The Professor

by Charlotte Bronte

  CHAPTER XIX.

  NOVELISTS should never allow themselves to weary of the study of reallife. If they observed this duty conscientiously, they would give usfewer pictures chequered with vivid contrasts of light and shade;they would seldom elevate their heroes and heroines to the heights ofrapture--still seldomer sink them to the depths of despair; for if werarely taste the fulness of joy in this life, we yet more rarely savourthe acrid bitterness of hopeless anguish; unless, indeed, we haveplunged like beasts into sensual indulgence, abused, strained,stimulated, again overstrained, and, at last, destroyed our facultiesfor enjoyment; then, truly, we may find ourselves without support,robbed of hope. Our agony is great, and how can it end? We have brokenthe spring of our powers; life must be all suffering--too feeble toconceive faith--death must be darkness--God, spirits, religion can haveno place in our collapsed minds, where linger only hideous and pollutingrecollections of vice; and time brings us on to the brink of the grave,and dissolution flings us in--a rag eaten through and through withdisease, wrung together with pain, stamped into the churchyard sod bythe inexorable heel of despair.

  But the man of regular life and rational mind never despairs. He loseshis property--it is a blow--he staggers a moment; then, his energies,roused by the smart, are at work to seek a remedy; activity soonmitigates regret. Sickness affects him; he takes patience--endures whathe cannot cure. Acute pain racks him; his writhing limbs know not whereto find rest; he leans on Hope's anchors. Death takes from him whathe loves; roots up, and tears violently away the stem round which hisaffections were twined--a dark, dismal time, a frightful wrench--butsome morning Religion looks into his desolate house with sunrise, andsays, that in another world, another life, he shall meet his kindredagain. She speaks of that world as a place unsullied by sin--of thatlife, as an era unembittered by suffering; she mightily strengthensher consolation by connecting with it two ideas--which mortals cannotcomprehend, but on which they love to repose--Eternity, Immortality; andthe mind of the mourner, being filled with an image, faint yet glorious,of heavenly hills all light and peace--of a spirit resting there inbliss--of a day when his spirit shall also alight there, free anddisembodied--of a reunion perfected by love, purified from fear--hetakes courage--goes out to encounter the necessities and discharge theduties of life; and, though sadness may never lift her burden from hismind, Hope will enable him to support it.

  Well--and what suggested all this? and what is the inference to be drawntherefrom? What suggested it, is the circumstance of my best pupil--mytreasure--being snatched from my hands, and put away out of my reach;the inference to be drawn from it is--that, being a steady, reasonableman, I did not allow the resentment, disappointment, and grief,engendered in my mind by this evil chance, to grow there to anymonstrous size; nor did I allow them to monopolize the whole space of myheart; I pent them, on the contrary, in one strait and secret nook. Inthe daytime, too, when I was about my duties, I put them on the silentsystem; and it was only after I had closed the door of my chamberat night that I somewhat relaxed my severity towards these morosenurslings, and allowed vent to their language of murmurs; then, inrevenge, they sat on my pillow, haunted my bed, and kept me awake withtheir long, midnight cry.

  A week passed. I had said nothing more to Mdlle. Reuter. I had been calmin my demeanour to her, though stony cold and hard. When I looked ather, it was with the glance fitting to be bestowed on one who I knewhad consulted jealousy as an adviser, and employed treachery as aninstrument--the glance of quiet disdain and rooted distrust. On Saturdayevening, ere I left the house, I stept into the SALLE-A-MANGER, whereshe was sitting alone, and, placing myself before her, I asked, withthe same tranquil tone and manner that I should have used had I put thequestion for the first time--

  "Mademoiselle, will you have the goodness to give me the address ofFrances Evans Henri?"

  A little surprised, but not disconcerted, she smilingly disclaimed anyknowledge of that address, adding, "Monsieur has perhaps forgotten thatI explained all about that circumstance before--a week ago?"

  "Mademoiselle," I continued, "you would greatly oblige me by directingme to that young person's abode."

  She seemed somewhat puzzled; and, at last, looking up with an admirablycounterfeited air of naivete, she demanded, "Does Monsieur think I amtelling an untruth?"

  Still avoiding to give her a direct answer, I said, "It is not then yourintention, mademoiselle, to oblige me in this particular?"

  "But, monsieur, how can I tell you what I do not know?"

  "Very well; I understand you perfectly, mademoiselle, and now I haveonly two or three words to say. This is the last week in July; inanother month the vacation will commence, have the goodness to availyourself of the leisure it will afford you to look out for anotherEnglish master--at the close of August, I shall be under the necessityof resigning my post in your establishment."

