CHAPTER XLVI.
DEBATE AND INTERRUPTION.
Rachel beheld the things which were coming to pass like an awful dream.She had begun to think, and not without evidence, that Dorcas, for somecause or caprice, had ceased to think of Stanley as she once did. And theannouncement, without preparation or apparent courtship, that her brotherhad actually won this great and beautiful heiress, and that, just emergedfrom the shades of death, he, a half-ruined scapegrace, was about to takehis place among the magnates of the county, and, no doubt, to enterhimself for the bold and splendid game of ambition, the stakes of whichwere now in his hand, towered before her like an incredible anddisastrous illusion of magic.
Stanley's uneasiness lest Rachel's conduct should compromise themincreased. He grew more nervous about the relations between him and MarkWylder, in proportion as the world grew more splendid and prosperous forhim.
Where is the woman who will patiently acquiesce in the reserve of herhusband who shares his confidence with another? How often had StanleyLake sworn to her there was no secret; that he knew nothing of MarkWylder beyond the charge of his money, and making a small payment to anold Mrs. Dutton, in London, by his direction, and that beyond this, hewas as absolutely in the dark as she or Chelford.
What, then, did Rachel mean by all that escaped her, when he was indanger?
'How the -- could he tell? He really believed she was a little--_ever_ solittle--crazed. He supposed she, like Dorcas, fancied he knew everythingabout Wylder. She was constantly hinting something of the kind; andbegging of him to make a disclosure--disclosure of what? It was enough todrive one mad, and would make a capital farce. Rachel has a ridiculousway of talking like an oracle, and treating as settled fact everyabsurdity she fancies. She is very charming and clever, of course, solong as she speaks of the kind of thing she understands. But when shetries to talk of serious business--poor Radie! she certainly does talksuch nonsense! She can't reason; she runs away with things. It _is_ themost tiresome thing you can conceive.'
'But you have not said, Stanley, that she does not suspect the truth.'
'Of course, I say it; I _have_ said it. I swear it, if you like. I'vesaid plainly, and I'm ready to swear it. Upon my honour and soul I knowno more of his movements, plans, or motives, than you do. If you reflectyou must see it. We were never good friends, Mark and I. It was no faultof mine, but I never liked him; and he, consequently, I suppose, neverliked me. There was no intimacy or confidence between us. I was the lastman on earth he would have consulted with. Even Larkin, his own lawyer,is in the dark. Rachel knows all this. I have told her fifty times over,and she seems to give way at the moment. Indeed the thing is too plain tobe resisted. But as I said, poor Radie, she can't reason; and by the timeI see her next, her old fancy possesses her. I can't help it; becausewith more reluctance than I can tell, I at length consent, at Larkin's_entreaty_, I may say, to bank and fund his money.'
But Dorcas's mind retained its first impression. Sometimes hisplausibilities, his vehemence, and his vows disturbed it for a time; butthere it remained like the picture of a camera obscura, into which amomentary light has been admitted, unseen for a second, but the imagesreturn with the darkness, and group themselves in their old colours andplaces again. Whatever it was Rachel probably knew it. There was apainful confidence between them; and there was growing in Dorcas's mind afeeling towards Rachel which her pride forbade her to define.
She did not like Stanley's stealthy visits to Redman's Farm; she did notlike his moods or looks after those visits, of which he thought she knewnothing. She did not know whether to be pleased or sorry that Rachel hadrefused to reside at Brandon; neither did she like the stern gloom thatovercast Rachel's countenance when Stanley was in the room, nor thoseoccasional walks together, up and down the short yew walk, in which Lakelooked so cold and angry, and Rachel so earnest. What was this secret?How dared her husband mask from her what he confided to another? Howdared Rachel confer with him--influence him, perhaps, under her very eye,walking before the windows of Brandon--that Brandon which was _hers_, andto which she had taken Stanley, passing her gate a poor and tiredwayfarer of the world, and made him--_what?_ Oh, mad caprice! Oh, fitretribution!
A wild voice was talking this way, to-and-fro, and up and down, in thechambers of memory. But she would not let it speak from her proud lips.She smiled, and to outward seeming, was the same; but Rachel felt thatthe fashion of her countenance towards her was changed.
Since her marriage she had not hinted to Rachel the subject of their oldconversations: burning beneath her feeling about it was now a deep-rootedanger and jealousy. Still she was Stanley's sister, and to be treatedaccordingly. The whole household greeted her with proper respect, andDorcas met her graciously, and with all the externals of kindness. Thechange was so little, that I do not think any but she and Rachel saw it;and yet it was immense.
There was a dark room, a sort of ante-room, to the library, with only twotall and narrow windows, and hung with old Dutch tapestries, representingthe battles and sieges of men in periwigs, pikemen, dragoons in buffcoats, and musketeers with matchlocks--all the grim faces of soldiers,generals, drummers, and the rest, grown pale and dusky by time, likearmies of ghosts.
Rachel had come one morning to see Dorcas, and, awaiting her appearance,sat down in this room. The door of the library opened, and she was alittle surprised to see Stanley enter.
'Why, Stanley, they told me you were gone to Naunton.'
'Oh! did they? Well, you see, I'm here, Radie.'
