CHAPTER XXVI.
OLD COPY-BOOKS.
By the time the Fieldhead party returned to Briarfield Caroline wasnearly well. Miss Keeldar, who had received news by post of her friend'sconvalescence, hardly suffered an hour to elapse between her arrival athome and her first call at the rectory.
A shower of rain was falling gently, yet fast, on the late flowers andrusset autumn shrubs, when the garden wicket was heard to swing open,and Shirley's well-known form passed the window. On her entrance herfeelings were evinced in her own peculiar fashion. When deeply moved byserious fears or joys she was not garrulous. The strong emotion wasrarely suffered to influence her tongue, and even her eye refused itmore than a furtive and fitful conquest. She took Caroline in her arms,gave her one look, one kiss, then said, "You are better."
And a minute after, "I see you are safe now; but take care. God grantyour health may be called on to sustain no more shocks!"
She proceeded to talk fluently about the journey. In the midst ofvivacious discourse her eye still wandered to Caroline. There spoke inits light a deep solicitude, some trouble, and some amaze.
"She may be better," it said, "but how weak she still is! What peril shehas come through!"
Suddenly her glance reverted to Mrs. Pryor. It pierced her through.
"When will my governess return to me?" she asked.
"May I tell her all?" demanded Caroline of her mother. Leave beingsignified by a gesture, Shirley was presently enlightened on what hadhappened in her absence.
"Very good," was the cool comment--"very good! But it is no news to me."
"What! did you know?"
"I guessed long since the whole business. I have heard somewhat of Mrs.Pryor's history--not from herself, but from others. With every detail ofMr. James Helstone's career and character I was acquainted. Anafternoon's sitting and conversation with Miss Mann had rendered mefamiliar therewith; also he is one of Mrs. Yorke's warning examples--oneof the blood-red lights she hangs out to scare young ladies frommatrimony. I believe I should have been sceptical about the truth of theportrait traced by such fingers--both these ladies take a dark pleasurein offering to view the dark side of life--but I questioned Mr. Yorke onthe subject, and he said, 'Shirley, my woman, if you want to know aughtabout yond' James Helstone, I can only say he was a man-tiger. He washandsome, dissolute, soft, treacherous, courteous, cruel----' Don't cry,Cary; we'll say no more about it."
"I am not crying, Shirley; or if I am, it is nothing. Go on; you are nofriend if you withhold from me the truth. I hate that false plan ofdisguising, mutilating the truth."
"Fortunately I have said pretty nearly all that I have to say, exceptthat your uncle himself confirmed Mr. Yorke's words; for he too scorns alie, and deals in none of those conventional subterfuges that areshabbier than lies."
"But papa is dead; they should let him alone now."
"They should; and we _will_ let him alone. Cry away, Cary; it will doyou good. It is wrong to check natural tears. Besides, I choose toplease myself by sharing an idea that at this moment beams in yourmother's eye while she looks at you. Every drop blots out a sin. Weep!your tears have the virtue which the rivers of Damascus lacked. LikeJordan, they can cleanse a leprous memory."
"Madam," she continued, addressing Mrs. Pryor, "did you think I could bedaily in the habit of seeing you and your daughter together--markingyour marvellous similarity in many points, observing (pardon me) yourirrepressible emotions in the presence and still more in the absence ofyour child--and not form my own conjectures? I formed them, and they areliterally correct. I shall begin to think myself shrewd."
"And you said nothing?" observed Caroline, who soon regained the quietcontrol of her feelings.
"Nothing. I had no warrant to breathe a word on the subject. _My_business it was not; I abstained from making it such."
"You guessed so deep a secret, and did not hint that you guessed it?"
"Is that so difficult?"
"It is not like you."
"How do you know?"
"You are not reserved; you are frankly communicative."
"I may be communicative, yet know where to stop. In showing my treasureI may withhold a gem or two--a curious, unbought graven stone--an amuletof whose mystic glitter I rarely permit even myself a glimpse.Good-day."
Caroline thus seemed to get a view of Shirley's character under a novelaspect. Ere long the prospect was renewed; it opened upon her.