  I did not wait for her comments on this announcement, but bowed andimmediately withdrew.

  That same evening, soon after dinner, a servant brought me a smallpacket; it was directed in a hand I knew, but had not hoped so soon tosee again; being in my own apartment and alone, there was nothing toprevent my immediately opening it; it contained four five-franc pieces,and a note in English.

  "MONSIEUR,

  "I came to Mdlle. Reuter's house yesterday, at the time when I knew youwould be just about finishing your lesson, and I asked if I might gointo the schoolroom and speak to you. Mdlle. Reuter came out and saidyou were already gone; it had not yet struck four, so I thought she mustbe mistaken, but concluded it would be vain to call another day on thesame errand. In one sense a note will do as well--it will wrap up the20 francs, the price of the lessons I have received from you; and if itwill not fully express the thanks I owe you in addition--if it will notbid you good-bye as I could wish to have done--if it will not tell you,as I long to do, how sorry I am that I shall probably never see youmore--why, spoken words would hardly be more adequate to the task. HadI seen you, I should probably have stammered out something feeble andunsatisfactory--something belying my feelings rather than explainingthem; so it is perhaps as well that I was denied admission to yourpresence. You often remarked, monsieur, that my devoirs dwelt a greatdeal on fortitude in bearing grief--you said I introduced that theme toooften: I find indeed that it is much easier to write about a severe dutythan to perform it, for I am oppressed when I see and feel to what areverse fate has condemned me; you were kind to me, monsieur--very kind;I am afflicted--I am heart-broken to be quite separated from you; soonI shall have no friend on earth. But it is useless troubling you with mydistresses. What claim have I on your sympathy? None; I will then say nomore.

  "Farewell, Monsieur.

  "F. E. HENRI."

  I put up the note in my pocket-book. I slipped the five-franc piecesinto my purse--then I took a turn through my narrow chamber.

  "Mdlle. Reuter talked about her poverty," said I, "and she is poor;yet she pays her debts and more. I have not yet given her a quarter'slessons, and she has sent me a quarter's due. I wonder of what shedeprived herself to scrape together the twenty francs--I wonder whatsort of a place she has to live in, and what sort of a woman her auntis, and whether she is likely to get employment to supply the place shehas lost. No doubt she will have to trudge about long enough from schoolto school, to inquire here, and apply there--be rejected in this place,disappointed in that. Many an evening she'll go to her bed tiredand unsuccessful. And the directress would not let her in to bid megood-bye? I might not have the chance of standing with her for a fewminutes at a window in the schoolroom and exchanging some half-dozen ofsentences--getting to know where she lived--putting matters in trainfor having all things arranged to my mind? No address on the note"--Icontinued, drawing it again from the pocket-book and examining it oneach side of the two leaves: "women are women, that is certain, andalways do business like women; men mechanically put a date and addressto their communications. And these five-franc pieces?"--(I hauled themforth from my purse)--"if she had off
ered me them herself instead oftying them up with a thread of green silk in a kind of Lilliputianpacket, I could have thrust them back into her little hand, and shutup the small, taper fingers over them--so--and compelled her shame, herpride, her shyness, all to yield to a little bit of determined Will--nowwhere is she? How can I get at her?"

  Opening my chamber door I walked down into the kitchen.

  "Who brought the packet?" I asked of the servant who had delivered it tome.

  "Un petit commissionaire, monsieur."

  "Did he say anything?"

  "Rien."

  And I wended my way up the back-stairs, wondrously the wiser for myinquiries.

  "No matter," said I to myself, as I again closed the door. "Nomatter--I'll seek her through Brussels."

  And I did. I sought her day by day whenever I had a moment's leisure,for four weeks; I sought her on Sundays all day long; I sought her onthe Boulevards, in the Allee Verte, in the Park; I sought her in Ste.Gudule and St. Jacques; I sought her in the two Protestant chapels; Iattended these latter at the German, French, and English services, notdoubting that I should meet her at one of them. All my researches wereabsolutely fruitless; my security on the last point was proved by theevent to be equally groundless with my other calculations. I stoodat the door of each chapel after the service, and waited till everyindividual had come out, scrutinizing every gown draping a slender form,peering under every bonnet covering a young head. In vain; I sawgirlish figures pass me, drawing their black scarfs over their slopingshoulders, but none of them had the exact turn and air of Mdlle.Henri's; I saw pale and thoughtful faces "encadrees" in bands of brownhair, but I never found her forehead, her eyes, her eyebrows. All thefeatures of all the faces I met seemed frittered away, because my eyefailed to recognize the peculiarities it was bent upon an ample spaceof brow and a large, dark, and serious eye, with a fine but decided lineof eyebrow traced above.

