CHAPTER XL
SHELFING THE QUESTION
There is a time of day (as everybody must have noticed who is kindenough to attend to things) not to be told by the clock, nor measured toa nicety by the position of the sun, even when he has the manners to saywhere he is--a time of day dependent on a multiplicity of things unknownto us (who have made our own brains, by perceiving that we had none,and working away till we got them), yet palpable to all those lessself-exalted beings, who, or which, are of infinitely nobler origin thanwe, and have shown it, by humility. At this time of day every decentand good animal feels an unthought-of and untraced desire to shift itsposition, to come out and see its fellows, to learn what is happeningin the humble grateful world--out of which man has hoisted himself longago, and is therefore a spectre to them--to breathe a little sample ofthe turn the world is taking, and sue their share of pleasure in thequiet earth and air.
This time is more observable because it follows a period of the oppositetendency, a period of heaviness, and rest, and silence, when no birdsings and no quadruped plays, for about half an hour of the afternoon.Then suddenly, without any alteration of the light, or weather, or eventemperature, or anything else that we know of, a change of mood flashesinto every living creature, a spirit of life, and activity, and stir,and desire to use their own voice and hear their neighbour's. The usualbeginning is to come out first into a place that cannot knock theirheads, and there to run a little way, and after that to hop, and takea peep for any people around, and espying none--or only one of the veryfew admitted to be friends--speedily to dismiss all misgivings, take avery little bit of food, if handy (more as a duty to one's family thanoneself, for the all-important supper-time is not come yet), and then,if gifted by the Lord with wings--for what bird can stoop at such amoment to believe that his own grandfather made them?--up to the topmostspray that feathers in the breeze, and pour upon the grateful air thevoice of free thanksgiving. But an if the blade behind the heart isstill unplumed for flying, and only gentle flax or fur blows out on thewind, instead of beating it, does the owner of four legs sit and sulk,like a man defrauded of his merits? He answers the question with a skipand jump; ere a man can look twice at him he has cut a caper, frolickedan intricate dance upon the grass, and brightened his eyes for anotherround of joy.
At any time of year almost, the time of day commands these deeds, unlessthe weather is outrageous; but never more undeniably than in the monthof April. The growth of the year is well established, and its mannerbeginning to be schooled by then; childish petulance may still survive,and the tears of penitence be frequent; yet upon the whole there is--orused to be--a sense of responsibility forming, and an elemental inklingof true duty towards the earth. Even man (the least observant of thepowers that walk the ground, going for the signs of weather to the cows,or crows, or pigs, swallows, spiders, gnats, and leeches, or the finalassertion of his own corns) sometimes is moved a little, and enlargedby influence of life beyond his own, and tickled by a pen above histhoughts, and touched for one second by the hand that made him. Then hesees a brother man who owes him a shilling, and his soul is swallowed upin the resolve to get it.
But well in the sky-like period of youth, when the wind sits lightly,and the clouds go by in puffs, these little jumps of inspiration takethe most respectable young man sometimes off his legs, and the youngmaid likewise--if she continues in these fine days to possess suchcontinuation. Blyth Scudamore had been appointed now, partly throughhis own good deserts, and wholly through good influence--for Lord St.Vincent was an ancient friend of the excellent Admiral Darling--to thecommand of the Blonde, refitted, thoroughly overhauled at Portsmouth,and pronounced by the dock-yard people to be the fastest and soundestcorvette afloat, and in every way a credit to the British navy. "The manthat floated her shall float in her," said the Earl, when somebody, whowanted the appointment, suggested that the young man was too young. "Hehas seen sharp service, and done sharp work. It is waste of time to talkof it; the job is done." "Job is the word for it," thought the other,but wisely reserved that great truth for his wife. However, it was notat all a bad job for England. And Scudamore had now seen four years ofactive service, counting the former years of volunteering, and was morethan twenty-five years old.
None of these things exalted him at all in his own opinion, or, atany rate, not very much. Because he had always regarded himself witha proper amount of self-respect, as modest men are almost sure to do,desiring less to know what the world thinks of them than to try to thinkrightly of it for themselves. His opinion of it seemed to be that it wasvery good just now, very kind, and fair, and gentle, and a thing for theheart of man to enter into.
