"Your words have took such pains, as if they labour'd
To bring manslaughter into form, and set quarrelling
Upon the head of valour."
TIMON OF ATHENS, _Act 3, Sc. 5._
When William made his appearance at the house he found Eleanor, Mrs.
Rainsfield, and his sister together in the sitting-room; and, after
receiving a severe rating for his cruelty in teasing Kate about her
accident, he was asked by Mrs. Rainsfield what had detained him so long
at the stables. Upon his replying that he had visited the Billings
nothing would satisfy the girls but that he had an object in making such
a visit, and they insisted upon having a detailed account of all his
proceedings, and what he saw and heard at the storekeeper's cottage.
During his narration of the circumstance we will leave him for a few
minutes while we glance at another part of the station.
Over the rails of the stockyard fence leaned a man, we might have said a
gentleman, smoking a short pipe, and carrying or rather holding in his
hand a heavy riding-whip, which we wish the reader particularly to
notice for the reason which shall shortly be seen. At his side leant
another gentleman with his back to the fence, and his eyes bent on the
ground. The first was Bob Smithers, and the other, Mr. Rainsfield; and,
at the moment of our discovering them, they were, or had been, in close
conclave. Before we proceed to listen to the conversation we will
premise by stating one fact, which we have no doubt the reader has
conjectured, viz., that the marriage between Bob Smithers and Eleanor
had been postponed _sine die_, or until such time as her health should
be thoroughly restored.
"Yes, I say again, it is a confounded nuisance that the girl is so slow
in getting well; she might have broken half a dozen legs, and got right
again by this time. I want to get her away from that infernal fellow
Ferguson, and all his set; and I shall never do that until I have
married Eleanor. Then, by G--! if any of them cross my path, they may
expect to meet a tiger." So spoke the puissant Bob Smithers, that had
grossly insulted the senior brother of "the set," and submitted ignobly
to a blow from the younger; from whom he slunk away like an intimidated
cur who had rushed yelping at some wayfarer, and received a warm
reception.
"I don't think you need make yourself at all uneasy, Bob," said his
companion. "Though John Ferguson has made overtures to Eleanor, which
you know were rejected, it is not very probable that his brother or
sister will at all interfere; in fact, I hardly think the young girl,
his sister, knows anything about her brother's feelings on that point.
Eleanor is exceedingly attached to them, and well she might be, for
their behaviour to her has been kind and affectionate in the extreme."
"Well, that may be," said Smithers; "but still I hate them, especially
that young cub that is here now. He had the audacity to strike me on the
night when we paid out his brother; and, but for the intervention of
some of the people, I would have killed the young wretch on the spot."
"As to striking you," said Mr. Rainsfield, "I am not at all surprised at
that. I wouldn't have thought much of the young fellow if he had stood
passively by, and seen a practical joke perpetrated on his brother. But
why didn't you retaliate, or wait for him till after the ball, and then
have given him a good sound horse-whipping?"
"I couldn't get an opportunity of being at him then," said Smithers,
"but I'm d----d if I don't carry out your suggestion now. I'll get an
opportunity before he goes away."
"If you do I only hope you'll manage it so as not to implicate me," said
Mr. Rainsfield. "I don't wish to interfere with your private quarrels;
but I would not like the young fellow attacked in my house or in my
presence. Though I have quarrelled with his brother I haven't done so
with him; and I must say he has been so attentive to Eleanor during her
illness that I would consider any countenanced outrage on him would be
the offering of an insult to her. Nevertheless, if you have any little
settlement to make with him, let it be out of my sight and hearing, and
I won't interfere with you."
"All right, old fellow," Smithers replied, "you need not fear me, I'll
manage it comfortably enough you'll see. I'll get him quietly away from
the house, and let him feel the weight of this." Saying which he laid
his whip about some imaginary object with a force that made the missile
whiz in the air, and with a determination that plainly portrayed the
satisfaction with which he would operate upon his victim.
"Very well," said Rainsfield, "do as you like. Only, as I said before,
don't implicate me, and though I rather like the young man I shall have
no objection to hear of the whole matter after it's done."
These two worthies then separated, Bob Smithers to seek the opportunity
of which he spoke, and the other either to go about some business of the
station, or to keep as much out of the way of the coming event as
possible. The reader will no doubt wonder how a man of Mr. Rainsfield's
generally reputed integrity could reconcile his conscience to such
behaviour; and also that he should willingly, and, we may add,
collusively aid the suit of a man, of whose mental and moral turpitude
he could have had no doubt, in preference to the honourable addresses of
a gentleman in every way a more eligible match for his cousin. "But
thereby hangs a tale," and it is our painful task in the office in which
we stand, to see that that tale be not suppressed.