  "She has probably left Brussels--perhaps is gone to England, as shesaid she would," muttered I inwardly, as on the afternoon of the fourthSunday, I turned from the door of the chapel-royal which the door-keeperhad just closed and locked, and followed in the wake of the last of thecongregation, now dispersed and dispersing over the square. I hadsoon outwalked the couples of English gentlemen and ladies. (Graciousgoodness! why don't they dress better? My eye is yet filled with visionsof the high-flounced, slovenly, and tumbled dresses in costly silk andsatin, of the large unbecoming collars in expensive lace; of the ill-cutcoats and strangely fashioned pantaloons which every Sunday, at theEnglish service, filled the choirs of the chapel-royal, and after it,issuing forth into the square, came into disadvantageous contrast withfreshly and trimly attired foreign figures, hastening to attend salutat the church of Coburg.) I had passed these pairs of Britons, andthe groups of pretty British children, and the British footmen andwaiting-maids; I had crossed the Place Royale, and got into the RueRoyale, thence I had diverged into the Rue de Louvain--an old and quietstreet. I remember that, feeling a little hungry, and not desiring togo back and take my share of the "gouter," now on the refectory-tableat Pelet's--to wit, pistolets and water--I stepped into a baker's andrefreshed myself on a COUC(?)--it is a Flemish word, I don't know howto spell it--A CORINTHE-ANGLICE, a currant bun--and a cup of coffee; andthen I strolled on towards the Porte de Louvain. Very soon I was out ofthe city, and slowly mounting the hill, which ascends from the gate, Itook my time; for the afternoon, though cloudy, was very sultry, and nota breeze stirred to refresh the atmosphere. No inhabitant of Brusselsneed wander far to search for solitude; let him but move half a leaguefrom his own city and he will find her brooding still and blank overthe wide fields, so drear though so fertile, spread out treeless andtrackless round the capital of Brabant. Having gained the summit of thehill, and having stood and looked long over the cultured but lifelesscampaign, I felt a wish to quit the high road, which I had hithertofollowed, and get in among those tilled grounds--fertile as the bedsof a Brobdignagian kitchen-garden--spreading far and wide even to theboundaries of the horizon, where, from a dusk green, distance changedthem to a sullen blue, and confused their tints with those of the lividand thunderous-looking sky. Accordingly I turned up a by-path to theright; I had not followed it far ere it brought me, as I expected, intothe fields, amidst which, just before me, stretched a long and loftywhite wall enclosing, as it seemed from the foliage showing above, somethickly planted nursery of yew and cypress, for of that species werethe branches resting on the pale parapets, and crowding gloomily about amassive cross, planted doubtless on a central eminence and extending itsarms, which seemed of black marble, over the summits of those sinistertrees. I approached, wondering to what house this well-protected gardenappertained; I turned the angle of the wall, thinking to see somestately residence; I was close upon great iron gates; there was ahut serving for a lodge near, but I had no occasion to apply for thekey--the gates were open; I pushed one leaf back--rain had rustedits hinges, for it groaned dolefully as they revolved. Thick plantingembowered the entrance. Passing up the avenue, I saw objects oneach hand which, in their own mute language of inscription and sign,explained clearly to what abode I had made my way. This was thehouse appointed for all living; crosses, monuments, and garlands ofeverlastings announced, "The Protestant Cemetery, outside the gate ofLouvain."

  The place was large enough to afford half an hour's strolling withoutthe monotony of treading continually the same path; and, for those wholove to peruse the annals of graveyards, here was variety of inscriptionenough to occupy the attention for double or treble that space of time.Hither people of many kindreds, tongues, and nations, had brought theirdead for interment; and here, on pages of stone, of marble, and ofbrass, were written names, dates, last tributes of pomp or love, inEnglish, in French, in German, and Latin. Here the Englishman haderected a marble monument over the remains of his Mary Smith or JaneBrown, and inscribed it only with her name. There the French widower hadshaded the grave of his Elmire or Celestine with a brilliant thicketof roses, amidst which a little tablet rising, bore an equally brighttestimony to her countless virtues. Every nation, tribe, and kindred,mourned after its own fashion and how soundless was the mourning ofall! My own tread, though slow and upon smooth-rolled paths, seemed tostartle, because it formed the sole break to a silence otherwise total.Not only the winds, but the very fitful, wandering airs, were thatafternoon, as by common consent, all fallen asleep in their variousquarters; the north was hushed, the south silent, the east sobbed not,nor did the west whisper. The clouds in heaven were condensed anddull, but apparently quite motionless. Under the trees of this cemeterynestled a warm breathless gloom, out of which the cypresses stood upstraight and mute, above which the willows hung low and still; wherethe flowers, as languid as fair, waited listless for night dew orthunder-shower; where the tombs, and those they hid, lay impassible tosun or shadow, to rain or drought.

