by Thomas Hardy
XXXVII
A week had passed away. It had been a time of cloudy mental weather toSwithin and Viviette, but the only noteworthy fact about it was that whathad been planned to happen therein had actually taken place. Swithin hadgone from Welland, and would shortly go from England.
She became aware of it by a note that he posted to her on his way throughWarborne. There was much evidence of haste in the note, and something ofreserve. The latter she could not understand, but it might have beenobvious enough if she had considered.
On the morning of his departure he had sat on the edge of his bed, thesunlight streaming through the early mist, the house-martens scratchingthe back of the ceiling over his head as they scrambled out from the rooffor their day's gnat-chasing, the thrushes cracking snails on the gardenstones outside with the noisiness of little smiths at work on littleanvils. The sun, in sending its rods of yellow fire into his room, sent,as he suddenly thought, mental illumination with it. For the first time,as he sat there, it had crossed his mind that Viviette might have reasonsfor this separation which he knew not of. There might be familyreasons--mysterious blood necessities which are said to rule members ofold musty-mansioned families, and are unknown to other classes ofsociety--and they may have been just now brought before her by herbrother Louis on the condition that they were religiously concealed.
The idea that some family skeleton, like those he had read of in memoirs,had been unearthed by Louis, and held before her terrified understandingas a matter which rendered Swithin's departure, and the neutralization ofthe marriage, no less indispensable to them than it was an advantage tohimself, seemed a very plausible one to Swithin just now. Viviette mighthave taken Louis into her confidence at last, for the sake of hisbrotherly advice. Swithin knew that of her own heart she would neverwish to get rid of him; but coerced by Louis, might she not have grown toentertain views of its expediency? Events made such a supposition on St.Cleeve's part as natural as it was inaccurate, and, conjoined with hisown excitement at the thought of seeing a new heaven overhead, influencedhim to write but the briefest and most hurried final note to her, inwhich he fully obeyed her sensitive request that he would omit allreference to his plans. These at the last moment had been modified tofall in with the winter expedition formerly mentioned, to observe theTransit of Venus at a remote southern station.
The business being done, and himself fairly plunged into thepreliminaries of an important scientific pilgrimage, Swithin acquiredthat lightness of heart which most young men feel in forsaking old lovefor new adventure, no matter how charming may be the girl they leavebehind them. Moreover, in the present case, the man was endowed withthat schoolboy temperament which does not see, or at least consider withmuch curiosity, the effect of a given scheme upon others than himself.The bearing upon Lady Constantine of what was an undoubted predicamentfor any woman, was forgotten in his feeling that she had done a veryhandsome and noble thing for him, and that he was therefore bound inhonour to make the most of it.
His going had resulted in anything but lightness of heart for her. Hersad fancy could, indeed, indulge in dreams of her yellow-haired laddiewithout that formerly besetting fear that those dreams would prompt herto actions likely to distract and weight him. She was wretched on herown account, relieved on his. She no longer stood in the way of hisadvancement, and that was enough. For herself she could live inretirement, visit the wood, the old camp, the column, and, like OEnone,think of the life they had led there--
'Mournful OEnone, wandering forlorn Of Paris, once her playmate on the hills,'
leaving it entirely to his goodness whether he would come and claim herin the future, or desert her for ever.
She was diverted for a time from these sad performances by a letter whichreached her from Bishop Helmsdale. To see his handwriting again on anenvelope, after thinking so anxiously of making a father-confessor ofhim, started her out of her equanimity. She speedily regained it,however, when she read his note.
'THE PALACE, MELCHESTER, _July_ 30, 18--.
'MY DEAR LADY CONSTANTINE,--I am shocked and grieved that, in the strange dispensation of things here below, my offer of marriage should have reached you almost simultaneously with the intelligence that your widowhood had been of several months less duration than you and I, and the world, had supposed. I can quite understand that, viewed from any side, the news must have shaken and disturbed you; and your unequivocal refusal to entertain any thought of a new alliance at such a moment was, of course, intelligible, natural, and praiseworthy. At present I will say no more beyond expressing a hope that you will accept my assurances that I was quite ignorant of the news at the hour of writing, and a sincere desire that in due time, and as soon as you have recovered your equanimity, I may be allowed to renew my proposal.--I am, my dear Lady Constantine, yours ever sincerely,
C. MELCHESTER.'
She laid the letter aside, and thought no more about it, beyond amomentary meditation on the errors into which people fall in reasoningfrom actions to motives. Louis, who was now again with her, became indue course acquainted with the contents of the letter, and was satisfiedwith the promising position in which matters seemingly stood all round.
