CHAPTER LII.
AN OLD FRIEND LOOKS INTO THE GARDEN AT REDMAN'S FARM.
Lady Chelford, with one of those sudden changes of front which occur infemale strategy, on hearing that Stanley Lake was actually accepted byDorcas, had assailed both him and his sister, whom heretofore she had agood deal petted and distinguished, with a fury that was startling. Asrespects Rachel, we know how unjust was the attack.
And when the dowager opened her fire on Rachel, the young lady repliedwith a spirit and dignity to which she was not at all accustomed.
So soon as Dorcas obtained a hearing, which was not for sometime--forshe, 'as a miserable and ridiculous victim and idiot,' was nearly as deepin disgrace as those 'shameless harpies the Lakes'--she told the wholetruth as respected all parties with her superb and tranquil frankness.
Lady Chelford ordered her horses, and was about to leave Brandon nextmorning. But rheumatism arrested her indignant flight; and during herweek's confinement to her room, her son contrived so that she consentedto stay for 'the odious ceremony,' and was even sourly civil to MissLake, who received her advances quite as coldly as they were made.
To Miss Lake, Lord Chelford, though not in set terms, yet in manypleasant ways, apologised for his mother's impertinence. Dorcas had told_him_ also the story of Rachel's decided opposition to the marriage.
He was so particularly respectful to her--he showed her by the very forminto which he shaped his good wishes that he knew how frankly she hadopposed the marriage--how true she had been to her friend Dorcas--and sheunderstood him and was grateful.
In fact, Lord Chelford, whatever might be his opinion of the motives ofCaptain Lake and the prudence of Dorcas, was clearly disposed to make thebest of the inevitable, and to stamp the new Brandon alliance with whatever respectability his frank recognition could give it.
Old Lady Chelford's bitter and ominous acquiescence also came, and thepresence of mother and son at the solemnity averted the family scandalwhich the old lady's first access of frenzy threatened.
This duty discharged, she insisted, in the interest of her rheumatism,upon change of air; and on arriving at Duxley, was quite surprised tofind Lady Dulhampton and her daughters there upon a similar quest.
About the matrimonial likelihoods of gentlemen with titles and estatesFame, that most tuft-hunting of divinities, is always distending hercheeks, and blowing the very finest flourishes her old trumpet affords.
Lord Chelford was not long away when the story of Lady Constance wasagain alive and vocal. It reached old Jackson through his sister, who wasmarried to the brother of the Marquis of Dulhampton's solicitor. Itreached Lake from Tom Twitters, of his club, who kept the Brandon Captain_au courant_ of the town-talk; and it came to Dorcas in a more authenticfashion, though mysteriously, and rather in the guise of a conundrum thanof a distinct bit of family intelligence, from no less a person than theold Dowager Lady Chelford herself.
Stanley Lake, who had begun to entertain hopes for Rachel in thatdirection, went down to Redman's Farm, and, after his bleak and bitterfashion, rated the young lady for having perversely neglected heropportunities and repulsed that most desirable _parti_. In this he wasintensely in earnest, for the connection would have done wonders forCaptain Lake in the county.
Rachel met this coarse attack with quiet contempt; told him that LordChelford had, she supposed, no idea of marrying out of his own rank; andfurther, that he, Captain Lake, must perfectly comprehend, if he couldnot appreciate, the reasons which would for ever bar any such relation.
But Rachel, though she treated the subject serenely in this interview,was sadder and more forlorn than ever, and lay awake at night, and,perhaps, if we knew all, shed some secret tears; and then with time camehealing of these sorrows.
It was a fallacy, a mere chimera, that was gone; an impracticability too.She had smiled at it as such when Dorcas used to hint at it; but arethere no castles in the clouds which we like to inhabit, although we knowthem altogether air-built, and whose evaporation desolates us?
Rachel's talks with the vicar were frequent; and poor little Mrs. WilliamWylder, who knew not the reason of his visits, fell slowly, and to thegood man's entire bewilderment, into a chronic jealousy. It expresseditself enigmatically; it was circumlocutory, sad, and mysterious.
'Little Fairy was so pleased with his visit to Redman's Farm to-day. Hetold me all about it; did not you, little man? But still you love poorold mamma best of all; you would not like to have a new mamma. Ah, no;you'd rather have your poor old, ugly Mussie. I wish I was handsome, mylittle man, and clever; but wishing is vain.'
'Ah! Willie, there was a time when you could not see how ugly and dullyour poor foolish little wife was; but it could not last for ever. Howdid it happen--oh, how?--you such a scholar, so clever, so handsome, mybeautiful Willie--how did you ever look down on poor wretched me?'