  Importuned by the sound of my own footsteps, I turned off upon the turf,and slowly advanced to a grove of yews; I saw something stir among thestems; I thought it might be a broken branch swinging, my short-sightedvision had caught no form, only a sense of motion but the dusky shadepassed on, appearing and disappearing at the openings in the avenue. Isoon discerned it was a living thing, and a human thing; and, drawingnearer, I perceived it was a woman, pacing slowly to and fro, andevidently deeming herself alone as I had deemed myself alone, andmeditating as I had been meditating. Ere long she returned to a seatwhich I fancy she had but just quitted, or I should have caught sightof her before. It was in a nook, screened by a clump of trees; there wasthe white wall before her, and a little stone set up against the wall,and, at the foot of the stone, was an allotment of turf freshly turnedup, a new-made grave. I put on my spectacles, and passed softly closebehind her; glancing at the inscription on the stone, I read, "JulienneHenri, died at Brussels, aged sixty. August 10th, 18--." Having perusedthe inscription, I looked down at the form sitting bent and thoughtfuljust under my eyes, unconscious of the vicinity of any living thing; itwas
a slim, youthful figure in mourning apparel of the plainest blackstuff, with a little simple, black crape bonnet; I felt, as well assaw, who it was; and, moving neither hand nor foot, I stood some momentsenjoying the security of conviction. I had sought her for a month, andhad never discovered one of her traces--never met a hope, or seizeda chance of encountering her anywhere. I had been forced to loosen mygrasp on expectation and, but an hour ago, had sunk slackly underthe discouraging thought that the current of life, and the impulseof destiny, had swept her for ever from my reach; and, behold, whilebending suddenly earthward beneath the pressure of despondency--whilefollowing with my eyes the track of sorrow on the turf of agraveyard--here was my lost jewel dropped on the tear-fed herbage,nestling in the messy and mouldy roots of yew-trees.

  Frances sat very quiet, her elbow on her knee, and her head on her hand.I knew she could retain a thinking attitude a long time without change;at last, a tear fell; she had been looking at the name on thestone before her, and her heart had no doubt endured one of thoseconstrictions with which the desolate living, regretting the dead, are,at times, so sorely oppressed. Many tears rolled down, which she wipedaway, again and again, with her handkerchief; some distressed sobsescaped her, and then, the paroxysm over, she sat quiet as before. I putmy hand gently on her shoulder; no need further to prepare her, forshe was neither hysterical nor liable to fainting-fits; a sudden push,indeed, might have startled her, but the contact of my quiet touchmerely woke attention as I wished; and, though she turned quickly, yetso lightning-swift is thought--in some minds especially--I believe thewonder of what--the consciousness of who it was that thus stole unawareson her solitude, had passed through her brain, and flashed into herheart, even before she had effected that hasty movement; at least,Amazement had hardly opened her eyes and raised them to mine, ereRecognition informed their irids with most speaking brightness. Nervoussurprise had hardly discomposed her features ere a sentiment of mostvivid joy shone clear and warm on her whole countenance. I had hardlytime to observe that she was wasted and pale, ere called to feel aresponsive inward pleasure by the sense of most full and exquisitepleasure glowing in the animated flush, and shining in the expansivelight, now diffused over my pupil's face. It was the summer sun flashingout after the heavy summer shower; and what fertilizes more rapidly thanthat beam, burning almost like fire in its ardour?

  I hate boldness--that boldness which is of the brassy brow and insensatenerves; but I love the courage of the strong heart, the fervour of thegenerous blood; I loved with passion the light of Frances Evans' clearhazel eye when it did not fear to look straight into mine; I loved thetones with which she uttered the words--

  "Mon maitre! mon maitre!"

