CHAPTER XXXIX.
SECRET THOUGHTS OOZE OUT.
Molly found Cynthia in the drawing-room, standing in the bow-window,looking out on the garden. She started as Molly came up to her.
"Oh, Molly," said she, putting her arms out towards her, "I am alwaysso glad to have you with me!"
It was outbursts of affection such as these that always calledMolly back, if she had been ever so unconsciously wavering in herallegiance to Cynthia. She had been wishing downstairs that Cynthiawould be less reserved, and not have so many secrets; but now itseemed almost like treason to have wanted her to be anything but whatshe was. Never had any one more than Cynthia the power spoken of byGoldsmith when he wrote--
He threw off his friends like a huntsman his pack,For he knew when he liked he could whistle them back.
"Do you know, I think you'll be glad to hear what I've got to tellyou," said Molly. "I think you would really like to go to Londonshouldn't you?"
"Yes, but it's of no use liking," said Cynthia. "Don't you beginabout it, Molly, for the thing is settled; and I can't tell you why,but I can't go."
"It is only the money, dear. And papa has been so kind about it. Hewants you to go; he thinks you ought to keep up relationships; and heis going to give you ten pounds."
"How kind he is!" said Cynthia. "But I ought not to take it. I wish Ihad known you years ago; I should have been different to what I am."
"Never mind that! We like you as you are; we don't want youdifferent. You'll really hurt papa if you don't take it. Why do youhesitate? Do you think Roger won't like it?"
"Roger! no, I wasn't thinking about him! Why should he care? I shallbe there and back again before he even hears about it."
"Then you will go?" said Molly.
Cynthia thought for a minute or two. "Yes, I will," said she, atlength. "I daresay it's not wise; but it will be pleasant, and I'llgo. Where is Mr. Gibson? I want to thank him. Oh, how kind he is!Molly, you're a lucky girl!"
"I?" said Molly, quite startled at being told this; for she had beenfeeling as if so many things were going wrong, almost as if theywould never go right again.
"There he is!" said Cynthia. "I hear him in the hall!" And downshe flew, and laying her hands on Mr. Gibson's arm, she thankedhim with such warm impulsiveness, and in so pretty and caressing amanner, that something of his old feeling of personal liking for herreturned, and he forgot for a time the causes of disapproval he hadagainst her.
"There, there!" said he, "that's enough, my dear! It's quite rightyou should keep up with your relations; there's nothing more to besaid about it."
"I do think your father is the most charming man I know," saidCynthia, on her return to Molly; "and it's that which always makesme so afraid of losing his good opinion, and fret so when I think heis displeased with me. And now let us think all about this Londonvisit. It will be delightful, won't it? I can make ten pounds go everso far; and in some ways it will be such a comfort to get out ofHollingford."
"Will it?" said Molly, rather wistfully.
"Oh, yes! You know I don't mean that it will be a comfort to leaveyou; that will be anything but a comfort. But, after all, a countrytown is a country town, and London is London. You need not smile atmy truisms; I've always had a sympathy with M. de la Palisse,--
M. de la Palisse est mort En perdant sa vie; Un quart d'heure avant sa mort Il etait en vie,"
sang she, in so gay a manner that she puzzled Molly, as she oftendid, by her change of mood from the gloomy decision with which shehad refused to accept the invitation only half an hour ago. Shesuddenly took Molly round the waist, and began waltzing round theroom with her, to the imminent danger of the various little tables,loaded with "_objets d'art_" (as Mrs. Gibson delighted to call them)with which the drawing-room was crowded. She avoided them, however,with her usual skill; but they both stood still at last, surprisedat Mrs. Gibson's surprise, as she stood at the door, looking at thewhirl going on before her.
"Upon my word, I only hope you are not going crazy, both of you!What's all this about, pray?"
"Only because I'm so glad I'm going to London, mamma," said Cynthia,demurely.