No sooner had she regained sufficient strength to bear a change ofscene--the excitement of a little society--than Miss Keeldar sued dailyfor her presence at Fieldhead. Whether Shirley had become wearied of herhonoured relatives is not known. She did not say she was; but sheclaimed and retained Caroline with an eagerness which proved that anaddition to that worshipful company was not unwelcome.
The Sympsons were church people. Of course the rector's niece wasreceived by them with courtesy. Mr. Sympson proved to be a man ofspotless respectability, worrying temper, pious principles, and worldlyviews; his lady was a very good woman--patient, kind, well-bred. She hadbeen brought up on a narrow system of views, starved on a fewprejudices--a mere handful of bitter herbs; a few preferences, soakedtill their natural flavour was extracted, and with no seasoning added inthe cooking; some excellent principles, made up in a stiff raised crustof bigotry difficult to digest. Far too submissive was she to complainof this diet or to ask for a crumb beyond it.
The daughters were an example to their sex. They were tall, with a Romannose apiece. They had been educated faultlessly. All they did was welldone. History and the most solid books had cultivated their minds.Principles and opinions they possessed which could not be mended. Moreexactly-regulated lives, feelings, manners, habits, it would have beendifficult to find anywhere. They knew by heart a certainyoung-ladies'-schoolroom code of laws on language, demeanour, etc.;themselves never deviated from its curious little pragmaticalprovisions, and they regarded with secret whispered horror alldeviations in others. The Abomination of Desolation was no mystery tothem; they had discovered that unutterable Thing in the characteristicothers call Originality. Quick were they to recognize the signs of thisevil; and wherever they saw its trace--whether in look, word, or deed;whether they read it in the fresh, vigorous style of a book, or listenedto it in interesting, unhackneyed, pure, expressive language--theyshuddered, they recoiled. Danger was above their heads, peril abouttheir steps. What was this strange thing? Being unintelligible it mustbe bad. Let it be denounced and chained up.
Henry Sympson, the only son and youngest child of the family, was a boyof fifteen. He generally kept with his tutor. When he left him, hesought his cousin Shirley. This boy differed from his sisters. He waslittle, lame, and pale; his large eyes shone somewhat languidly in a wanorbit. They were, indeed, usually rather dim, but they were capable ofillumination. At times they could not only shine, but blaze. Inwardemotion could likewise give colour to his cheek and decision to hiscrippled movements. Henry's mother loved him; she thought hispeculiarities were a mark of election. He was not like other children,she allowed. She believed him regenerate--a new Samuel--called of Godfrom his birth. He was to be a clergyman. Mr. and the Misses Sympson,not understanding the youth, let him much alone. Shirley made him herpet, and he made Shirley his playmate.
In the midst of this family circle, or rather outside it, moved thetutor--the satellite.
Yes, Louis Moore was a satellite of the house of Sympson--connected, yetapart; ever attendant, ever distant. Each member of that correct familytreated him with proper dignity. The father was austerely civil,sometimes irritable; the mother, being a kind woman, was attentive, butformal; the daughters saw in him an abstraction, not a man. It seemed,by their manner, that their brother's tutor did not live for them. Theywere learned; so was he--but not for them. They were accomplished; hehad talents too, imperceptible to their senses. The most spirited sketchfrom his fingers was a blank to their eyes; the most originalobservation from his lips fell unheard on their ears. Nothing couldexceed th
e propriety of their behaviour.
I should have said nothing could have equalled it; but I remember a factwhich strangely astonished Caroline Helstone. It was--to discover thather cousin had absolutely _no_ sympathizing friend at Fieldhead; that toMiss Keeldar he was as much a mere teacher, as little a gentleman, aslittle a man, as to the estimable Misses Sympson.
What had befallen the kind-hearted Shirley that she should be soindifferent to the dreary position of a fellow-creature thus isolatedunder her roof? She was not, perhaps, haughty to him, but she nevernoticed him--she let him alone. He came and went, spoke or was silent,and she rarely recognized his existence.