  I loved the movement with which she confided her hand to my hand; Iloved her as she stood there, penniless and parentless; for a sensualistcharmless, for me a treasure--my best object of sympathy on earth,thinking such thoughts as I thought, feeling such feelings as I felt; myideal of the shrine in which to seal my stores of love; personificationof discretion and forethought, of diligence and perseverance, ofself-denial and self-control--those guardians, those trusty keepers ofthe gift I longed to confer on her--the gift of all my affections;model of truth and honour, of independence and conscientiousness--thoserefiners and sustainers of an honest life; silent possessor of a wellof tenderness, of a flame, as genial as still, as pure as quenchless,of natural feeling, natural passion--those sources of refreshment andcomfort to the sanctuary of home. I knew how quietly and how deeply thewell bubbled in her heart; I knew how the more dangerous flame burnedsafely under the eye of reason I had seen when the fire shot up amoment high and vivid, when the accelerated heat troubled life's currentin its channels; I had seen reason reduce the rebel, and humble itsblaze to embers. I had confidence in Frances Evans; I had respectfor her, and as I drew her arm through mine, and led her out of thecemetery, I felt I had another sentiment, as strong as confidence, asfirm as respect, more fervid than either--that of love.

  "Well, my pupil," said I, as the ominous sounding gate swung to behindus--"Well, I have found you again: a month's search has seemed long,and I little thought to have discovered my lost sheep straying amongstgraves."

  Never had I addressed her but as "Mademoiselle" before, and to speakthus was to take up a tone new to both her and me. Her answer suprisedme that this language ruffled none of her feelings, woke no discord inher heart:

  "Mon maitre," she said, "have you troubled yourself to seek me? I littleimagined you would think much of my absence, but I grieved bitterly tobe taken away from you. I was sorry for that circumstance when heaviertroubles ought to have made me forget it."

  "Your aunt is dead?"

  "Yes, a fortnight since, and she died full of regret, which I could notchase from her mind; she kept repeating, even during the last nightof her existence, 'Frances, you will be so lonely when I am gone,so friendless:' she wished too that she could have been buried inSwitzerland, and it was I who persuaded her in her old age to leave thebanks of Lake Leman, and to come, only as it seems to die, in this flatregion of Flanders. Willingly would I have observed her last wish, andtaken her remains back to our own country, but that was impossible; Iwas forced to lay her here."

  "She was ill but a short time, I presume?"

  "But three weeks. When she began to sink I asked Mdlle. Reuter's leaveto stay with her and wait on her; I readily got leave."

  "Do you return to the pensionnat!" I demanded hastily.

  "Monsieur, when I had been at home a week Mdlle. Reuter called oneevening, just after I had got my aunt to bed; she went into her roomto speak to her, and was extremely civil and affable, as she always is;afterwards she came and sat with me a long time, and just as she rose togo away, she said: "Mademoiselle, I shall not soon cease to regret yourdeparture from my establishment, though indeed it is true that you havetaught your class of pupils so well that they are all quite accomplishedin the little works you manage so skilfully, and have not the slightestneed of further instruction my second teacher must in future supplyyour place, with regard to the younger pupils, as well as she can,though she is indeed an inferior artiste to you, and doubtless it willbe your part now to assume a higher position in your calling; I am sureyou will everywhere find schools and families willing to profit by yourtalents.' And then she paid me my last quarter's salary. I asked, asmademoiselle would no doubt think, very bluntly, if she designed todischarge me from the establishment. She smiled at my inelegance ofspeech, and answered that 'our connection as employer and employed wascertainly dissolved, but that she hoped still to retain the pleasure ofmy acquaintance; she should always be happy to see me as a friend;' andthen she said something about the excellent condition of the streets,and the long continuance of fine weather, and went away quite cheerful."

  I laughed inwardly; all this was so like the directress--so like what Ihad expected and guessed of her conduct; and then the exposure and proofof her lie, unconsciously afforded by Frances:--"She had frequentlyapplied for Mdlle. Henri's address," forsooth; "Mdlle. Henri had alwaysevaded giving it," &c., &c., and here I found her a visitor at the veryhouse of whose locality she had professed absolute ignorance!

  Any comments I might have intended to make on my pupil's communication,were checked by the plashing of large rain-drops on our faces and on thepath, and by the muttering of a distant but coming storm. The warningobvious in stagnant air and leaden sky had already induced me to takethe road leading back to Brussels, and now I hastened my own steps andthose of my companion, and, as our way lay downhill, we got on rapidly.There was an interval after the fall of the first broad drops beforeheavy rain came on in the meantime we had passed through the Porte deLouvain, and were again in the city.

  "Where do you live?" I asked; "I will see you safe home."

  "Rue Notre Dame aux Neiges," answered Frances.

  It was not far from the Rue de Louvain, and we stood on the doorstepsof the house we sought ere the clouds, severing with loud peal andshattered cataract of lightning, em
ptied their livid folds in a torrent,heavy, prone, and broad.