"I'm not sure if it's quite the thing for an engaged young lady tobe so much beside herself at the prospect of gaiety. In my time, ourgreat pleasure in our lovers' absence was in thinking about them."
"I should have thought that would have given you pain, because youwould have had to remember that they were away, which ought to havemade you unhappy. Now, to tell you the truth, just at the moment Ihad forgotten all about Roger. I hope it wasn't very wrong. Osbornelooks as if he did all my share as well as his own of the frettingafter Roger. How ill he looked yesterday!"
"Yes," said Molly; "I didn't know if any one besides me had noticedit. I was quite shocked."
"Ah," said Mrs. Gibson, "I'm afraid that young man won't livelong--very much afraid," and she shook her head ominously.
"Oh, what will happen if he dies!" exclaimed Molly, suddenly sittingdown, and thinking of that strange, mysterious wife who never madeher appearance, whose very existence was never spoken about--andRoger away too!
"Well, it would be very sad, of course, and we should all feel itvery much, I've no doubt; for I've always been very fond of Osborne;in fact, before Roger became, as it were, my own flesh and blood, Iliked Osborne better: but we must not forget the living, dear Molly,"(for Molly's eyes were filling with tears at the dismal thoughtspresented to her). "Our dear good Roger would, I am sure, do all inhis power to fill Osborne's place in every way; and his marriage neednot be so long delayed."
"Don't speak of that in the same breath as Osborne's life, mamma,"said Cynthia, hastily.
"Why, my dear, it is a very natural thought. For poor Roger's sake,you know, one wishes it not to be so very, very long an engagement;and I was only answering Molly's question, after all. One can't helpfollowing out one's thoughts. People must die, you know--young, aswell as old."
"If I ever suspected Roger of following out his thoughts in a similarway," said Cynthia, "I'd never speak to him again."
"As if he would!" said Molly, warm in her turn. "You know he neverwould; and you shouldn't suppose it of him, Cynthia--no, not even fora moment!"
"I can't see the great harm of it all, for my part," said Mrs.Gibson, plaintively. "A young man strikes us all as looking veryill--and I'm sure I'm sorry for it; but illness very often leads todeath. Surely you agree with me there, and what's the harm of sayingso? Then Molly asks what will happen if he dies; and I try to answerher question. I don't like talking or thinking of death any more thanany one else; but I should think myself wanting in strength of mindif I could not look forward to the consequences of death. I reallythink we're commanded to do so, somewhere in the Bible or thePrayer-book."
"Do you look forward to the consequences of my death, mamma?" askedCynthia.
"You really are the most unfeeling girl I ever met with," said Mrs.Gibson, really hurt. "I wish I could give you a little of my ownsensitiveness, for I have too much for my happiness. Don't let usspeak of Osborne's looks again; ten to one it was only some temporaryover-fatigue, or some anxiety about Roger, or perhaps a little fitof indigestion. I was very foolish to attribute it to anything moreserious, and dear papa might be displeased if he knew I had doneso. Medical men don't like other people to be making conjecturesabout health; they consider it as trenching on their own particularprovince, and very proper, I'm sure. Now let us consider about yourdress, Cynthia; I could not understand how you had spent your money,and made so little show with it."
"Mamma! it may sound very cross, but I must tell Molly, and you, andeverybody, once for all, that as I don't want and didn't ask for morethan my allowance, I'm not going to answer any questions about whatI do with it." She did not say this with any want of respect; but shesaid it with quiet determination, which subdued her mother for thetime; though often afterwards, when Mrs. Gibson and Molly were alone,the former would start the wonder as to what Cynthia could possiblyhave do
ne with her money, and hunt each poor conjecture through woodsand valleys of doubt, till she was wearied out; and the excitingsport was given up for the day. At present, however, she confinedherself to the practical matter in hand; and the genius for millineryand dress, inherent in both mother and daughter, soon settled a greatmany knotty points of contrivance and taste, and then they all threeset to work to "gar auld claes look amaist as weel's the new."