For Dolly Darling was close beside him, sitting on a very pretty bench,made of twisted oak, and turned up at the back and both ends, so thata gentleman could not get very far away from a lady without frighteningher. Not only in this way was the spot well adapted for tender feelings,but itself truly ready to suggest them, with nature and the time of yearto help. There was no stream issuing here, to puzzle and perpetuallydivert the human mind (whose origin clearly was spring-water poured intothe frame of the jelly-fish), neither was there any big rock, like anobstinate barrier rising; but gentle slopes of daisied pasture led theeye complacently, sleek cows sniffed the herbage here and there, andbrushed it with the underlip to fetch up the blades for supper-time, andplacable trees, forgetting all the rudeness of the winter winds, beganto disclose to the fond deceiving breeze, with many a glimpse toattract a glance, all the cream of their summer intentions. And in fullenjoyment of all these doings, the poet of the whole stood singing--thesimple-minded thrush, proclaiming that the world was good and kind, buthimself perhaps the kindest, and his nest, beyond doubt, the best of it.
"How lovely everything is to-day!" Blyth Scudamore spoke slowly, andgazing shyly at the loveliest thing of all, in his opinion--the face ofDolly Darling. "No wonder that your brother is a poet!"
"But he never writes about this sort of thing," said Dolly, smilingpleasantly. "His poems are all about liberty, and the rights of men,and the wrongs of war. And if he ever mentions cows or sheep, it isgenerally to say what a shame it is to kill them."
"But surely it is much worse to kill men. And who is to be blamed forthat, Miss Darling? The Power that wants to overrun all the rest, or theCountry that only defends itself? I hope he has not converted you tothe worship of the new Emperor; for the army and all the great cities ofFrance have begged him to condescend to be that; and the King of Prussiawill add his entreaties, according to what we have heard."
"I think anything of him!" cried Dolly, as if her opinion would settlethe point. "After all his horrible murders--worst of all of that veryhandsome and brave young man shot with a lantern, and buried in a ditch!I was told that he had to hold the lantern above his poor head, and hishand never shook! It makes me cry every time I think of it. Only letFrank come back, and he won't find me admire his book so very much! Theydid the same sort of thing when I was a little girl, and could scarcelysleep at night on account of it. And then they seemed to get a littlebetter, for a time, and fought with their enemies, instead of oneanother, and made everybody wild about liberty, and citizens, and thenoble march of intellect, and the dignity of mankind, and the rightsof labour--when they wouldn't work a stroke themselves--and the blacksuperstition of believing anything, except what they chose to make afuss about themselves. And thousands of people, even in this country,who have been brought up so much better, were foolish enough to thinkit very grand indeed, especially the poets, and the ones that are tooyoung. But they ought to begin to get wiser now; even Frank will find ithard to make another poem on them."
"How glad I am to hear you speak like that! I had no idea--at least Idid not understand--"
"That I had so much common-sense?" enquired Dolly, with a glance ofsubtle yet humble reproach. "Oh yes, I have a great deal sometimes, Ican assure you. But I suppose one never does get credit for anything,without claiming it."
"I am sure that you d
eserve credit for everything that can possiblybe imagined," Scudamore answered, scarcely knowing, with all his owncommon-sense to help him, that he was talking nonsense. "Every time Isee you I find something I had never found before to--to wonder at--ifyou can understand--and to admire, and to think about, and to--to beastonished at."
Dolly knew as well as he did the word he longed to use, but feared.She liked this state of mind in him, and she liked him too for all hiskindness, and his humble worship; and she could not help admiring himfor his bravery and simplicity. But she did not know the value yet of asteadfast and unselfish heart, and her own was not quite of that order.So many gallant officers were now to be seen at her father's house, halfa cubit taller than poor Blyth, and a hundred cubits higher in rank, andwealth, and knowledge of the world, and the power of making their wivesgreat ladies. Moreover, she liked a dark man, and Scudamore was fair andfresh as a rose called Hebe's Cup in June. Another thing against him wasthat she knew how much her father liked him; and though she loved herfather well, she was not bound to follow his leadings. And yet she didnot wish to lose this useful and pleasant admirer.
"I am not at all ambitious," she replied, without a moment's hesitation,for the above reflections had long been dealt with, "but how I wish Icould do something to deserve even half that you say of me! But Ifear that you find the air getting rather cold. The weather is sochangeable."
"Are you sure that you are not ambitious?" Scudamore was too deeplyplunged to get out of it now upon her last hint; and to-morrow he mustbe far away. "You have every right to be ambitious, if such a word canbe used of you, who are yourself the height of so many ambitions. It wasthe only fault I could imagine you to have, and it seems too bad thatyou should have none at all."
"You don't know anything about it," said Dolly, with a lovely expressionin her face of candour, penitence, and pleasantry combined; "I am notonly full of faults, but entirely made up of them. I am told of them toooften not to know."