As to Louis Moore himself, he had the air of a man used to this life,and who had made up his mind to bear it for a time. His faculties seemedwalled up in him, and were unmurmuring in their captivity. He neverlaughed; he seldom smiled; he was uncomplaining. He fulfilled the roundof his duties scrupulously. His pupil loved him; he asked nothing morethan civility from the rest of the world. It even appeared that he wouldaccept nothing more--in that abode at least; for when his cousinCaroline made gentle overtures of friendship, he did not encouragethem--he rather avoided than sought her. One living thing alone, besideshis pale, crippled scholar, he fondled in the house, and that was theruffianly Tartar, who, sullen and impracticable to others, acquired asingular partiality for him--a partiality so marked that sometimes, whenMoore, summoned to a meal, entered the room and sat down unwelcomed,Tartar would rise from his lair at Shirley's feet and betake himself tothe taciturn tutor. Once--but once--she noticed the desertion, andholding out her white hand, and speaking softly, tried to coax him back.Tartar looked, slavered, and sighed, as his manner was, but yetdisregarded the invitation, and coolly settled himself on his haunchesat Louis Moore's side. That gentleman drew the dog's big, black-muzzledhead on to his knee, patted him, and smiled one little smile to himself.
An acute observer might have remarked, in the course of the sameevening, that after Tartar had resumed his allegiance to Shirley, andwas once more couched near her footstool, the audacious tutor by oneword and gesture fascinated him again. He pricked up his ears at theword; he started erect at the gesture, and came, with head lovinglydepressed, to receive the expected caress. As it was given, thesignificant smile again rippled across Moore's quiet face.
* * * * *
"Shirley," said Caroline one day, as they two were sitting alone in thesummer-house, "did you know that my cousin Louis was tutor in youruncle's family before the Sympsons came down here?"
Shirley's reply was not so prompt as her responses usually were, but atlast she answered, "Yes--of course; I knew it well."
"I thought you must have been aware of the circumstance."
"Well! what then?"
"It puzzles me to guess how it chanced that you never mentioned it tome."
"Why should it puzzle you?"
"It seems odd. I cannot account for it. You talk a great deal--you talkfreely. How was that circumstance never touched on?"
"Because it never was," and Shirley laughed.
"You are a singular being!" observed her friend. "I thought I knew youquite well; I begin to find myself mistaken. You were silent as thegrave about Mrs. Pryor, and now again here is another secret. But whyyou made it a secret is the mystery to me."
"I never made it a secret; I had no reason for so doing. If you hadasked me who Henry's tutor was, I would have told you. Besides, Ithought you knew."
"I am puzzled about more things than one in this matter. You don't likepoor Louis. Why? Are you impatient at what you perhaps consider his_servile_ position? Do you wish that Robert's brother were more highlyplaced?"
"Robert's brother, indeed!" was the exclamation, uttered in a tone likethe accents of scorn; and with a movement of proud impatience Shirleysnatched a rose from a branch peeping through the open lattice.
"Yes," repeated Caroline, with mild firmness, "Robert's brother. He _is_thus closely related to Gerard Moore of the Hollow, though nature hasnot given him features so handsome or an air so noble as his kinsman;but his blood is as good, and he is as much a gentleman were he free."
"Wise, humble, pious Caroline!" exclaimed Shirley ironically. "Men andangels, hear her! We should not despise plain features, nor a laboriousyet honest occupation, should we? Look at the subject of your panegyric.He is there in the garden," she continued, pointing through an aperturein the clustering creepers; and by that aperture Louis Moore wasvisible, coming slowly down the walk.
"He is not ugly, Shirley," pleaded Caroline; "he is not ignoble. He issad; silence seals his mind. But I believe him to be intelligent; and becertain, if he had not something very commendable in his disposition,Mr. Hall would never seek his society as he does."
Shirley laughed; she laughed again, each time with a slightly sarcasticsound. "Well, well," was her comment. "On the plea of the man beingCyril Hall's friend and Robert Moore's brother, we'll just tolerate hisexistence; won't we, Cary? You believe him to be intelligent, do you?Not quite an idiot--eh? Something commendable in his disposition!--_idest_, not an absolute ruffian. Good! Your representations have weightwith me; and to prove that they have, should he come this way I willspeak to him."