Cynthia's relations with the Squire had been very stationary eversince the visit she had paid to the Hall the previous autumn. He hadreceived them all at that time with hospitable politeness, and hehad been more charmed with Cynthia than he liked to acknowledge tohimself when he thought the visit all over afterwards.
"She's a pretty lass, sure enough," thought he, "and has pretty waysabout her too, and likes to learn from older people, which is a goodsign; but somehow I don't like madam her mother; but still she is hermother, and the girl's her daughter; yet she spoke to her once ortwice as I shouldn't ha' liked our little Fanny to have spoken, ifit had pleased God for her to ha' lived. No, it's not the right way,and it may be a bit old-fashioned, but I like the right way. And thenagain she took possession o' me, as I may say, and little Molly hadto run after us in the garden walks that are too narrow for three,just like a little four-legged doggie; and the other was so full oflistening to me, she never turned round for to speak a word to Molly.I don't mean to say they're not fond of each other, and that's inRoger's sweetheart's favour; and it's very ungrateful in me to go andfind fault with a lass who was so civil to me, and had such a prettyway with her of hanging on every word that fell from my lips. Well!a deal may come and go in two years! and the lad says nothing to meabout it. I'll be as deep as him, and take no more notice of theaffair till he comes home and tells me himself."
So although the Squire was always delighted to receive the littlenotes which Cynthia sent him every time she heard from Roger, andalthough this attention on her part was melting the heart he triedto harden, he controlled himself into writing her the briefestacknowledgments. His words were strong in meaning, but formalin expression she herself did not think much about them, beingsatisfied to do the kind actions that called them forth. But hermother criticised them and pondered them. She thought she had hiton the truth when she decided in her own mind that it was a veryold-fashioned style, and that he and his house and his furnitureall wanted some of the brightening up and polishing which they weresure to receive, when--she never quite liked to finish the sentencedefinitely, although she kept repeating to herself that "there was noharm in it."
To return to the Squire. Occupied as he now was, he recovered hisformer health, and something of his former cheerfulness. If Osbornehad met him half-way, it is probable that the old bond between fatherand son might have been renewed; but Osborne either was really aninvalid, or had sunk into invalid habits, and made no effort torally. If his father urged him to go out--nay, once or twice hegulped down his pride, and asked Osborne to accompany him--Osbornewould go to the window and find out some flaw or speck in the windor weather, and make that an excuse for stopping in-doors over hisbooks. He would saunter out on the sunny side of the house in amanner that the Squire considered as both indolent and unmanly. Yetif there was a prospect of his leaving home, which he did prettyoften about this time, he was seized with a hectic energy: the cloudsin the sky, the easterly wind, the dampness of the air, were nothingto him then; and as the Squire did not know the real secret causeof this anxiety to be gone, he took it into his head that it arosefrom Osborne's dislike to Hamley and to the monotony of his father'ssociety.
"It was a mistake," thought the Squire. "I see it now. I was nevergreat at making friends myself: I always thought those Oxford andCambridge men turned up their noses at me for a country booby, andI'd get the start and have none o' them. But when the boys went toRugby and Cambridge, I should ha' let them have had their own friendsabout 'em, even though they might ha' looked down on me; it was theworst they could ha' done to me; and now what few friends I had havefallen off from me, by death or somehow, and it is but dreary workfor a young man, I grant it. But he might try not to show it so plainto me as he does. I'm getting case-hardened, but it does cut me tothe quick sometimes--it does. And he so fond of his dad as he wasonce! If I can but get the land drained I'll make him an allowance,and let him go to London, or where he likes. Maybe he'll do betterthis time, or maybe he'll go to the dogs altogether; but perhaps itwill make him think a bit kindly of the old father at home--I shouldlike him to do that, I should!"