  "Come in! come in!" said Frances, as, after putting her into the house,I paused ere I followed: the word decided me; I stepped across thethreshold, shut the door on the rushing, flashing, whitening storm, andfollowed her upstairs to her apartments. Neither she nor I were wet; aprojection over the door had warded off the straight-descending flood;none but the first, large drops had touched our garments; one minutemore and we should not have had a dry thread on us.

  Stepping over a little mat of green wool, I found myself in a small roomwith a painted floor and a square of green carpet in the middle; thearticles of furniture were few, but all bright and exquisitely clean;order reigned through its narrow limits--such order as it soothed mypunctilious soul to behold. And I had hesitated to enter the abode,because I apprehended after all that Mdlle. Reuter's hint about itsextreme poverty might be too well-founded, and I feared to embarrass thelace-mender by entering her lodgings unawares! Poor the place might be;poor truly it was; but its neatness was better than elegance, and hadbut a bright little fire shone on that clean hearth, I should havedeemed it more attractive than a palace. No fire was there, however, andno fuel laid ready to light; the lace-mender was unable to allow herselfthat indulgence, especially now when, deprived by death of her solerelative, she had only her own unaided exertions to rely on. Franceswent into an inner room to take off her bonnet, and she came out amodel of frugal neatness, with her well-fitting black stuff dress, soaccurately defining her elegant bust and taper waist, with her spotlesswhite collar turned back from a fair and shapely neck, with herplenteous brown hair arranged in smooth bands on her temples, and ina large Grecian plait behind: ornaments she had none--neither brooch,ring, nor ribbon she did well enough without them--perfection of fit,proportion of form, grace of carriage, agreeably supplied their place.Her eye, as she re-entered the small sitting-room, instantly soughtmine, which was just then lingering on the hearth; I knew she read atonce the sort of inward ruth and pitying pain which the chill vacancy ofthat hearth stirred in my soul: quick to penetrate, quick to determine,and quicker to put in practice, she had in a moment tied a holland apronround her waist; then she disappeared, and reappeared with a basket;it had a cover; she opened it, and produced wood and coal; deftly andcompactly she arranged them in the grate.

  "It is her whole stock, and she will exhaust it out of hospitality,"thought I.

  "What are you going to do?" I asked: "not surely to light a fire thishot evening? I shall be smothered."

  "Indeed, monsieur, I feel it very chilly since the rain began; besides,I must boil the water for my tea, for I take tea on Sundays; you will beobliged to try and bear the heat."

  She had struck a light; the wood was already in a blaze; and truly, whencontrasted with the darkness, the wild tumult of the tempest without,that peaceful glow which began to beam on the now animated hearth,seemed very cheering. A low, purring sound, from some quarter, announcedthat another being, besides myself, was pleased with the change; ablack cat, roused by the light from its sleep on a little cushionedfoot-stool, came and rubbed its head against Frances' gown as she knelt;she caressed it, saying it had been a favourite with her "pauvre tanteJulienne."

  The fire being lit, the hearth swept, and a small kettle of a veryantique pattern, such as I thought I remembered to have seen in oldfarmhouses in England, placed over the now ruddy flame, Frances' handswere washed, and her apron removed in an instant; then she opened acupboard, and took out a tea-tray, on which she had soon arranged achina tea-equipage, whose pattern, shape, and size, denoted a remoteantiquity; a little, old-fashioned silver spoon was deposited in eachsaucer; and a pair of silver tongs, equally old-fashioned, were laidon the sugar-basin; from the cupboard, too, was produced a tidysilver cream-ewer, not larger then an egg-shell. While making thesepreparations, she chanced to look up, and, reading curiosity in my eyes,she smiled and asked--

  "Is this like England, monsieur?"

  "Like the England of a hundred years ago," I replied.

  "Is it truly? Well, everything on this tray is at least a hundredyears old: these cups, these spoons, this ewer, are all heirlooms; mygreat-grandmother left them to my grandmother, she to my mother, and mymother brought them with her from England to Switzerland, and left themto me; and, ever since I was a little girl, I have thought I should liketo carry them back to England, whence they came."

  She put some pistolets on the table; she made the tea, as foreigners domake tea--i.e., at the rate of a teaspoonful to half-a-dozen cups;she placed me a chair, and, as I took it, she asked, with a sort ofexaltation--

  "Will it make you think yourself at home for a moment?"

  "If I had a home in England, I believe it would recall it," Ianswered; and, in truth, there was a sort of illusion in seeing thefair-complexioned English-looking girl presiding at the English meal,and speaking in the English language.

  "You have then no home?" was her remark.