He approached the summer-house. Unconscious that it was tenanted, he satdown on the step. Tartar, now his customary companion, had followed him,and he couched across his feet.
"Old boy!" said Louis, pulling his tawny ear, or rather the mutilatedremains of that organ, torn and chewed in a hundred battles, "the autumnsun shines as pleasantly on us as on the fairest and richest. Thisgarden is none of ours, but we enjoy its greenness and perfume, don'twe?"
He sat silent, still caressing Tartar, who slobbered with exceedingaffection. A faint twittering commenced among the trees round. Somethingfluttered down as light as leaves. They were little birds, which,lighting on the sward at shy distance, hopped as if expectant.
"The small brown elves actually remember that I fed them the other day,"again soliloquized Louis. "They want some more biscuit. To-day I forgotto save a fragment. Eager little sprites, I have not a crumb for you."
He put his hand in his pocket and drew it out empty.
"A want easily supplied," whispered the listening Miss Keeldar.
She took from her reticule a morsel of sweet-cake; for that repositorywas never destitute of something available to throw to the chickens,young ducks, or sparrows. She crumbled it, and bending over hisshoulder, put the crumbs into his hand.
"There," said she--"there is a providence for the improvident."
"This September afternoon is pleasant," observed Louis Moore, as, not atall discomposed, he calmly cast the crumbs on to the grass.
"Even for you?"
"As pleasant for me as for any monarch."
"You take a sort of harsh, solitary triumph in drawing pleasure out ofthe elements and the inanimate and lower animate creation."
"Solitary, but not harsh. With animals I feel I am Adam's son, the heirof him to whom dominion was given over 'every living thing that movethupon the earth.' Your dog likes and follows me. When I go into thatyard, the pigeons from your dovecot flutter at my feet. Your mare in thestable knows me as well as it knows you, and obeys me better."
"And my roses smell sweet to you, and my trees give you shade."
"And," continued Louis, "no caprice can withdraw these pleasures fromme; they are _mine_."
He walked off. Tartar followed him, as if in duty and affection bound,and Shirley remained standing on the summer-house step. Caroline saw herface as she looked after the rude tutor. It was pale, as if her pridebled inwardly.
"You see," remarked Caroline apologetically, "his feelings are so oftenhurt it makes him morose."
"You see," retorted Shirley, with ire, "he is a topic on which you and Ishall quarrel if we discuss it often; so drop it henceforward and forever."
"I suppose he has more than once behaved in this way," thought Carolineto herself, "and that renders Shirley so dista
nt to him. Yet I wondershe cannot make allowance for character and circumstances. I wonder thegeneral modesty, manliness, sincerity of his nature do not plead withher in his behalf. She is not often so inconsiderate, so irritable."
* * * * *
The verbal testimony of two friends of Caroline's to her cousin'scharacter augmented her favourable opinion of him. William Farren, whosecottage he had visited in company with Mr. Hall, pronounced him a "realgentleman;" there was not such another in Briarfield.He--William--"could do aught for that man. And then to see how t' bairnsliked him, and how t' wife took to him first minute she saw him. Henever went into a house but t' childer wor about him directly. Themlittle things wor like as if they'd a keener sense nor grown-up folks i'finding our folk's natures."
Mr. Hall, in answer to a question of Miss Helstone's as to what hethought of Louis Moore, replied promptly that he was the best fellow hehad met with since he left Cambridge.
"But he is so grave," objected Caroline.
"Grave! the finest company in the world! Full of odd, quiet,out-of-the-way humour. Never enjoyed an excursion so much in my life asthe one I took with him to the Lakes. His understanding and tastes areso superior, it does a man good to be within their influence; and as tohis temper and nature, I call them fine."
"At Fieldhead he looks gloomy, and, I believe, has the character ofbeing misanthropical."
"Oh! I fancy he is rather out of place there--in a false position. TheSympsons are most estimable people, but not the folks to comprehend him.They think a great deal about form and ceremony, which are quite out ofLouis's way."
"I don't think Miss Keeldar likes him."
"She doesn't know him--she doesn't know him; otherwise she has senseenough to do justice to his merits."
