that is a mere nothing, you know. The view when we
do reach the hill is charming, you can form no idea of it until you have
seen it," and laughing merrily at Mr. Hall's disconsolate look, Anne
left him.
She peeped into the drawing-room; there was no one there but Mrs.
Linchmore.
"What all alone! where's Julia?" asked she abruptly.
"I fancy in her own room, or with Miss Tremlow; she was here a few
minutes ago, and was enquiring for you. Have you had a pleasant walk?"
"Oh! very. Everybody asks me that question, or insinuates it, so that I
shall begin to imagine I have been in Paradise; here comes my Adam,"
added she sarcastically, as Mr. Hall entered, "and really I can stand
him no longer, the character of Eve is odious to me. I cannot play it
out another moment, so leave it for you if you like to assume it."
Away went Anne, her anger or ill temper increasing as she went up the
stairs. Flinging the door of their room wide open, and then closing it
as sharply, she quite astonished Julia, who sat with her feet on the
fender before the fire reading.
"She's a flirt, Mag!" exclaimed she, throwing her hat on the table, and
flinging herself into an arm chair, close to her sister. "Yes, you need
not look at me in that way; I say she's a flirt; I am certain of it!"
Julia burst out laughing.
"You may laugh as much as you like, it will not annoy me. I shall hold
to that opinion as long as I live, and you may deny it as much as you
please; but I shall still say she's a flirt. Nothing will convince me to
the contrary, and now I think I have exhausted my rage a little; I felt
at fever heat when I came in," said she, putting her hair off her face.
"I cannot think what your rage is all about, Anne," said Julia. "Of
course she is a flirt, no one ever asserts otherwise; it makes me laugh
to hear you go on; when not a soul, and least of all I, would take the
trouble of contradicting you."
"More shame to you then, that is all I can say, when you pretend to be
so fond of her; I am sure I expected you to fly into a tremendous temper
at my assertion of her being a flirt. If I had a friend I would stand
up for her, no one should accuse her of sins in my presence."
"I fond of her! well I think your walk has turned your head. I fond of
Isabella, indeed! You must be mad, when I begged mamma to leave me at
home, because I so much dislike her goings on."
"Isabella! who talked of Isabella? I am sure I did not; I said as plain
as possible, Miss Neville."
"Miss Neville! she is no flirt, and never will be," said Julia
decidedly.
"Ah! there it is, I knew you would say so, although only a minute ago
you said no one would take the trouble of contradicting me."
"Neither shall I. You can hold a solitary opinion if you like."
"Stuff and nonsense about solitary opinions! I shall just convince you."
"You will never do that."
"How can you tell, seeing I have not tried? but only listen to my story,
and I am certain you will be convinced."
"I am all attention," and Julia closed her book.
"You must know then that after luncheon I asked Mr. Vavasour to chaperon
me out walking, or rather I gave a hint he might go with me if he liked,
and really I think it was the least he could do, considering Isabella
being 'nowhere.' I had devoted myself to him all the morning, and
positively went so far as to fetch the paper knife for him; when whom
should I find awaiting me when I came down dressed for walking, but that
dreadful Mr. Hall, his best hat and coat on. I felt just mad with
vexation, and should have given him an answer that would have sent him
flying; only I fortunately caught sight of that Vavasour's face at the
window, watching our departure, with a smile at the corners of his
mouth. I was in such a rage, but managed to wave him a smiling adieu,
before I vented it out by walking my friend Hall through all the gaps in
the hedges by way of finding short cuts; until he was in a thorough
state of disgust and despair about his new coat, etc., and not anxious
to take another walk in a hurry; when whom should I see in the distance,
as we came home, but that wretch Vavasour and Miss Neville, laughing and
talking together as thick as two peas. No wonder he would not go out
with me, when he had a walk in perspective with her."
"Do stop Anne, you have talked yourself quite out of breath; and have
not convinced me either, for I still think you are wrong, and that most
likely he met her accidentally in the grounds. I sent her out myself;
she was very loath to go, so could not have promised to walk with
anyone."