'I think it will be fine, Willie, and Miss Lake will expect you atRedman's Farm; and little Fairy will go too; yes, you'd like to go, andmamma will stay at home, and try to be useful in her poor miserable way,'and so on.
The vicar, thinking of other things, never seeing the reproachful ironyin all this, would take it quite literally, assent sadly, and with littleFairy by the hand, set forth for Redman's Farm; and the good little body,to the amazement of her two maids, would be heard passionately weeping inthe parlour in her forsaken state.
At last there came a great upbraiding, a great _eclaircissement_, andlaughter, and crying, and hugging; and the poor little woman, quiterelieved, went off immediately, in her gratitude, to Rachel, and paid herquite an affectionate little visit.
Jealousy is very unreasonable. But have we no compensation in this, thatthe love which begets it is often as unreasonable? Look in the glass, andthen into your own heart, and ask your conscience, next, 'Am I reallyquite a hero, or altogether so lovely, as I am beloved?' Keep the answerto yourself, but be tender with the vehement follies of your jealouswife. Poor mortals! It is but a short time we have to love, and bejealous, and love again.
One night, after a long talk in the morning with good William Wylder, andgreat dejection following, all on a sudden, Rachel sat up in her bed, andin a pleasant voice, and looking more like herself than she had for manymonths, she said--
'I think I have found the true way out of my troubles, Tamar. At everysacrifice to be quite honest; and to that, Tamar, I have made up my mindat last, thank God. Come, Tamar, and kiss me, for I am free once more.'
So that night passed peacefully.
Rachel--a changed Rachel still--though more like her early self, was nowin the tiny garden of Redman's Farm. The early spring was already showingits bright green through the brown of winter, and sun and showeralternating, and the gay gossiping of sweet birds among the branches,were calling the young creation from its slumbers. The air was so sharp,so clear, so sunny, the mysterious sense of coming life so invigorating,and the sounds and aspect of nature so rejoicing, that Rachel with hergauntlets on, her white basket of flower seeds, her trowel, and all hergarden implements beside her, felt her own spring of life return, andrejoiced in the glad hour that shone round her.
Lifting up her eyes, she saw Lord Chelford looking over the little gate.
'What a charming day,' said he, with his pleasant smile, raising his hat,'and how very pleasant to see you at your pretty industry again.'
As Rachel came forward in her faded gardening costume, an old silk shawlabout her shoulders, and hoodwise over her head, somehow very becoming,there was a blush--he could not help seeing it--on her young face, andfor a moment her fine eyes dropped, and she looked up, smiling a morethoughtful and a sadder smile than in old days. The picture of that smileso gay and fearless, and yet so feminine, rose up beside the sadder smilethat greeted him now, and he thought of Ondine without and Ondine with asoul.
'I am afraid I am a very impertinent--at least a veryinquisitive--wayfarer; but I could not pass by without a word, even atthe risk of interrupting you. And the truth is, I believe, if it had no
tbeen for that chance of seeing and interrupting you, I should not havepassed through Redman's Dell to-day.'
He laughed a little as he said this; and held her hands some secondslonger than is strictly usual in such a greeting.
'You are staying at Brandon?' said Rachel, not knowing exactly what tosay.
'Yes; Dorcas, who is always very good to me, made me promise to comewhenever I was at Drackley. I arrived yesterday, and they tell me youstay so much at home, that possibly you might not appear in the upperworld for two or three days; so I had not patience, you see.'
It was now Rachel's turn to laugh a musical little roulade; but somehowher talk was neither so gay, nor so voluble, as it used to be. She likedto listen; she would not for the world their little conversation endedbefore its time; but there was an unwonted difficulty in finding anythingto say.
'It is quite true; I am more a stay-at-home than I used to be. I believewe learn to prize home more the longer we live.'
'What a wise old lady! I did not think of that; I have only learned thatwhatever is most prized is hardest to find.'
'And spring is come again,' continued Rachel, passing by this littlespeech, 'and my labours recommence. And though the day is longer, thereis more to do in it, you see.'
'I don't wonder at your being a stay-at-home, for, to my eyes, it is theprettiest spot of earth in all the world; and if you find it half as hardto leave it as I do, your staying here is quite accounted for.'
This little speech, also, Rachel understood quite well, though she wenton as if she did not.
'And this little garden costs, I assure you, a great deal of wisethought. In sowing my annuals I have so much to forecast and arrange;suitability of climate, for we have sun and shade here, succession ofbloom and contrast of colour, and ever so many other important things.'
'I can quite imagine it, though it did not strike me before,' he said,looking on her with a smile of pleasant and peculiar interest, whichsomehow gave a reality to this playful talk. 'It is quite true; and Ishould not have thought of it--it is very pretty,' and he laughed agentle little laugh, glancing over the tiny garden.