At an early date after Eleanor's settled sojourn with Mr. Rainsfield he
became aware of the existence of an engagement between her and Bob
Smithers, from whom we may safely conjecture the knowledge was obtained.
When Rainsfield, feeling for the dependent and forlorn condition of his
relative, took her to the bosom of his family he did so out of pure
sympathy and kindliness towards her, and had no wish or desire to
interfere in the disposal of her affections. Consequently he paid very
little attention to the matter. But Smithers made a proposal to him
which, if it did not excite his cupidity, induced him to think more of
the affair as one in which he as a relative, and a protecting relative,
had an interest. It had the effect of suborning his countenance to the
match, and enlisting his strenuous exertions, to induce Eleanor to
accede to the wishes of the Smithers family, and plight herself anew to
the man who had already received her youthful acquiescence.
The offer that Smithers had made to Rainsfield was this. That they
should enter into partnership, and throw their respective properties
into one concern, and work together on equal terms. Smithers was to
embark all the country he was then possessed of, or the proceeds arising
from the sale of any portion, and what capital he could command; and the
other was to bring in the stock and station of Strawberry Hill. In
making this offer Smithers conceived that he would be benefited by such
an arrangement, in so far as he would be able to more effectually stock
the immense tracts of country he had taken up. He considered this more
advantageous than disposing of the runs; as, he argued by lightly
stocking them in the first place, and allowing them to become by
gradation fully stocked, through augmentation and the natural increase,
he would eventually be possessed of larger property than if he with his
own means only stocked an integral part of his holdings. On the other
hand Rainsfield considered the offer as equally worthy of attention to
himself, possibly looking at it in the same light. However, he had
agreed to it; and this was the _douceur_ that had made him a warm
partizan of the Smithers' cause; and that had influenced the collusion
that worked for the consummation of Bob's, or we might say Mrs.
Smithers', matrimonial scheme.
With regard to Eleanor, her feelings, we fear, were little dreamt of in
the matter. Rainsfield deemed Smithers a good match for her, and
possibly believing that she entertained at least some respect for the
man, he never imagined for a moment that she could have had any
objection. While she, on the other hand, from the continual promptings
of her cousin, in the absence in her mind of any other imaginative cause
for her cousin's warmth, attributed it to the desire on his part to be
relieved of an irksome burden; and she had given her consent.
We must admit that women are as equally (it is even affirmed they are
more) susceptible than men to the warm affections of the heart; and that
as they are inspired by love so are they influenced by aversion. And as
a man, we mean of course with honour and conscience, would go to any
extremity rather than ally himself to a woman whom he contemned, so
would a woman feel as great a repugnance in accepting a man for whom she
could not entertain any respect. We do not say that Eleanor actually
abhorred Bob Smithers; but we can affirm that she felt no enjoyment in
his society, but rather the reverse; and though she had accepted him to
avoid the unpleasantness of her situation, the match was positively
distasteful to her. Smithers' nature was diametrically opposed to hers.
They had no one feeling in common; his tastes were not as her tastes;
nor hers as his. Besides, she had an exalted, and perhaps romantic, idea
of matrimony. She didn't think it proper to marry for convenience, but
imagined it was a compact that was only justly and favourably formed on
true love. Not that at the time of her engagement with Smithers she had
experienced the sentiment; but she was aware she had entertained the
proposal of a man in the absence of it, and therefore had sacrificed a
moral principle. But her trial was to come.
She then met John Ferguson; and their mutual companionship, if it had
had its effects on John, had surely had no less so on her. It is true
she had thought no more of him, at first, than as a friend, a kind
attentive friend. But then she admired him, his precepts, his manners,
his conversation, and his general ingenuousness; she liked him, and
found pleasure in his society. Did she think she loved him? It may be
she never gave herself a thought on the subject. She was content to live
in the pleasing delusion, that John Ferguson was nothing more to her
than a friend; but there was her danger. She might have mistaken his
manner; misconstrued his feelings; and been blind to the more than
ordinary warmth of his greeting. But the pleasure in his company, the
delight at his approach, the longing for his presence between the
intervals of his visits; and the heart's palpitations, as she felt the
welcome touch of his hand in the grasp of friendship, must and did have
their own warning voices, to which Eleanor could not shut the ears of
her understanding. She suspected he loved her; she read it in his eyes;
but she feared to ask herself the question, Was the feeling
reciprocated?