It is possible that Osborne might have been induced to tell hisfather of his marriage during their long solitary intercourse, if theSquire, in an unlucky moment, had not given him his confidence aboutRoger's engagement with Cynthia. It was on one wet Sunday afternoon,when the father and son were sitting together in the large emptydrawing-room. Osborne had not been to church in the morning; theSquire had, and he was now trying hard to read one of Blair'ssermons. They had dined early; they always did on Sundays; and eitherthat, or the sermon, or the hopeless wetness of the day, made theafternoon seem interminably long to the Squire. He had certainunwritten rules for the regulation of his conduct on Sundays. Coldmeat, sermon-reading, no smoking till after evening prayers, aslittle thought as possible as to the state of the land and thecondition of the crops, and as much respectable sitting in-doors inhis best clothes as was consistent with going to church twice a day,and saying the responses louder than the clerk. To-day it had rainedso unceasingly that he had remitted the afternoon church; but oh,even with the luxury of a nap, how long it seemed before he saw theHall servants trudging homewards, along the field-path, a covey ofumbrellas! He had been standing at the window for the last half-hour,his hands in his pockets, and his mouth often contracting itself intothe traditional sin of a whistle, but as often checked into suddengravity--ending, nine times out of ten, in a yawn. He looked askanceat Osborne, who was sitting near the fire absorbed in a book. Thepoor Squire was something like the little boy in the child's story,who asks all sorts of birds and beasts to come and play with him;and, in every case, receives the sober answer, that they are too busyto have leisure for trivial amusements. The father wanted the son toput down his book, and talk to him: it was so wet, so dull, and alittle conversation would so wile away the time! But Osborne, withhis back to the window where his father was standing, saw nothingof all this, and went on reading. He had assented to his father'sremark that it was a very wet afternoon, but had not carried on thesubject into all the varieties of truisms of which it was susceptible.Something more rousing must be started, and this the Squire felt. Therecollection of the affair between Roger and Cynthia came into hishead, and, without giving it a moment's consideration, he began,--
"Osborne! Do you know anything about this--this attachment ofRoger's?"
Quite successful. Osborne laid down his book in a moment, and turnedround to his father.
"Roger! an attachment! No! I never heard of it--I can hardly believeit--that is to say, I suppose it is to--"
And then he stopped; for he thought he had no right to betray his ownconjecture that the object was Cynthia Kirkpatrick.
"Yes. He is though. Can you guess who to? Nobody that I particularlylike--not a connection to my mind--yet she's a very pretty girl; andI suppose I was to blame in the first instance."
"Is it--?"
"It's no use beating about the bush. I've gone so far, I may as welltell you all. It's Miss Kirkpatrick, Gibson's stepdaughter. But it'snot an engagement, mind you--"
"I'm very glad--I hope she likes Roger back again--"
"Like--it's only too good a connection for her not to like it: ifRoger is of the same mind when he comes home, I'll be bound she'll beonly too happy!"
"I wonder Roger never told me," said Osborne, a little hurt, now hebegan to consider himself.
"He never told me either," said the Squire. "It was Gibson, who camehere, and made a clean breast of it, like a man of honour. I'd beensaying to him, I couldn't have either of you two lads
taking up withhis lasses. I'll own it was you I was afraid of--it's bad enough withRoger, and maybe will come to nothing after all; but if it had beenyou, I'd ha' broken with Gibson and every mother's son of 'em, soonerthan have let it go on and so I told Gibson."
"I beg your pardon for interrupting you, but, once for all, I claimthe right of choosing my wife for myself, subject to no man'sinterference," said Osborne, hotly.
"Then you'll keep your wife with no man's interference, that's all;for ne'er a penny will you get from me, my lad, unless you marry toplease me a little, as well as yourself a great deal. That's all Iask of you. I'm not particular as to beauty, or as to cleverness, andpiano-playing, and that sort of thing; if Roger marries this girl, weshall have enough of that in the family. I shouldn't much mind herbeing a bit older than you, but she must be well-born, and the moremoney she brings the better for the old place."