'But, after all, there is no picture of flowers, or still life, or evenof landscape, that will interest long. You must be very solitary here attimes--that is, you must have a great deal more resource than I, or,indeed, almost anyone I know, or this solitude must at times beoppressive. I hope so, at least, for that would force you to appear amongus sometimes.'
'No, I am not lonely--that is, not lonelier than is good for me. I havesuch a treasure of an old nurse--poor old Tamar--who tells me stories,and reads to me, and listens to my follies and temper, and sometimes saysvery wise things, too; and the good vicar comes often--this is one of hisdays--with his beautiful little boy, and talks so well, and answers myfollies and explains all my perplexities, and is really a great help andcomfort.'
'Yes,' said Lord Chelford, with the same pleasant smile, 'he told me so;and seems so pleased to have met with so clever a pupil. Are you comingto Brandon this evening? Lake asked William Wylder, perhaps he will bewith us. I do hope you will come. Dorcas says there is no use in writing;but that you know you are always welcome. May I say you'll come?'
Rachel smiled sadly on the snow-drops at her feet, and shook her head alittle.
'No, I must stay at home this evening--I mean I have not spirits to go toBrandon. Thank Dorcas very much from me--that is, if you really mean thatshe asked me.'
'I am so sorry--I am so disappointed,' said Lord Chelford, lookinggravely and enquiringly at her. He began, I think, to fancy someestrangement there. 'But perhaps to-morrow--perhaps even to-day--you mayrelent, you know. Don't say it is impossible.'
Rachel smiled on the ground, as before; and then, with a little sigh anda shake of her head, said--
'No.'
'Well, I must tell Dorcas she was right--you are very inexorable andcruel.'
'I am very cruel to keep you here so long--and I, too, am forgetting thevicar, who will be here immediately, and I must meet him in a costumeless like the Woman of Endor.'
Lord Chelford, leaning on the little wicket, put his arm over, and shegave him her hand again.
'Good-bye,' said Rachel.
'Well, I suppose I, too, must say good-bye; and I'll say a great dealmore,' said he, in a peculiar, odd tone, that was very firm, and yetindescribably tender. And he held her slender hand, from which she haddrawn the gauntlet, in his. 'Yes, Rachel, I will--I'll say everything. Weare old friends now--you'll forgive me calling you Rachel--it may beperhaps the last time.'
Rachel was standing there with such a beautiful blush, and downcast eyes,and her hand in his.
'I liked you always, Rachel, from the first moment I saw you--I liked youbetter and better--indescribably--indeed, I do; and I've grown to likeyou so, that if I lose you, I think I shall never be the same again.'
There was a very little pause, the blush was deeper, her eyes lowerstill.
'I admire you, Rachel--I like your character--I have grown to love youwith all my heart and mind--quite desperately, I think. I know there arethings against me--there are better-looking fellows than I--and--and agreat many things--and I know very well that you will judge foryourself--quite differently from other girls; and I can't say with whatfear and hope I await what you may say; but this you may be sure of, youwill never find anyone to love you better, Rachel--I think sowell--and--and now--that is all. Do you think you could _ever_ like me?'
But Rachel's hand, on a sudden, with a slight quiver, was drawn from his.
'Lord Chelford, I can't describe how grateful I am, and how astonished,but it could never be--no--never.'
'Rachel, perhaps you mean my mother--I have told her everything--she willreceive you with all the respect you so well deserve; and with all herfaults, she loves me, and will love you still more.'
'No, Lord Chelford, no.' She was pale now, and looking very sadly in hiseyes. 'It is not that, but only that you must never, never speak of itagain.'
'Oh! Rachel, darling, you must not say that--I love you so--so_desperately_, you don't know.'
'I can say nothing else, Lord Chelford. My mind is quite made up--I aminexpressibly grateful--you will never know how grateful--but except as afriend--and won't you still be my friend?--I never can regard you.'
Rachel was so pale that her very lips were white as she spoke this in amelancholy but very firm way.
'Oh, Rachel, it is a great blow--maybe if you thought it over!--I'll waitany time.'
'No, Lord Chelford, I'm quite unworthy of your preference; but timecannot change me--and I am speaking, not from impulse, but conviction.This is our secret--yours and mine--and we'll forget it; and I could notbear to lose your friendship--you'll be my friend still--won't you?Good-bye.'
'God bless you, Rachel!' And he hurriedly kissed the hand she had placedin his, and without a word more, or looking back, he walked swiftly downthe wooded road towards Gylingden.
So, then, it had come and gone--gone for ever.
'Margery, bring the basket in; I think a shower is coming.'
And she picked up her trowel and other implements, and placed them in theporch, and glanced up towards the clouds, as if she saw them, and hadnothing to think of but her gardening and the weather, and as if herheart was not breaking.
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