Lady Constantine went her mournful ways as she had planned to do, herchief resort being the familiar column, where she experienced theunutterable melancholy of seeing two carpenters dismantle the dome of itsfelt covering, detach its ribs, and clear away the enclosure at the toptill everything stood as it had stood before Swithin had been known tothe place. The equatorial had already been packed in a box, to be inreadiness if he should send for it from abroad. The cabin, too, was incourse of demolition, such having been his directions, acquiesced in byher, before he started. Yet she could not bear the idea that thesestructures, so germane to the events of their romance, should be removedas if removed for ever. Going to the men she bade them store up thematerials intact, that they might be re-erected if desired. She had thejunctions of the timbers marked with figures, the boards numbered, andthe different sets of screws tied up in independent papers foridentification. She did not hear the remarks of the workmen when she hadgone, to the effect that the young man would as soon think of buying ahalter for himself as come back and spy at the moon from Rings-HillSpeer, after seeing the glories of other nations and the gold and jewelsthat were found there, or she might have been more unhappy than she was.
On returning from one of these walks to the column a curious circumstanceoccurred. It was evening, and she was coming as usual down through thesighing plantation, choosing her way between the ramparts of the camptowards the outlet giving upon the field, when suddenly in a dusky vistaamong the fir-trunks she saw, or thought she saw, a golden-haired,toddling child. The child moved a step or two, and vanished behind atree. Lady Constantine, fearing it had lost its way, went quickly to thespot, searched, and called aloud. But no child could she perceive orhear anywhere around. She returned to where she had stood when firstbeholding it, and looked in the same direction, but nothing reappeared.The only object at all resembling a little boy or girl was the upper tuftof a bunch of fern, which had prematurely yellowed to about the colour ofa fair child's hair, and waved occasionally in the breeze. This,however, did not sufficiently explain the phenomenon, and she returned tomake inquiries of the man whom she had left at work, removing the lasttraces of Swithin's cabin. But he had gone with her departure and theapproach of night. Feeling an indescribable dread she retraced hersteps, and hastened homeward doubting, yet half believing, what she hadseemed to see, and wondering if her imagination had played her sometrick.
The tranquil mournfulness of her night of solitude terminated in a mostunexpected manner.
The morning after the above-mentioned incident Lady Constantine, aftermeditating a while, arose with a strange personal conviction that borecuriously on the aforesaid hallucination. She realized a condition ofthings that she had never anticipated, and for a moment the discovery ofher sta
te so overwhelmed her that she thought she must die outright. Inher terror she said she had sown the wind to reap the whirlwind. Thenthe instinct of self-preservation flamed up in her like a fire. Heraltruism in subjecting her self-love to benevolence, and letting Swithingo away from her, was demolished by the new necessity, as if it had beena gossamer web.
There was no resisting or evading the spontaneous plan of action whichmatured in her mind in five minutes. Where was Swithin? how could he begot at instantly?--that was her ruling thought. She searched about theroom for his last short note, hoping, yet doubting, that its contentswere more explicit on his intended movements than the few meagresyllables which alone she could call to mind. She could not find theletter in her room, and came downstairs to Louis as pale as a ghost.
He looked up at her, and with some concern said, 'What's the matter?'
'I am searching everywhere for a letter--a note from Mr. St. Cleeve--justa few words telling me when the _Occidental_ sails, that I think he goesin.'
'Why do you want that unimportant document?'
'It is of the utmost importance that I should know whether he hasactually sailed or not!' said she in agonized tones. 'Where _can_ thatletter be?'
Louis knew where that letter was, for having seen it on her desk he had,without reading it, torn it up and thrown it into the waste-paper basket,thinking the less that remained to remind her of the young philosopherthe better.
'I destroyed it,' he said.
'O Louis! why did you?' she cried. 'I am going to follow him; I think itbest to do so; and I want to know if he is gone--and now the date islost!'
'Going to run after St. Cleeve? Absurd!'
'Yes, I am!' she said with vehement firmness. 'I must see him; I want tospeak to him as soon as possible.'
'Good Lord, Viviette! Are you mad?'
'O what was the date of that ship! But it cannot be helped. I start atonce for Southampton. I have made up my mind to do it. He was going tohis uncle's solicitors in the North first; then he was coming back toSouthampton. He cannot have sailed yet.'
'I believe he has sailed,' muttered Louis sullenly.
She did not wait to argue with him, but returned upstairs, where she rangto tell Green to be ready with the pony to drive her to Warborne stationin a quarter of an hour.