"I say again, father, I choose my wife for myself, and I don't admitany man's right of dictation."
"Well, well!" said the Squire, getting a little angry in his turn."If I'm not to be father in this matter, thou sha'n't be son. Goagainst me in what I've set my heart on, and you'll find there's thedevil to pay, that's all. But don't let us get angry, it's Sundayafternoon for one thing, and it's a sin; and besides that, I've notfinished my story."
For Osborne had taken up his book again, and under pretence ofreading, was fuming to himself. He hardly put it away even at hisfather's request.
"As I was saying, Gibson said, when first we spoke about it, thatthere was nothing on foot between any of you four, and that if therewas, he would let me know; so by-and-by he comes and tells me ofthis."
"Of what--I don't understand how far it has gone?"
There was a tone in Osborne's voice the Squire did not quite like;and he began answering rather angrily.
"Of this, to be sure--of what I'm telling you--of Roger going andmaking love to this girl, that day he left, after he had gone awayfrom here, and was waiting for the 'Umpire' in Hollingford. One wouldthink you quite stupid at times, Osborne."
"I can only say that these details are quite new to me; you nevermentioned them before, I assure you."
"Well; never mind whether I did or not. I'm sure I said Roger wasattached to Miss Kirkpatrick, and be hanged to her; and you mighthave understood all the rest as a matter of course."
"Possibly," said Osborne, politely. "May I ask if Miss Kirkpatrick,who appeared to me to be a very nice girl, responds to Roger'saffection?"
"Fast enough, I'll be bound," said the Squire, sulkily. "A Hamley ofHamley isn't to be had every day. Now, I'll tell you what, Osborne,you're the only marriageable one left in the market, and I want tohoist the old family up again. Don't go against me in this; it reallywill break my heart if you do."
"Father, don't talk so," said Osborne. "I'll do anything I can tooblige you, except--"
"Except the only thing I've set my heart on your doing."
"Well, well, let it alone for the present. There's no question of mymarrying just at this moment. I'm out of health, and I'm not up togoing into society, and meeting young ladies and all that sort ofthing, even if I had an opening into fitting society."
"You should have an opening fast enough. There'll be more moneycoming in, in a year or two, please God. And as for your health, why,what's to make you well, if you cower over the fire all day, andshudder away from a good honest tankard as if it were poison?"
"So it is to me," said Osborne, languidly, playing with his book asif he wanted to end the conversation and take it up again. The Squiresaw the movements, and understood them.
"Well," said he, "I'll go and have a talk with Will about poor oldBlack Bess. It's Sunday work enough, asking after a dumb animal'saches and pains."
But after his father had left the room Osborne did not take up hisbook again. He laid it down on the table by him, leant back in hischair, and covered his eyes with his hand. He was in a state ofhealth which made him despondent about many things, though, leastof all, about what was most in danger. The long concealment of hismarriage from his father made the disclosure of it far, far moredifficult than it would have been at first. Unsupported by Roger, howcould he explain it all to one so passionate as the Squire? how tellof the temptation, the stolen marriage, the consequent happiness, andalas! the consequent suffering?--for Osborne had suffered, and didsuffer, greatly in the untoward circumstances in which he had placedhimself. He saw no way out of it all, excepting by the one strongstroke of which he felt himself incapable. So with a heavy heart headdressed himself to his book again. Everything seemed to come in hisway, and he was not strong enough in character to overcome obstacles.The only overt step he took in consequence of what he had heard fromhis father, was to ride over to Hollingford the first fine day afterhe had received the news, and go to see Cynthia and the Gibsons. Hehad not been there for a long time; bad weather and languor combinedhad prevented him. He found them full of preparations and discussionsabout Cynthia's visit to London and she herself not at all inthe sentimental mood proper to respond to his delicate intimationsof how glad he was in his brother's joy. Indeed, it was so longafter the time, that Cynthia scarcely perceived that to him theintelligence was recent, and that the first bloom of his emotionshad not yet passed away. With her head a little on one side,she was contemplating the effect of a knot of ribbons, when hebegan, in a low whisper, and leaning forward towards her as hespoke,--"Cynthia--I may call you Cynthia now, mayn't I?--I'm so gladof this news; I've only just heard of it, but I'm so glad!"