"Well, I suppose she doesn't know him," mused Caroline to herself, andby this hypothesis she endeavoured to account for what seemed elseunaccountable. But such simple solution of the difficulty was not lefther long. She was obliged to refuse Miss Keeldar even this negativeexcuse for her prejudice.
One day she chanced to be in the schoolroom with Henry Sympson, whoseamiable and affectionate disposition had quickly recommended him to herregard. The boy was busied about some mechanical contrivance; hislameness made him fond of sedentary occupation. He began to ransack histutor's desk for a piece of wax or twine necessary to his work. Moorehappened to be absent. Mr. Hall, indeed, had called for him to take along walk. Henry could not immediately find the object of his search. Herummaged compartment after compartment; and at last, opening an innerdrawer, he came upon--not a ball of cord or a lump of beeswax, but alittle bundle of small marble-coloured cahiers, tied with tape. Henrylooked at them. "What rubbish Mr. Moore stores up in his desk!" hesaid. "I hope he won't keep my old exercises so carefully."
"What is it?"
"Old copy-books."
He threw the bundle to Caroline. The packet looked so neat externallyher curiosity was excited to see its contents.
"If they are only copy-books, I suppose I may open them?"
"Oh yes, quite freely. Mr. Moore's desk is half mine--for he lets mekeep all sorts of things in it--and I give you leave."
On scrutiny they proved to be French compositions, written in a handpeculiar but compact, and exquisitely clean and clear. The writing wasrecognizable. She scarcely needed the further evidence of the namesigned at the close of each theme to tell her whose they were. Yet thatname astonished her--"Shirley Keeldar, Sympson Grove, ----shire" (asouthern county), and a date four years back.
She tied up the packet, and held it in her hand, meditating over it. Shehalf felt as if, in opening it, she had violated a confidence.
"They are Shirley's, you see," said Henry carelessly.
"Did _you_ give them to Mr. Moore? She wrote them with Mrs. Pryor, Isuppose?"
"She wrote them in my schoolroom at Sympson Grove, when she lived withus there. Mr. Moore taught her French; it is his native language."
"I know. Was she a good pupil, Henry?"
"She was a wild, laughing thing, but pleasant to have in the room. Shemade lesson-time charming. She learned fast--you could hardly tell whenor how. French was nothing to her. She spoke it quick, quick--as quickas Mr. Moore himself."
"Was she obedient? Did she give trouble?"
"She gave plenty of trouble, in a way. She was giddy, but I liked her.I'm desperately fond of Shirley."
"_Desperately_ fond--you small simpleton! You don't know what you say."
"I _am desperately_ fond of her. She is the light of my eyes. I said soto Mr. Moore last night."
"He would reprove you for speaking with exaggeration."
"He didn't. He never reproves and reproves, as girls' governesses do. Hewas reading, and he only smiled into his book, and said that if MissKeeldar was no more than that, she was less than he took her to be; forI was but a dim-eyed, short-sighted little chap. I'm afraid I am a poorunfortunate, Miss Caroline Helstone. I am a cripple, you know."
"Never mind, Henry, you are a very nice little fellow; and if God hasnot given you health and strength, He has given you a good dispositionand an excellent heart and brain."
"I shall be despised. I sometimes think both Shirley and you despiseme."
"Listen, Henry. Generally, I don't like schoolboys. I have a greathorror of them. They seem to me little ruffians, who take an unnaturaldelight in killing and tormenting birds, and insects, and kittens, andwhatever is weaker than themselves. But you are so different I am quitefond of you. You have almost as much sense as a man (far more, God wot,"she muttered to herself, "than many men); you are fond of reading, andyou can talk sensibly about what you read."
"I _am_ fond of reading. I know I have sense, and I know I havefeeling."
Miss Keeldar here entered.
"Henry," she said, "I have brought your lunch here. I shall prepare itfor you myself."
She placed on the table a glass of new milk, a plate of something whichlooked not unlike leather, and a utensil which resembled atoasting-fork.
"What are you two about," she continued, "ransacking Mr. Moore's desk?"
"Looking at your old copy-books," returned Caroline.
"My old copy-books?"
