CHAPTER IX.
The next morning broke clear and frosty, without a cloud in the sky.
"What bitter mockery!" thought McGuilp, as he looked on the beaming faceof Nature, and contrasted it with the feelings he bore hidden in hisbreast. "A day like yesterday would have been more in harmony with mysoul." The sun actually smiled on his departure.
"Good morning, my young friend!" cried the cheery voice of Mr. Oldstoneas they entered the breakfast room together; "it is a fine day for you."
Our artist nodded assent, and having shaken hands with all the membersin turn, seated himself at the breakfast table, and tried to keep up acheerful appearance, but his smile was hollow, and his face was pale.
"I wish you would let me give you a little opening medicine, Mr.McGuilp," broke in Dr. Bleedem, in the midst of a lull in theconversation; "it would soon set you to rights."
Our artist persisted that he _was_ all right, and required nothing.
"H'm, h'm," muttered the doctor to himself with a shake of the head, asmuch as to say, "You don't fool _me_."
Conversation then took a general turn, and our artist was allowed tofinish his meal unmolested.
Breakfast was hardly concluded when a horn was heard in the distance."There's the stage!" cried one of the members.
"'The horn, the horn, the lusty horn,'" quoted Mr. Blackdeed from hisgreat poet; but the quotation fell flat on the ears of our artist, whohad grown a shade paler.
"I am quite sure, Mr. McGuilp," went on the irrepressible DoctorBleedem, "that if you were to follow my advice----"
"There, that's enough, Bleedem. Leave the boy alone," broke in Mr.Oldstone. "Here comes the stage. God bless you, my boy. Take an oldman's blessing with you. I know I shan't see you again this side ofTime. I'm getting old; I know it; I feel it. But write me as soon as youget to Rome to say you have arrived safely; and here is a letter to myold friend Rustcoin, which please give him with your own hands when yousee him. There, good-bye, good-bye." Here the kind old antiquary moppedhis eyes, gave our artist a fatherly pat on the back, and followed himto the door.
"Good-bye, sir, and I hope we shall meet again." This was all our artistcould find to say.
The coach had now driven up, and McGuilp had to undergo once more theordeal of shaking hands. This was rather a trial, for although therecould be no doubt as to the sincerity of the regret that each memberfelt at his departure, and the cordiality of their good wishes, yetthere was one thought alone that now occupied his mind, viz., that oftearing himself away from his fair model.
Whether the members guessed this, and out of bare humanity wished togive him a chance to say a few words alone with his lady-love, we knownot; but, having wished their guest God-speed, they left him, andsurrounded the coach. Some of them patted the smoking horses; one had aword with the driver; others seemed to scrutinise the travellers and thevehicle. Our host and hostess stood at the door of the inn, and wishedtheir late guest a happy journey and a speedy return, to which ourartist responded by a hearty shake of the hand and a few appropriatewords.
The landlord was then called off to serve the driver with a mug of ale,but before he went he called out to his daughter, who was hiding herselfbehind her mother in the passage, "Now, then, Helen, my girl, thegentleman is going, and wants to bid you good-bye."
Helen now came forward, pale and trembling, while Dame Hearty, perhapsguessing the state of things, prudently retired, thus leaving the youngcouple to say a word to each other in private.
"Good-bye, Helen, my girl, and may God bless you," was all our artistcould trust himself to say at the last; but his sad glance and thetender squeeze he gave her dimpled hand spoke volumes.
"Good-bye, sir," faltered the child, now choking with sobs; "good-bye,and may you be happy." Then breaking down altogether, she rushed insideand was seen no more. Our artist looked after her for a moment as ifdazed.
"Now, then, sir," cried the driver, "come along if you're coming; we'reoff."
McGuilp, thus roused, threw his cloak around him, pressed his hat overhis eyes, and hastily mounted. Crack went the whip, off went the horses,and our artist was swiftly borne from the scene where he had passed somany happy hours, midst cheering and waving of hats, to which hegraciously, but with an aching heart, responded. He was now alone withhis own thoughts, and barely glancing at the shifting wintry landscapeas it flashed passed him, was in no humour to exchange commonplaces withhis fellow passengers. Here we will leave him for the present, andreturn to our inn.
The members of the club, with the exception of our antiquary, who hadremained behind to finish a letter for the post, had resolved upon awoodland ramble, and were chatting lightly by the way.
"Yes, yes; there is no doubt about the poor lad being hard hit," saidone. "I noticed it from the first."
"So did I," put in another. "In good time he bolted, for these sort ofthings never end well when allowed to go on ahead."
