I Say No

by Wilkie Collins

  CHAPTER XXII. ALBAN MORRIS.

  Having looked at the card, Emily put her first question to the servant.

  "Did you tell Mr. Morris what your orders were?" she asked.

  "Yes, miss; I said I was to have shown him in, if you had been at home.Perhaps I did wrong; I told him what you told me when you went out thismorning--I said you had gone to read at the Museum."

  "What makes you think you did wrong?"

  "Well, miss, he didn't say anything, but he looked upset."

  "Do you mean that he looked angry?"

  The servant shook her head. "Not exactly angry--puzzled and put out."

  "Did he leave any message?"

  "He said he would call later, if you would be so good as to receivehim."

  In half an hour more, Alban and Emily were together again. The lightfell full on her face as she rose to receive him.

  "Oh, how you have suffered!"

  The words escaped him before he could restrain himself. He looked at herwith the tender sympathy, so precious to women, which she had not seenin the face of any human creature since the loss of her aunt. Even thegood doctor's efforts to console her had been efforts of professionalroutine--the inevitable result of his life-long familiarity with sorrowand death. While Alban's eyes rested on her, Emily felt her tearsrising. In the fear that he might misinterpret her reception of him, shemade an effort to speak with some appearance of composure.

  "I lead a lonely life," she said; "and I can well understand that myface shows it. You are one of my very few friends, Mr. Morris"--thetears rose again; it discouraged her to see him standing irresolute,with his hat in his hand, fearful of intruding on her. "Indeed, indeed,you are welcome," she said, very earnestly.

  In those sad days her heart was easily touched. She gave him her handfor the second time. He held it gently for a moment. Every day sincethey had parted she had been in his thoughts; she had become dearer tohim than ever. He was too deeply affected to trust himself to answer.That silence pleaded for him as nothing had pleaded for him yet. Inher secret self she remembered with wonder how she had received hisconfession in the school garden. It was a little hard on him, surely, tohave forbidden him even to hope.

  Conscious of her own weakness--even while giving way to it--she felt thenecessity of turning his attention from herself. In some confusion, shepointed to a chair at her side, and spoke of his first visit, when hehad left her letters at the door. Having confided to him all that shehad discovered, and all that she had guessed, on that occasion, itwas by an easy transition that she alluded next to the motive for hisjourney to the North.

  "I thought it might be suspicion of Mrs. Rook," she said. "Was Imistaken?"

  "No; you were right."

  "They were serious suspicions, I suppose?"

  "Certainly! I should not otherwise have devoted my holiday-time toclearing them up."

  "May I know what they were?"

  "I am sorry to disappoint you," he began.

  "But you would rather not answer my question," she interposed.

  "I would rather hear you tell me if you have made any other guess."

  "One more, Mr. Morris. I guessed that you had become acquainted with SirJervis Redwood."

  "For the second time, Miss Emily, you have arrived at a soundconclusion. My one hope of finding opportunities for observing SirJervis's housekeeper depended on my chance of gaining admission to SirJervis's house."

  "How did you succeed? Perhaps you provided yourself with a letter ofintroduction?"

  "I knew nobody who could introduce me," Alban replied. "As the eventproved, a letter would have been needless. Sir Jervis introducedhimself--and, more wonderful still, he invited me to his house at ourfirst interview."

  "Sir Jervis introduced himself?" Emily repeated, in amazement. "FromCecilia's description of him, I should have thought he was the lastperson in the world to do that!"

  Alban smiled. "And you would like to know how it happened?" hesuggested.

  "The very favor I was going to ask of you," she replied.

  Instead of at once complying with her wishes, he paused--hesitated--andmade a strange request. "Will you forgive my rudeness, if I ask leave towalk up and down the room while I talk? I am a restless man. Walking upand down helps me to express myself freely."

  Her f ace brightened for the first time. "How like You that is!" sheexclaimed.

  Alban looked at her with surprise and delight. She had betrayed aninterest in studying his character, which he appreciated at its fullvalue. "I should never have dared to hope," he said, "that you knew meso well already."

  "You are forgetting your story," she reminded him.

  He moved to the opposite side of the room, where there were fewerimpediments in the shape of furniture. With his head down, and his handscrossed behind him, he paced to and fro. Habit made him express himselfin his usual quaint way--but he became embarrassed as he went on. Was hedisturbed by his recollections? or by the fear of taking Emily into hisconfidence too freely?

  "Different people have different ways of telling a story," he said."Mine is the methodical way--I begin at the beginning. We will start, ifyou please, in the railway--we will proceed in a one-horse chaise--andwe will stop at a village, situated in a hole. It was the nearest placeto Sir Jervis's house, and it was therefore my destination. I picked outthe biggest of the cottages--I mean the huts--and asked the woman atthe door if she had a bed to let. She evidently thought me either mador drunk. I wasted no time in persuasion; the right person to plead mycause was asleep in her arms. I began by admiring the baby; and I endedby taking the baby's portrait. From that moment I became a member of thefamily--the member who had his own way. Besides the room occupied bythe husband and wife, there was a sort of kennel in which the husband'sbrother slept. He was dismissed (with five shillings of mine to comforthim) to find shelter somewhere else; and I was promoted to the vacantplace. It is my misfortune to be tall. When I went to bed, I slept withmy head on the pillow, and my feet out of the window. Very cool andpleasant in summer weather. The next morning, I set my trap for SirJervis."

  "Your trap?" Emily repeated, wondering what he meant.

  "I went out to sketch from Nature," Alban continued. "Can anybody (withor without a title, I don't care), living in a lonely country house, seea stranger hard at work with a color-box and brushes, and not stop tolook at what he is doing? Three days passed, and nothing happened. I wasquite patient; the grand open country all round me offered lessons ofinestimable value in what we call aerial perspective. On the fourthday, I was absorbed over the hardest of all hard tasks in landscapeart, studying the clouds straight from Nature. The magnificent moorlandsilence was suddenly profaned by a man's voice, speaking (or rathercroaking) behind me. 'The worst curse of human life,' the voice said,'is the detestable necessity of taking exercise. I hate losing my time;I hate fine scenery; I hate fresh air; I hate a pony. Go on, you brute!'Being too deeply engaged with the clouds to look round, I had supposedthis pretty speech to be addressed to some second person. Nothing of thesort; the croaking voice had a habit of speaking to itself. In a minutemore, there came within my range of view a solitary old man, mounted ona rough pony."

  "Was it Sir Jervis?"

  Alban hesitated.

  "It looked more like the popular notion of the devil," he said.

  "Oh, Mr. Morris!"

  "I give you my first impression, Miss Emily, for what it is worth. Hehad his high-peaked hat in his hand, to keep his head cool. His wiryiron-gray hair looked like hair standing on end; his bushy eyebrowscurled upward toward his narrow temples; his horrid old globular eyesstared with a wicked brightness; his pointed beard hid his chin; hewas covered from his throat to his ankles in a loose black garment,something between a coat and a cloak; and, to complete him, he had aclub foot. I don't doubt that Sir Jervis Redwood is the earthly aliaswhich he finds convenient--but I stick to that first impression whichappeared to surprise you. 'Ha! an artist; you seem to be the sort of manI want!' In those terms he introd
uced himself. Observe, if you please,that my trap caught him the moment he came my way. Who wouldn't be anartist?"

  "Did he take a liking to you?" Emily inquired.

  "Not he! I don't believe he ever took a liking to anybody in his life."

  "Then how did you get your invitation to his house?"

  "That's the amusing part of it, Miss Emily. Give me a little breathingtime, and you shall hear."