Next came the explanation. He declared the existence of that lasting
affection which never dies. But could she give him hope? could she
encourage him in his love? No! she felt she could not. She had
voluntarily given herself to another, yet felt she had by her manner
incited this one; had probably by her demeanour given him cause to hope,
while she was not justified in holding out any. She might have, nay, she
even feared she had, destroyed his peace of mind, and all through her
own selfishness. Why had she not warned him in time? why not forsworn
the pleasure to which she had no claim? These were questions she asked
herself, but could give no reply, except the sigh her heart chose to
offer. Her relationship to Smithers reverted to her mind. That she did
not love him, nor he her, she was convinced; then why not accept the
love of John Ferguson? She meditated; but in that meditation her
principle got the better of her inclinations, and she sacrificed her
interest, her happiness, and her comfort, for the inviolable
preservation of truth.
These scruples were known to Mrs. Rainsfield and Tom, who, we have seen,
considered them unnecessarily severe, and combated against them
unceasingly, though without making any impression on the mind of
Eleanor. They deprecated what they considered her folly, and attempted
by all the arts of persuasion to move her from her purpose; but she had
been inculcated with a perception of high morality, and an appreciation
of strict integrity. Truth had been always represented to her mind as
the fundamental basis of all virtue. Her desires and her passions had
been regulated to a subserviency to the Christian character, and her
nature had been moulded in a religious education. Consequently, upon the
dictates of her conscience she acted, and felt she would be guilty of an
unpardonable moral offence to refuse her hand where her word had been
pledged.
In this light, then, the parties stood to one another. Rainsfield was
anxious to get his cousin married to Smithers, who was equally uneasy to
have the event consummated, as he had serious misgivings on the eventual
possession of his prize. Eleanor, though she was by no means anxious to
hasten the marriage, had no desire to unnecessarily postpone an
occurrence which she could not prevent, but of which latterly, more than
ever, she had had cause to dread. However, she knew regrets were vain,
and therefore attempted to attune her thoughts and feelings to a strict
sense of duty, to forget her own personal likings, and to enter calmly
upon the obligations expected of her. Notwithstanding all her fortitude
poor Eleanor was but mortal, and she could not sustain the gigantic
contest she had undertaken. She strove long and bravely, but her love
would at times overcome her, and leave her the constant prey of her
feelings, and to a melancholy contemplation of the sacrifice she was
making; hence her protracted illness and tardy recovery.
But we must return to our narrative. We left William and the ladies in
the parlour at Strawberry Hill house, and Bob Smithers walking from the
stockyard in that direction, breathing heavy threats of vengeance
against the gentleman who had so grievously offended him, and who had
escaped his just punishment upon the occasion when the offence was
committed. It is needless for us to comment on Bob's version of his
affray with William Ferguson, as the correct one is already known to
the reader; but the tale he told Rainsfield was the one related by him
wherever the circumstance of the blow became known.
William, as we have said, was sitting in company with the ladies, and
was submitting with the greatest docility to be made use of, by lending
his hands for the extension of a skein of silk while it was being wound
off by Eleanor, when a little boy bearing the Billing impress on his
features appeared at the open window, and said he had something to say
to Mr. Ferguson.
"Say it out, my boy," said William, who imagined it might be some formal
invitation from the Billing paterfamilias.
"Please, sir, father told me to tell you a gentleman was waiting down at
our house to see you," said the boy.
"And who is the gentleman, my lad?" asked William.
"Please, sir, I don't know," he replied; "father only told me a
gentleman wanted to speak with you directly."
"Is Mr. Rainsfield down at your father's house?" asked William.
"No, sir," was the reply.
"Very well; tell the gentleman, or your father, that I will be down
there in a few minutes," said William; "and that if the gentleman is in
any very particular hurry, it would have been a great saving of his time
if he had come up here."
Now, the circumstance struck all present (though no one said so) as
being rather remarkable, that Smithers, for they knew it could be no
other than he, should desire to meet William Ferguson alone, and away
from the house. William knowing or suspecting the nature of the coming
interview, fearing that his friends would have a similar suspicion, and
having no desire to excite their fears, tried to show his coolness and
indifference by whistling an air as he left the room. But this
oft-repeated stratagem had not the desired effect of allaying the fears
of one, at least, who was cognizant of the quarrel at Brompton and the
whole attendant circumstances. This was Eleanor, and she was convinced,
from the manner of Smithers, that he meditated some action which he was
ashamed to perform within sight of the house. She therefore hastily put
on her hat, and prepared to follow William, and being joined by Kate,
she stepped out through the window to the green sward in front.
Hardly a dozen steps were necessary, to bring them clear of the angle of
some outhouses that intercepted the view of the stables and Billing's
premises; and as she cleared that angle, it was to this point Eleanor
directed her gaze. The sight that she then witnessed showed that she was
only too correct in her surmise as to the intentions of Smithers; for
there she saw him in high altercation with William, who stood perfectly
at ease taking the matter as coolly as possible. His arms were folded
across his breast, and a pleasant smile played on his features, while
his antagonist had worked his wrath up to the culminating point, ready
for a mighty explosion; and raved about the ground while he brandished
his whip.