Somehow he was not very well pleased to see her.
'I think you'll find Dorcas in the drawing-room, or else in theconservatory,' he added.
'I am glad, Stanley, I happened to meet you. Something _must_ be done inthe matter I spoke of immediately. Have you considered it?'
'Most carefully,' said Stanley, quietly.
'But you have done nothing.'
'It is not a thing to be done in a moment.'
'You can, if you please, do a great deal in a moment'
'Certainly; but I may repent it afterwards.'
'Stanley, you may regret postponing it, much more.'
'You have no idea, Rachel, how very tiresome you've grown.'
'Yes, Stanley, I can quite understand it. It would have been better foryou, perhaps for myself, I had died long ago.'
'Well, that is another thing; but in the meantime, I assure you, Rachel,you are disposed to be very impertinent.'
'Very impertinent; yes, indeed, Stanley, and so I shall continue to beuntil----'
'Pray how does it concern you? I say it is no business on earth ofyours.'
Stanley Lake was growing angry.
'Yes, Stanley, it _does_ concern me.'
'That is false.'
'True, _true_, Sir. Oh, Stanley, it is a load upon my conscience--amountain--a mountain between me and my hopes. I can't endure the miseryto which you would consign me; you _shall_ do it--immediately, too' (shestamped wildly as she said it), 'and if you hesitate, Stanley, I shall becompelled to speak, though the thought of it makes me almost mad withterror.'
'What is he to do, Rachel?' said Dorcas, standing near the door.
It was a very awkward pause. The splendid young bride was the only personon the stage who looked very much as usual. Stanley turned his pale glareof fury from Rachel to Dorcas, and Dorcas said again,
'What is it, Rachel, darling?'
Rachel, with a bright blush on her cheeks, stepped quickly up to her, puther arms about her neck and kissed her, and over her shoulder she criedto her brother--
'Tell her, Stanley.'
And so she quickly left the room and was gone.
'Well, Dorkie, love, what's the matter?' said Stanley sharply, at lastbreaking the silence.
'I really don't know--you, perhaps, can tell,' answered she coldly.
'You have frightened Rachel out of the room, for one thing,' answered hewith a sneer.
'I simply asked her what she urged you to do--I think I have a claim
toknow. It is strange so reasonable a question from a wife should scareyour sister from the room.'
'I don't quite see that--for my part, I don't think _anything_ strange ina woman. Rachel has been talking the rankest nonsense, in the mostunreasonable temper conceivable; and because she can't persuade me toaccept her views of what is Christian and sensible, she threatens to gomad--I think that is her phrase.'
'I don't think Rachel is a fool,' said Dorcas, quietly, her eye stillupon Stanley.
'Neither do I--when she pleases to exert her good sense--but she can,when she pleases, both talk and act like a fool.'
'And pray, what does she want you to do, Stanley?'
'The merest nonsense.'
'But what is it?'
'I really can hardly undertake to say I very well understand it myself,and I have half-a-dozen letters to write; and really if I were to stayhere and try to explain, I very much doubt whether I could. Why don't youask _her_? If she has any clear ideas on the subject I don't see why sheshould not tell you. For my part, I doubt if she understands herself--_I_certainly don't.'
Dorcas smiled bitterly.
'Mystery already--mystery from the first. _I_ am to know nothing of yoursecrets. You confer and consult in my house--you debate and decide uponmatters most nearly concerning, for aught I know, my interests and myhappiness--certainly deeply affecting you, and therefore which I have a_right_ to know; and my entering the room is the signal for silence--aguilty silence--for departure and for equivocation. Stanley, you areisolating me. Beware--I may entrench myself in that isolation. You arechoosing your confidant, and excluding me; rest assured you shall have noconfidence of mine while you do so.'
Stanley Lake looked at her with a gaze at once peevish and inquisitive.
'You take a wonderfully serious view of Rachel's nonsense.'
'I do.'
'Certainly, you women have a marvellous talent for making mountains ofmolehills--you and Radie are adepts in the art. Never was a poor devil solectured about nothing as I between you. Come now, Dorkie, be a goodgirl--you must not look so vexed.'
'I'm not vexed.'
'What then?'
'I'm only _thinking_.'
She said this with the same bitter smile. Stanley Lake looked for amoment disposed to break into one of his furies, but instead he onlylaughed his unpleasant laugh.
'Well, I'm thinking too, and I find it quite possible to be vexed at thesame time. I assure you, Dorcas, I really am busy; and it is too bad tohave one's time wasted in solemn lectures about stuff and nonsense. Domake Rachel explain herself, if she can--_I_ have no objection, I assureyou; but I must be permitted to decline undertaking to interpret thatoracle.' And so saying, Stanley Lake glided into the library and shut thedoor with an angry clap.
Dorcas did not deign to look after him. She had heard his farewelladdress, looking from the window at the towering and sombre clumps of herancestral trees--pale, proud, with perhaps a peculiar gleam ofresentment--or malignity--in her exquisite features.
So she stood, looking forth on her noble possessions--on terraces--'longrows of urns'--noble timber--all seen in slanting sunlight and longshadows--and seeing nothing but the great word FOOL! in letters of flamein the air before her.
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