"French exercise-books. Look here! They must be held precious; they arekept carefully."
She showed the bundle. Shirley snatched it up. "Did not know one was inexistence," she said. "I thought the whole lot had long since lit thekitchen fire, or curled the maid's hair at Sympson Grove.--What made youkeep them, Henry?"
"It is not my doing. I should not have thought of it. It never enteredmy head to suppose copy-books of value. Mr. Moore put them by in theinner drawer of his desk. Perhaps he forgot them."
"C'est cela. He forgot them, no doubt," echoed Shirley. "They areextremely well written," she observed complacently.
"What a giddy girl you were, Shirley, in those days! I remember you sowell. A slim, light creature whom, though you were so tall, I could liftoff the floor. I see you with your long, countless curls on yourshoulders, and your streaming sash. You used to make Mr. Moorelively--that is, at first. I believe you grieved him after a while."
Shirley turned the closely-written pages and said nothing. Presently sheobserved, "That was written one winter afternoon. It was a descriptionof a snow scene."
"I remember," said Henry. "Mr. Moore, when he read it, cried, 'Voila leFrancais gagne!' He said it was well done. Afterwards you made him draw,in sepia, the landscape you described."
"You have not forgotten, then, Hal?"
"Not at all. We were all scolded that day for not coming down to teawhen called. I can remember my tutor sitting at his easel, and youstanding behind him, holding the candle, and watching him draw the snowycliff, the pine, the deer couched under it, and the half-moon hungabove."
"Where are his drawings, Harry? Caroline should see them."
"In his portfolio. But it is padlocked; he has the key."
"Ask him for it when he comes in."
"You should ask him, Shirley. You are shy of him now. You are grown aproud lady to him; I notice that."
"Shirley, you are a real enigma," whispered Caroline in her ear. "Whatqueer discoveries I make day by day now!--I who thought I had yourconfidence. Inexplicable creature! even this boy reproves you."
"I have forgotten 'auld lang syne,' you see, Harry," said Miss Keeldar,answering young Sympson, and not heeding Caroline.
"Which you never should have done. You don't deserve to be a man'smorning star if you have so short a memory."
"A man's morning star, indeed! and by 'a man' is meant your worshipfulself, I suppose? Come, drink your new milk while it is warm."
The young cripple rose and limped towards the fire; he had left hiscrutch near the mantelpiece.
"My poor lame darling!" murmured Shirley, in her softest voice, aidinghim.
"Whether do you like me or Mr. Sam Wynne best, Shirley?" inquired theboy, as she settled him in an arm-chair.
"O Harry, Sam Wynne is my aversion; you are my pet."
"Me or Mr. Malone?"
"You again, a thousand times."
"Yet they are great whiskered fellows, six feet high each."
"Whereas, as long as you live, Harry, you will never be anything morethan a little pale lameter."
"Yes, I know."
"You need not be sorrowful. Have I not often told you who was almost aslittle, as pale, as suffering as you, and yet potent as a giant andbrave as a lion?"
"Admiral Horatio?"
"Admiral Horatio, Viscount Nelson, and Duke of Bronte; great at heart asa Titan; gallant and heroic as all the world and age of chivalry; leaderof the might of England; commander of her strength on the deep; hurlerof her thunder over the flood."
"A great man. But I am not warlike, Shirley; and yet my mind is sorestless I burn day and night--for what I can hardly tell--to be--todo--to suffer, I think."
"Harry, it is your mind, which is stronger and older than your frame,that troubles you. It is a captive; it lies in physical bondage. But itwill work its own redemption yet. Study carefully not only books but theworld. You love nature; love her without fear. Be patient--wait thecourse of time. You will not be a soldier or a sailor, Henry; but if youlive you will be--listen to my prophecy--you will be an author, perhapsa poet."
"An author! It is a flash--a flash of light to me! I will--I _will_!I'll write a book that I may dedicate it to you."
"You will write it that you may give your soul its natural release.Bless me! what am I saying? more than I understand, I believe, or canmake good. Here, Hal--here is your toasted oatcake; eat and live!"
"Willingly!" here cried a voice outside the open window. "I know thatfragrance of meal bread. Miss Keeldar, may I come in and partake?"