"Of course, marrying her would be out of the question altogether,looking at it from any point of view," remarked a third; "besides,there's her age. Why, she's a mere child."
"True," observed a fourth, "and even supposing her to have been of amarriageable age, he, being but a struggling artist, wholly dependent onhis profession, and doomed to eke out a precarious living by the sale ofhis pictures, what else but misery could there be in store for either ofthem by such a union?"
But here we will leave them to continue their ramble and their gossip.
It has been stated above that our antiquary had remained behind tofinish a letter. Having waved his last adieus to his young protege, andwaited till the coach had disappeared in the distance, he returned tothe breakfast room with a sigh, muttering to himself, "Poor boy! poorboy!" He then collected his writing materials, but the breakfast thingshad not yet been cleared away.
Presently Helen entered, and proceeded to clear the table. Her face waspale, but calm; her eyes downcast. Our antiquary appeared not to noticeher overmuch, but was secretly scanning her countenance. At length, whenthe table was quite clear, and Helen returned with a fresh log for thefire, he slowly advanced towards her, and placing his right hand on herhead and his left on her right shoulder, whilst he toyed for a momentwith her bright curls, he remained for some moments in silence. Theaction was that of one invoking a blessing. Then seizing her right handin both of his, and raising it to his breast, he gave it a gentlesqueeze; then dropped it and turned away, still without a word.
Now, poor Helen's heart was full to overflowing, in spite of heroutwardly calm demeanour. She was in possession of a weighty secret,which seemed too heavy for her to bear alone. Yet who was there to shareit with her? She had no friend of her own age to whom she could open herheart and into whose sympathetic ears she could pour forth her woes. Herparents, much as she loved and respected them, did not seem to her to bethe sort of people likely to give her that sympathy she yearned for.They would laugh at her, reprove her perhaps, and tell her roughly toget all that rubbish out of her head at once, etc. Not a soul had she inthe world to whom she could cling, or from whom she could expect one rayof comfort. As to her secret being discovered by the other members ofthe club, this she dreaded most of all. She could imagine their banter,their coldness, or their sneers. Dr. Bleedem, too, who would prescribeher physic, and promise to make her all right again, provided shefollowed his course of treatment.
Love is by nature reticent, and not willing to make its secret commonproperty. Rather than divulge its sacred feelings to the firstlight-hearted outsider it will prefer--oh, how infinitely!--to bear itsown burden alone--aye, if need be, even to the grave.
Never before in all her life did Helen need a friend and comforter asshe did now, when, lo, in the very nick of time, there came to her thiskindly old man whom she had known from her earliest childhood, who haddandled her on his knee, and never passed her without a kind word. He,who seemed to have read her heart, now came forward with his silentblessing, like an angel sent from Heaven to comfort her. This was justwhat she ne
eded. This mute expression of sympathy from someone whom shefelt could understand her. She construed his silence thus: "There,there, my pretty child; we understand each other, don't we? You see,I've guessed your secret, and you may be sure that it will be safe in mykeeping. I am not surprised. These things are common to youth, and veryhard to bear for the time, but take comfort. Everything has its day.This, too, will pass in time. Cheer up; try and forget it. What! youcan't? Oh, yes you will--not all at once--no; but take courage. This isyour first great grief; but the world is full of trials, and we are senthere on purpose to bear them. No one escapes them altogether; but restassured that you will always find a friend and comforter in ObadiahOldstone."
This, and much more, did the child understand by the antiquary's silentmagnetic touch. Her heart overflowed with gratitude, and she was unablelonger to control herself, but, bursting into the most passionate sobs,she covered her face with her hands and was making for the door whenOldstone called her back.
A Spanish proverb says, "He who loves you will make you weep." Helen hadproved the truth of this adage.
"Come, my girl," said Oldstone; "am I such an ogre that I need scareyou? Come to an old man, and pour forth all its pretty griefs. We usedto be such friends, you know. Did you think I didn't guess your secretall along? We old men of the world have sharp eyes, and very littleescapes us. Well, well; I am not surprised, you know. The young man wholeft this morning was comely, and a gentleman, besides a man of talentand resources. It is not difficult to understand how a young andsusceptible child like yourself, having never seen anyone else but oldfogies like us, should suddenly take a fancy to a smart young----
"Oh! sir," broke in Helen, in agony, "he is gone--gone for ever, and I_did_ love him so."
"Love! my child! why, at your age you oughtn't to know the meaning ofthe word."
"I didn't, sir, till quite lately. I had heard of it from others, andread about it in books; but, oh! Mr. Oldstone, I didn't know it was likethis."