"By miserably jealous and false people." It was impossible to look ather and not think that. "By people who cannot have a single atom ofperception, or judgment, or even proper feeling. I should like tohear one of them, if you would even condescend to mention it. Tellme one--only one--if you can think of it. I am not at all a judge ofcharacter, but--but I have often had to study it a good deal among theboys."
This made Miss Dolly laugh, and drop her eyes, and smoothe her dress, asif to be sure that his penetration had not been brought to bear on her.And the gentle Scuddy blushed at his clumsiness, and hoped that shewould understand the difference.
"You do say such things!" She also was blushing beautifully as shespoke, and took a long time before she looked at him again. "Things thatnobody else ever says. And that is one reason why I like you so."
"Oh, do you like me--do you like me in earnest? I can hardly dare todream even for one moment--"
"I am not going to talk about that any more. I like Mr. Twemlow, I likeCaptain Stubbard, I like old Tugwell--though I should have liked himbetter if he had not been so abominably cruel to his son. Now I am sureit is time to go and get ready for dinner."
"Ah, when shall I dine with you again? Perhaps never," said the youngman, endeavouring to look very miserable and to inspire sadness. "ButI ought to be very happy, on the whole, to think of all the pleasures Ihave enjoyed, and how much better I have got on than I had any right inthe world to hope for."
"Yes, to be the Commander of a beautiful ship, little more than a yearfrom the date of your commission. Captain Stubbard is in such a rageabout it!"
"I don't mean about that--though that of course is rare luck--I mean amuch more important thing; I mean about getting on well with you. Thefirst time I saw you in that fine old school, you did not even want toshake hands with me, and you thought what a queer kind of animal I was;and then the first time or two I dined at the Hall, nothing but finehospitality stopped you from laughing at my want of practice. Butgradually, through your own kind nature, and my humble endeavours to beof use, I began to get on with you better and better; and now you arebeginning almost to like me."
"Not almost, but altogether," she answered, with quite an affectionateglance. "I can tell you there are very few, outside of my own family,that I like half so well as I like you. But how can it matter to you somuch?"
She looked at him so that he was afraid to speak, for fear of spoilingeverything; and being a very good-natured girl, and pleased with hisdeep admiration, she sighed--just enough to make him think that he mighthope.
"We are all so sorry to lose you." she said; "and no one will miss youso much as I shall, because we have had such pleasant times together.But if we can carry out our little plot, we shall hear of you veryoften, and I dare say not very unfavourably. Faith and I have beenputting our heads together, and for our own benefit, and that of all thehouse, if we can get you to second it. My father jumped at the idea,and said how stupid we were not to think of it before. You know how verylittle he can be at home this summer, and he says he has to sacrificehis children to his country. So we suggested that he should invite LadyScudamore to spend the summer with us, if she can be persuaded to leavehome so long. We will do our very utmost to make her comfortable, andshe will be a tower of strength to us; for you know sometimes it is veryawkward to have only two young ladies. But we dare not do anything untilwe asked you. Do you think she would take compassion upon us? A wordfrom you perhaps would decide her; and Faith would write a letter foryou to send."
Scudamore reddened with delight, and took her hand. "How can I thankyou? I had better not try," he answered, with some very tender playof thumb and fore-finger, and a strong impulse to bring lips too intoaction. "You are almost as clever as you are good; you will know whatI mean without my telling you. My mother will be only too glad to come.She knows what you are, she has heard so much from me. And the realitywill put to shame all my descriptions."
"Tell me what you told her I was like. The truth, now, and not a wordof afterthought or flattery. I am always so irritated by any sort offlattery."
"Then you must let me hold your hands, to subdue your irritation; foryou are sure to think that it was flattery--you are so entirely ignorantof yourself, because you never think of it. I told my dear mother thatyou were the best, and sweetest, and wisest, and loveliest, and mostperfect, and exquisite, and innocent, and unselfish of all the humanbeings she had ever seen, or heard, or read of. And I said it was quiteimpossible for any one after one look at you to think of himself anymore in this world."
"Well done!" exclaimed Dolly, showing no irritation, unless a gleam ofpearls inside an arch of coral showed it. "It is as well to do thingsthoroughly, while one is about it. I can understand now how you get onso fast. But, alas, your dear mother will only laugh at all that. Ladiesare so different from gentlemen. Perhaps that is why gentlemen neverunderstand them. And I would always a great deal rather be judged by agentleman than a lady. Ladies pick such a lot of holes in one another,whereas gentlemen are too large-minded. And I am very glad upon thewhole that you are not a lady, though you are much more gentle thanthey make believe to be. Oh dear! We must run; or the ladies will neverforgive us for keeping them starving all this time."
Springhaven: A Tale of the Great War Page 40