"Mr. Hall"--it was Mr. Hall, and with him was Louis Moore, returned fromtheir walk--"there is a proper luncheon laid out in the dining-room andthere are proper people seated round it. You may join that society andshare that fare if you please; but if your ill-regulated tastes lead youto prefer ill-regulated proceedings, step in here, and do as we do."
"I approve the perfume, and therefore shall suffer myself to be led bythe nose," returned Mr. Hall, who presently entered, accompanied byLouis Moore. That gentleman's eye fell on his desk, pillaged.
"Burglars!" said he.--"Henry, you merit the ferule."
"Give it to Shirley and Caroline; they did it," was alleged, with moreattention to effect than truth.
"Traitor and false witness!" cried both the girls. "We never laid handson a thing, except in the spirit of laudable inquiry!"
"Exactly so," said Moore, with his rare smile. "And what have youferreted out, in your 'spirit of laudable inquiry'?"
He perceived the inner drawer open.
"This is empty," said he. "Who has taken----"
"Here, here!" Caroline hastened to say, and she restored the littlepacket to its place. He shut it up; he locked it in with a small keyattached to his watch-guard; he restored the other papers to order,closed the repository, and sat down without further remark.
"I thought you would have scolded much more, sir," said Henry. "Thegirls deserve reprimand."
"I leave them to their own consciences."
"It accuses them of crimes intended as well as perpetrated, sir. If Ihad not been here, they would have treated your portfolio as they havedone your desk; but I told them it was padlocked."
"And will you have lunch with us?" here interposed Shirley, addressingMoore, and desirous, as it seemed, to turn the conversation.
"Certainly, if I may."
"You will be restricted to new milk and Yorkshire oatcake."
"Va--pour le lait frais!" said Louis. "But for your oatcake!" and hemade a grimace.
"He cannot eat it," said Henry. "He thinks it is like bran, raised withsour yeast."
"Come, then; by special dispensation we will allow him a few cracknels,but nothing less homely."
The hostess rang the bell and gave her frugal orders, which werepresently executed. She herself measured out the milk, and distributedthe bread round the cosy circle now enclosing the bright littleschoolroom fire. She then took the post of toaster-general; and kneelingon the rug, fork in hand, fulfilled her office with dexterity. Mr. Hall,who relished any homely innovation on ordinary usages, and to whom thehusky oatcake was from custom suave as manna, seemed in his bestspirits. He talked and laughed gleefully--now with Caroline, whom he hadfixed by his side, now with Shirley, and again with Louis Moore. AndLouis met him in congenial spirit. He did not laugh much, but he utteredin the quietest tone the wittiest things. Gravely spoken sentences,marked by unexpected turns and a quite fresh flavour and poignancy, felleasily from his lips. He proved himself to be--what Mr. Hall had said hewas--excellent company. Caroline marvelled at his humour, but still moreat his entire self-possession. Nobody there present seemed to impose onhim a sensation of unpleasant restraint. Nobody seemed a bore--acheck--a chill to him; and yet there was the cool and lofty Miss Keeldarkneeling before the fire, almost at his feet.
But Shirley was cool and lofty no longer, at least not at this moment.She appeared unconscious of the humility of her present position; or ifconscious, it was only to taste a charm in its lowliness. It did notrevolt her pride that the group to whom she voluntarily officiated ashandmaid should include her cousin's tutor. It did not scare her thatwhile she handed the bread and milk to the rest, she had to offer it tohim also; and Moore took his portion from her hand as calmly as if hehad been her equal.
"You are overheated now," he said, when she had retained the fork forsome time; "let me relieve you."
And he took it from her with a sort of quiet authority, to which shesubmitted passively, neither resisting him nor thanking him.
"I should like to see your pictures, Louis," said Caroline, when thesumptuous luncheon was discussed.--"Would not you, Mr. Hall?"
"To please you, I should; but, for my own part, I have cut him as anartist. I had enough of him in that capacity in Cumberland andWestmoreland. Many a wetting we got amongst the mountains because hewould persist in sitting on a camp-stool, catching effects ofrain-clouds, gathering mists, fitful sunbeams, and what not."