  "None, nor ever have had. If ever I possess a home, it must be of my ownmaking, and the task is yet to begin." And, as I spoke, a pang, new tome, shot across my heart: it was a pang of mortification at the humilityof my position, and the inadequacy of my means; while with that pang wasborn a strong desire to do more, earn more, be more, possess more;and in the increased possessions, my roused and eager spirit panted toinclude the home I had never had, the wife I inwardly vowed to win.

  Frances' tea was little better than hot water, sugar, and milk; and herpistolets, with which she could not offer me butter, were sweet to mypalate as manna.

  The repast over, and the treasured plate and porcelain being washed andput by, the bright table rubbed still brighter, "le chat de ma tanteJulienne" also being fed with provisions brought forth on a plate forits special use, a few stray cinders, and a scattering of ashes too,being swept from the hearth, Frances at last sat down; and then, as shetook a chair opposite to me, she betrayed, for the first time, a littleembarrassment; and no wonder, for indeed I had unconsciously watchedher rather too closely, followed all her steps and all her movementsa little too perseveringly with my eyes, for she mesmerized me bythe grace and alertness of her action--by the deft, cleanly, and evendecorative effect resulting from each touch of her slight and finefingers; and when, at last, she subsided to stillness, the intelligenceof her face seemed beauty to me, and I dwelt on it accordingly. Hercolour, however, rising, rather than settling with repose, and her eyesremaining downcast, though I kept waiting for the lids to be raised thatI might drink a ray of the light I loved--a light where fire dissolvedin softness, where affection tempered penetration, where, just nowat least, pleasure played with thought--this expectation not beinggratified, I began at last to suspect that I had probably myself toblame for the disappointment; I must cease gazing, and begin talking,if I wished to break the spell under which she now sat motionless; sorecollecting the composing effect which an authoritative tone and mannerhad ever been wont to produce on her, I said--

  "Get one of your English books, mademoiselle, for the rain yet fallsheavily, and will probably detain me half an hour longer."

  Released, and set at ease, up she rose, got her book, and accepted atonce the chair I placed for her at my side. She had selected "ParadiseLost" from her shelf of classics, thinking, I suppose, the religiouscharacter of the book best adapted it to Sunday; I told her to begin atthe beginning, and while she read Milton's invocation to that heavenlymuse, who on the "secret top of Oreb or Sinai" had taught the Hebrewshepherd how in the womb of chaos, the conception of a world hadoriginated and ripened, I enjoyed, undisturbed, the treble pleasure ofhaving her near me, hearing the sound of her voice--a sound sweet andsatisfying in my ear--and looking, by intervals, at her face: of thislast privilege, I chiefly availed myself when I found fault with anintonation, a pause, or an emphasis; as long as I dogmatized, I mightalso gaze, without exciting too warm a flush.

  "Enough," said I, when she had gone through some half dozen pages (awork of time with her, for she read slowly an
d paused often to ask andreceive information)--"enough; and now the rain is ceasing, and I mustsoon go." For indeed, at that moment, looking towards the window, Isaw it all blue; the thunder-clouds were broken and scattered, and thesetting August sun sent a gleam like the reflection of rubies throughthe lattice. I got up; I drew on my gloves.

  "You have not yet found another situation to supply the place of thatfrom which you were dismissed by Mdlle. Reuter?"

  "No, monsieur; I have made inquiries everywhere, but they all ask mefor references; and to speak truth, I do not like to apply to thedirectress, because I consider she acted neither justly nor honourablytowards me; she used underhand means to set my pupils against me, andthereby render me unhappy while I held my place in her establishment,and she eventually deprived me of it by a masked and hypocriticalmanoeuvre, pretending that she was acting for my good, but reallysnatching from me my chief means of subsistence, at a crisis when notonly my own life, but that of another, depended on my exertions: of herI will never more ask a favour."

  "How, then, do you propose to get on? How do you live now?"

  "I have still my lace-mending trade; with care it will keep me fromstarvation, and I doubt not by dint of exertion to get better employmentyet; it is only a fortnight since I began to try; my courage or hopesare by no means worn out yet."

  "And if you get what you wish, what then? what are your ultimate views?"

  "To save enough to cross the Channel: I always look to England as myCanaan."