We will not trouble our readers, or shock their ears or senses, by a
recapitulation of the dialogue; suffice it to say, that if warm it was
short. So that when Eleanor discovered the disputants she witnessed the
exacerbation of Smithers' ire, and the descent of his whip across
William's shoulders. The fate of Smithers on this occasion might have
been similar to what it was on a former one had not the attention of
William been drawn off from his purpose by hearing a loud shriek at his
rear. He turned to see whence it came, while his castigator, taking no
further heed of the circumstance than to look round to see from whom it
emanated, continued to belabour at his victim with redoubled energy.
It was Eleanor who had uttered the shriek when she saw the blow struck
by Smithers; and instantly flying between the belligerents, throwing
her arms around the neck of her intended husband, she exclaimed:
"Robert! Robert! for mercy's sake, what are you--" But she was not
permitted to finish the sentence for the ruffian whom she had clasped in
an embrace that should have melted a heart of stone shouted in her ear,
coupled with an expression not fit to be repeated: "What business have
you here?" while he flung her from him with a force that hurled her
insensibly to the ground, where she lay without a murmur. This was more
than the honour and chivalry of William could bear. To be attacked
himself he cared little as he was well able to defend himself, and also
to retaliate when he thought fit; but to see a brute, without one spark
of manly feeling, not only lift his hand to a lady, and that lady a
gentle amiable girl who was about to bless him with more earthly
happiness than was meet for him to enjoy, but to prostrate her with such
force as to momentarily deprive her of vitality, was more than his
spirit could placidly endure. The lion was roused in his nature; and,
while Kate attended to her fallen friend, he sprung like an infuriated
animal on the cowardly villain; wrenched his whip from his hand and let
him feel not only the weight of _it_, but also of the avenger's athletic
arm, in such a way as would cause him to remember it for many a day.
When William had thrashed the wretch until he had driven him to seek
shelter in the stables, he returned to where still lay the form of
Eleanor, who showed no signs of returning consciousness. Feeling alarmed
at the lengthened duration of the swoon Kate and her brother thought
they had best remove her to the house at once; with which intention
William took her in his arms, and carried her in to Mrs. Rainsfield.
The good lady was quite alarmed at the appearance of poor Eleanor's
features, when her still inanimate form was brought to her. An ashy
paleness pervaded her face; her eyes were closed; and, with the
exception of an occasional faint sigh, no signs of life were visible. We
say, Mrs. Rainsfield was justly frightened at the appearance of the poor
girl, and she asked in an agitated manner: "What is this? what is the
matter? Eleanor swooned? Good gracious! what does it mean?"
"My dear Mrs. Rainsfield," said William, "if you will allow me to tender
my advice I would suggest that you instantly put Miss Eleanor to bed. I
sadly fear her injuries are severe, and that it is more than a mere
swoon under which she is now labouring. Pray, don't delay, but remove
her at once; and Kate can tell you all the circumstances. If you will
lead the way I will carry her into her room."
"Poor Eleanor! and is this too the work of that viper, Smithers?" said
Mrs. Rainsfield.
"It is, indeed!" replied Kate.
"Oh, the vile wretch!" exclaimed the lady. "It is as I thought, he
cares not a straw for her life. A man that would treat a tender, loving
girl in this way, would be guilty of any enormity; and yet she is so
infatuated as to court her own misery by persisting in accepting this
monster. Oh! what would I not give to see her safe out of his clutches?
But he surely can't have the effrontery to look her in the face after
this; nor she so silly as to receive him if he does. Certainly not, if I
can dissuade her, and I think I have some good ground to work upon now."
By this time William had deposited his burden on the little snow-white
bed of the motionless girl, and left the room and the patient to the
guardianship of Mrs. Rainsfield and his sister; while he strolled out
for a few minutes to calm his agitation, and weigh the circumstances in
his mind. He had walked backwards and forwards for about a quarter of an
hour when he turned again into the house just as his sister was looking
for him.
"Oh, Will!" she said, "Eleanor is in a dreadful state. She is fearfully
ill, and we think it is a fever. Mrs. Rainsfield says there is a doctor
who has lately settled at Alma, and she was going to send one of the men
over for him; but I thought it would be better, to prevent the
possibility of any mistake, for you to go. Will you go, and at once,
Will?"
The answer William gave to his sister's question was to dart off to the
stables for his horse; and in a few minutes afterwards he might have
been seen galloping through the bush to procure the services of the son
of Galen located at the nearest township.