"Here is the portfolio," said Henry, bringing it in one hand and leaningon his crutch with the other.
Louis took it, but he still sat as if he wanted another to speak. Itseemed as if he would not open it unless the proud Shirley deigned toshow herself interested in the exhibition.
"He makes us wait to whet our curiosity," she said.
"You understand opening it," observed Louis, giving her the key. "Youspoiled the lock for me once; try now."
He held it. She opened it, and, monopolizing the contents, had the firstview of every sketch herself. She enjoyed the treat--if treat itwere--in silence, without a single comment. Moore stood behind her chairand looked over her shoulder, and when she had done and the others werestill gazing, he left his post and paced through the room.
A carriage was heard in the lane--th
e gate-bell rang. Shirley started.
"There are callers," she said, "and I shall be summoned to the room. Apretty figure--as they say--I am to receive company. I and Henry havebeen in the garden gathering fruit half the morning. Oh for rest undermy own vine and my own fig-tree! Happy is the slave-wife of the Indianchief, in that she has no drawing-room duty to perform, but can sit atease weaving mats, and stringing beads, and peacefully flattening herpickaninny's head in an unmolested corner of her wigwam. I'll emigrateto the western woods."
Louis Moore laughed.
"To marry a White Cloud or a Big Buffalo, and after wedlock to devoteyourself to the tender task of digging your lord's maize-field while hesmokes his pipe or drinks fire-water."
Shirley seemed about to reply, but here the schoolroom door unclosed,admitting Mr. Sympson. That personage stood aghast when he saw the grouparound the fire.
"I thought you alone, Miss Keeldar," he said. "I find quite a party."
And evidently from his shocked, scandalized air, had he not recognizedin one of the party a clergyman, he would have delivered an extemporephilippic on the extraordinary habits of his niece: respect for thecloth arrested him.
"I merely wished to announce," he proceeded coldly, "that the familyfrom De Walden Hall, Mr., Mrs., the Misses, and Mr. Sam Wynne, are inthe drawing-room." And he bowed and withdrew.
"The family from De Walden Hall! Couldn't be a worse set," murmuredShirley.
She sat still, looking a little contumacious, and very much indisposedto stir. She was flushed with the fire. Her dark hair had been more thanonce dishevelled by the morning wind that day. Her attire was a light,neatly fitting, but amply flowing dress of muslin; the shawl she hadworn in the garden was still draped in a careless fold round her.Indolent, wilful, picturesque, and singularly pretty was heraspect--prettier than usual, as if some soft inward emotion, stirred whoknows how, had given new bloom and expression to her features.
"Shirley, Shirley, you ought to go," whispered Caroline.
"I wonder why?"
She lifted her eyes, and saw in the glass over the fireplace both Mr.Hall and Louis Moore gazing at her gravely.
"If," she said, with a yielding smile--"if a majority of the presentcompany maintain that the De Walden Hall people have claims on mycivility, I will subdue my inclinations to my duty. Let those who thinkI ought to go hold up their hands."
Again consulting the mirror, it reflected an unanimous vote against her.
"You must go," said Mr. Hall, "and behave courteously too. You owe manyduties to society. It is not permitted you to please only yourself."
Louis Moore assented with a low "Hear, hear!"
Caroline, approaching her, smoothed her wavy curls, gave to her attire aless artistic and more domestic grace, and Shirley was put out of theroom, protesting still, by a pouting lip, against her dismissal.
"There is a curious charm about her," observed Mr. Hall, when she wasgone. "And now," he added, "I must away; for Sweeting is off to see hismother, and there are two funerals."
"Henry, get your books; it is lesson-time," said Moore, sitting down tohis desk.
"A curious charm!" repeated the pupil, when he and his master were leftalone. "True. Is she not a kind of white witch?" he asked.
"Of whom are you speaking, sir?"
"Of my cousin Shirley."
"No irrelevant questions; study in silence."
Mr. Moore looked and spoke sternly--sourly. Henry knew this mood. It wasa rare one with his tutor; but when it came he had an awe of it. Heobeyed.
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