Here the poor distracted girl began beating her breast with her clenchedfist, and gazing upwards with tearful eyes, in which there was anexpression of the wildest despair, till the kind old man began to beseriously alarmed for her sanity.
"Hush! hush! my girl," he said in soothing tones; "don't give way so.Calm yourself."
"How can I be calm," screamed the girl, "when he has gone for ever, andI shall never, never see him again!"
"Well, my dear, and a good job too. The best thing that could happen toyou both," said the antiquary, "though you won't think so now; but markmy word, Helen, this will pass over, and the sooner the better for youboth, for these sort of cases lead to no good, you may depend upon it."
"Why, sir," asked the girl, "is it then a sin to love?"
"A sin, my precious!" exclaimed Oldstone; "no, I can't say that.But--but--there is always danger in it."
"What danger, sir?"
"Well, my dear, there are certain things that are very difficult toexplain to one so young. When you grow older----"
"Oh! sir, why cannot you tell me now--you, who know the danger?"
"Yes, my dear, I should just think I did," observed the antiquary."There are shoals and pitfalls that beset the young, and they would dowell to listen to the voice of warning ere it is too late, and profit bythe experience of others, rather than trouble themselves about the _why_and the _wherefore_ of everything."
"Then you mean to say that love _is_ wrong after all," observed Helen.
"Not as long as it remains love," replied Oldstone, "but people may_make_ it so."
"How? I don't understand."
"Perhaps not, my dear. You have much to learn yet. I mean, people _will_talk, and you can't stop them. The world can only judge by appearances.It _might_ misjudge you. It might put a false construction on yourconduct, however innocent."
"But that would be wrong, unjust, and cruel."
"Perhaps so, my dear. It very often is."
"Are the gentlemen of the club the world?"
"Yes, part of it."
"Would they tell stories about me?"
"If they thought they saw anything suspicious in your conduct."
Helen reflected for a moment and then said, "I don't know what theycould find suspicious in my conduct."
"No, my pet, neither do I," answered the kind old man with a benevolentsmile. "The fact is, there are so many people in the world who findother people's business more interesting than their own; and even whenthey are unable to find a flaw in their neighbour's character, they willmake one. Therefore, avoid the appearance of evil."
"Still, I don't understand," began Helen.
"No, my dear, and what's more, I can't explain," observed the old man."But _this_ I can tell you. The brute world, in cases of love, exactsmarriage as the hallmark of respectability. It can see nothing but harmin the love of two young pure souls, however platonic--I mean innocent.They look upon it as dangerous, to say the least, and the only way tosatisfy them and avoid scandal is to _marry_."
"I never thought about marrying," said Helen. "Cannot two persons loveeach other just the same without either thinking of marriage?"
"They _could_ I suppose, but the world would soon make it hot for them.They would have to pay for defying the world."
"Pay!"
"Yes, and dearly too. Pay for it by seeing the finger of scorndirected towards them--the cold shoulder of respectability andself-righteousness; by being forced to listen to vile gossip andscandalous reports; shunned by those far viler than themselves; bear upagainst the ribald jeers of the vile populace, till their lives become aburden to them, and they would finally be compelled to confess that theywould have done better for their own peace and comfort if they hadhumoured the vile rabble and _married_."
"Does love without marriage mean all that?"
"I am afraid it does, my girl; I am afraid it does. At least, I wouldn'tadvise you to brave the world. It isn't worth it. If you can't marry,you had better not encourage love."
"I don't see that it matters to them if I love or if I don't," observedthe girl.
"Neither do I, my dear," answered her counsellor, "and if people wouldmind their own business, the world would be happier."
"It seems so mean and paltry to be always prying into other people'saffairs. I can't tell why they do it. I am sure I should never take thetrouble. How is it, Mr. Oldstone?"
"My dear," replied the old man, "I can't tell you how these things are,but so they are."
At this juncture the voice of Dame Hearty was heard calling for herdaughter. The door then opened, and the head of our hostess appeared.
"Come now, Helen," cried our worthy dame, rather petulantly, "I havebeen looking for you all over the house. You knew I was waiting for youin the kitchen."
"Don't blame her, mother," interceded the kind antiquary. "It is all_my_ fault. I have been detaining her perhaps over long, just for afriendly chat."
"Oh, very well, sir," replied the landlady with a bland smile, "but ifyou don't mind me taking her away now, as I am rather behind-hand withthe work."
"Certainly, Dame Hearty," said Mr. Oldstone, with a wave of the hand.
Helen followed her mother, and the door closed behind them. Then ourantiquary occupied himself vigorously with his writing, until the othermembers of the club returned from their ramble, hungry for their mid-daymeal.
Tales of the Wonder Club, Volume III Page 9