"What news do you mean?" She had her suspicions; but she was annoyedto think that from one person her secret was passing to another andanother, till, in fact, it was becoming no secret at all. Still,Cynthia could always conceal her annoyance when she chose. "Why areyou to begin calling me Cynthia now?" she went on, smiling. "Theterrible word has slipped out from between your lips before, do youknow?"
This light way of taking his tender congratulation did not quiteplease Osborne, who was in a sentimental mood, and for a minute or sohe remained silent. Then, having finished making her bow of ribbon,she turned to him, and continued in a quick low voice, anxious totake advantage of a conversation between her mother and Molly,--
"I think I can guess why you made that pretty little speech justnow. But do you know you ought not to have been told? And, moreover,things are not quite arrived at the solemnity of--of--well--anengagement. He would not have it so. Now, I sha'n't say any more; andyou must not. Pray remember you ought not to have known; it is myown secret, and I particularly wished it not to be spoken about; andI don't like its being so talked about. Oh, the leaking of waterthrough one small hole!"
And then she plunged into the talk of the other two, making theconversation general. Osborne was rather discomfited at thenon-success of his congratulations; he had pictured to himself theunbosoming of a love-sick girl, full of rapture, and glad of asympathizing confidant. He little knew Cynthia's nature. The more shesuspected that she was called upon for a display of emotion, the lesswould she show; and her emotions were generally under the control ofher will. He had made an effort to come and see her; and now he leantback in his chair, weary and a little dispirited.
"You poor dear young man," said Mrs. Gibson, coming up to him withher soft, soothing manner; "how tired you look! Do take some of thateau-de-Cologne and bathe your forehead. This spring weather overcomesme too. 'Primavera' I think the Italians call it. But it is verytrying for delicate constitutions, as much from its associations asfrom its variableness of temperature. It makes me sigh perpetually;but then I am so sensitive. Dear Lady Cumnor always used to say I waslike a thermometer. You've heard how ill she has been?"
"No," said Osborne, not very much caring either.
"Oh, yes, she is better now; but the anxiety about her has tried meso: detained here by what are, of course, my duties, but far awayfrom all intelligence, and not knowing what the next post mightbring."
"Where was she then?" asked Osborne, becoming a little moresympatheti
c.
"At Spa. Such a distance off! Three days' post! Can't you conceivethe trial? Living with her as I did for years; bound up in the familyas I was."
"But Lady Harriet said, in her last letter, that they hoped she wouldbe stronger than she had been for years," said Molly, innocently.
"Yes--Lady Harriet--of course--every one who knows Lady Harriet knowsthat she is of too sanguine a temperament for her statements to beperfectly relied on. Altogether--strangers are often deluded by LadyHarriet--she has an off-hand manner which takes them in; but she doesnot mean half she says."
"We will hope she does in this instance," said Cynthia, shortly."They're in London now, and Lady Cumnor hasn't suffered from thejourney."
"They say so," said Mrs. Gibson, shaking her head, and laying anemphasis on the word "say." "I am perhaps over-anxious, but I wish--Iwish I could see and judge for myself. It would be the only way ofcalming my anxiety. I almost think I shall go up with you, Cynthia,for a day or two, just to see her with my own eyes. I don't quitelike your travelling alone either. We will think about it, and youshall write to Mr. Kirkpatrick, and propose it, if we determine uponit. You can tell him of my anxiety; and it will be only sharing yourbed for a couple of nights."
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