"Accidental fiddlestick. I am a woman, and do you suppose I do not know
a woman's ways. They looked as if they had known one another for years;
she must be a desperate flirt if they are only recently acquainted."
"Perhaps they have met before. Suppose you ask her, instead of
condemning her unheard."
"What a goose you are, Julia! You will never make your way in the
world. Ask, indeed! and be laughed at by both her and Mr. Vavasour for
my pains. I have not patience with you, Mag."
"I have not patience to listen to you; so I shall go on with my book, if
you will let me."
"No, I will not, Mag! I feel desperately annoyed, and will talk, whether
you like it or no, because if I do not, I shall feel in a rage all the
evening, and I am determined Mr. Vavasour shall not see how he has
disgusted me."
"I dare say he does not think about it. Had you asked him point blank,
of course he would have walked with you; but most likely he never
understood your hint."
"Upon my word, Julia, you are Job's comforter, and make me more vexed
than ever. I feel inclined to do something desperate, and have half a
mind to go down and torment that Mr. Hall afresh. I would if I thought I
should find him in the drawing-room."
"Don't, Anne; stay where you are, and do try and leave that unfortunate
Mr. Hall alone. I am sure you tease his very life out, poor man! I do
not believe he is quite so stupid as he looks, and expect he will turn
round upon you some day."
"I wish he would; there would be a little excitement in it; and as for
teasing him, I am sure I do not care if I do. Men wear the very life out
of us poor women."
"Not all of them, Anne."
"Yes, all of them; even Mr. Hall,--who is as simple as--as--I am sure I
do not know anything half bad enough to compare him to--would tyrannise
over a woman the moment he found out she loved him. Men are all alike in
that respect. Even he has sense enough for that, or, rather, it is a
man's nature, born in him, and he can no more get rid of it than he can
fly."
"You will change your opinion some day, Anne."
"Never! If ever I fall in love, I shall make a fool of myself, as most
women do, and be paid out the same; but my opinion will remain
unaltered all the time I am allowing myself to be trodden on. But
there, thank goodness, I am not in love, and not likely to be. My
thraldom is far off, I hope. Besides, I am wiser than I was a few years
back. 'A burnt child dreads the fire,' Mag. They will find it a hard
task to entice me into mischief. I like to pay them out. No retaliation
provokes me."
"Not Mr. Vavasour's?" laughed Julia.
"Oh, Mag," said Anne, rising, "how tiresome you are! You will be an old
maid, I prophesy, you are so prosy, and then we will both live together
and enjoy ourselves."
"I do not look forward to any such lot," replied Julia. "I should be
miserable."
"Then I will live by myself. No nephews or nieces, mind, to torment me.
That would be anything but enjoyment. How slowly the time goes! I
declare it is only five o'clock. Just call me when it is time to dress,
will you?" and she walked across the room and threw herself on the bed,
first throwing a large warm railway wrapper on the top.
"There," said she, drawing it over her. "I am perfectly comfortable, and
intend forgetting that wretched Miss Neville and Vavasour in the arms of
Somnus, so you can go on with your book, Mag."
She remained perfectly still for a few moments, then sitting bolt
upright, and throwing off the shawl, she exclaimed,--
"I have thought of a capital plan, Mag, of annoying that wretch,
Vavasour. How glad I am I lay down; it might never have entered my head,
sitting there by that cosy fire. Just watch his face, please, to-night,
will you, towards the end of the evening? I say, Maggie, do you hear? or
am I talking to a stone? Why don't you answer?"
"Yes, yes; I hear you, I thought you were asleep."
"Then do not think any such thing until you hear me snore; and now,
good-night, or rather good-bye, until six o'clock. Just stir up the
fire, it is awfully cold over here; do not forget we dine at seven, and
I must have an hour to dress, as I intend making myself quite killing.
And now for my bright idea again," and once more she drew the wrapper
over her, and composed herself to sleep afresh.