  "Well, well--ere long I shall pay you another visit; good evening now,"and I left her rather abruptly; I had much ado to resist a strong inwardimpulse, urging me to take a warmer, more expressive leave: what sonatural as to fold her for a moment in a close embrace, to imprint onekiss on her cheek or forehead? I was not unreasonable--that was all Iwanted; satisfied in that point, I could go away content; and Reasondenied me even this; she ordered me to turn my eyes from her face, andmy steps from her apartment--to quit her as dryly and coldly as I wouldhave quitted old Madame Pelet. I obeyed, but I swore rancorously to beavenged one day. "I'll earn a right to do as I please in this matter,or I'll die in the contest. I have one object before me now--to get thatGenevese girl for my wife; and my wife she shall be--that is, providedshe has as much, or half as much regard for her master as he hasfor her. And would she be so docile, so smiling, so happy under myinstructions if she had not? would she sit at my side when I dictateor correct, with such a still, contented, halcyon mien?" for I had everremarked, that however sad or harassed her countenance might be whenI entered a room, yet after I had been near her, spoken to her a fewwords, given her some directions, uttered perhaps some reproofs, shewould, all at once, nestle into a nook of happiness, and look up sereneand revived. The reproofs suited her best of all: while I scolded shewould chip away with her pen-knife at a pencil or a pen; fidgetting alittle, pouting a little, defending herself by monosyllables, and when Ideprived her of the pen or pencil, fearing it would be all cut away,and when I interdicted even the monosyllabic defence, for the purposeof working up the subdued excitement a little higher, she would at lastraise her eyes and give me a certain glance, sweetened with gaiety, andpointed with defiance, which, to speak truth, thrilled me as nothing hadever done, and made me, in a fashion (though happily she did not knowit), her subject, if not her slave. After such little scenes her spiritswould maintain their flow, often for some hours, and, as I remarkedbefore, her health therefrom took a sustenance and vigour which,previously to the event of her aunt's death and her dismissal, hadalmost recreated her whole frame.

  It has taken me several minutes to write these last sentences; but I hadthought all their purport during the brief interval of descending thestairs from Frances' room. Just as I was opening the outer door,I remembered the twenty francs which I had not restored; I paused:impossible to carry them away with me; difficult to force them backon their original owner; I had now seen her in her own humble abode,witnessed the dignity of her poverty, the pride of order, the fastidiouscare of conservatism, obvious in the arrangement and economy of herlittle home; I was sure she would not suffer herself to be excusedpaying her debts; I was certain the favour of indemnity would beaccepted from no hand, perhaps least of all from mine: yet these fourfive-franc pieces were a burden to my self-respect, and I must getrid of them. An expedient--a clumsy one no doubt, but the best Icould devise-suggested itself to me. I darted up the stairs, knocked,re-entered the room as if in haste:--

  "Mademoiselle, I have forgotten one of my gloves; I must have left ithere."

  She instantly rose to seek it; as she turned her back, I--being nowat the hearth--noiselessly lifted a little vase, one of a set of chinaornaments, as old-fashioned as the tea-cups--slipped the money under it,then saying--"Oh here is my glove! I had dropped it within the fender;good evening, mademoiselle," I made my second exit.

  Brief as my impromptu return had been, it had afforded me time to pickup a heart-ache; I remarked that Frances had already removed the redembers of her cheerful little fire from the grate: forced to calculateevery item, to save in every detail, she had instantly on my departureretrenched a luxury too expensive to be enjoyed alone.

  "I am glad it is not yet winter," thought I; "but in two months morecome the winds and rains of November; would to God that before then Icould earn the right, and the power, to shovel coals into that grate ADLIBITUM!"

  Already the pavement was drying; a balmy and fresh breeze stirred theair, purified by lightning; I felt the West behind me, where spread asky like opal; azure immingled with crimson: the enlarged sun, gloriousin Tyrian tints, dipped his brim already; stepping, as I was, eastward,I faced a vast bank of clouds, but also I had before me the arch of anevening rainbow; a perfect rainbow--high, wide, vivid. I looked long;my eye drank in the scene, and I suppose my brain must have absorbedit; for that night, after lying awake in pleasant fever a long time,watching the silent sheet-lightning, which still played among theretreating clouds, and flashed silvery over the stars, I at last fellasleep; and then in a dream were reproduced the setting sun, the bank ofclouds, the mighty rainbow. I stood, methought, on a terrace; I leanedover a parapeted wall; there was space below me, depth I could notfathom, but hearing an endless dash of waves, I believed it to be thesea; sea spread to the horizon sea of changeful green and intenseblue: all was soft in the distance; all vapour-veiled. A spark of goldglistened on the line between water and air, floated up, approached,enlarged, changed; the object hung midway between heaven and earth,under the arch of the rainbow; the soft but dusk clouds diffused behind.It hovered as on wings; pearly, fleecy, gleaming air streamed likeraiment round it; light, tinted with carnation, coloured what seemedface and limbs; a large star shone with still lustre on an angel'sforehead; an upraised arm and hand, glancing like a ray, pointed to thebow overhead, and a voice in my heart whispered--

  "Hope smiles on Effort!"