by George Eliot
have shown her little attentions, which she has exaggerated and misinterpreted.
What man is not liable to that sort of thing?'
'But what can she found her behaviour on? What had she been saying to you this
morning to make her tremble and turn pale in that way?'
'O, I don't know. I just said something about her behaving peevishly. With that
Italian blood of hers, there's no knowing how she may take what one says. She's
a fierce little thing, though she seems so quiet generally.'
'But she ought to be made to know how unbecoming and indelicate her conduct is.
For my part, I wonder Lady Cheverel has not noticed her short answers and the
airs she puts on.'
'Let me beg of you, Beatrice, not to hint anything of the kind to Lady Cheverel.
You must have observed how strict my aunt is. It never enters her head that a
girl can be in love with a man who has not made her an offer.'
'Well, I shall let Miss Sarti know myself that I have observed her conduct. It
will be only a charity to her.'
'Nay, dear, that will be doing nothing but harm. Caterina's temper is peculiar.
The best thing you can do will be to leave her to herself as much as possible.
It will all wear off. I've no doubt she'll be married to Gilfil before long.
Girls' fancies are easily diverted from one object to another. By jove, what a
rate my heart is galloping at! These confounded palpitations get worse instead
of better.'
Thus ended the conversation, so far as it concerned Caterina, not without
leaving a distinct resolution in Captain Wybrow's mind�a resolution carried into
effect the next day, when he was in the library with Sir Christopher for the
purpose of discussing some arrangements about the approaching marriage.
'By the by,' he said carelessly, when the business came to a pause, and he was
sauntering round the room with his hands in his coat-pockets, surveying the
backs of the books that lined the walls, 'when is the wedding between Gilfil and
Caterina to come off, sir? I've a fellow-feeling for a poor devil so many
fathoms deep in love as Maynard. Why shouldn't their marriage happen as soon as
ours? I suppose he has come to an understanding with Tina?'
'Why,' said Sir Christopher, 'I did think of letting the thing be until old
Crichley died; he can't hold out very long, poor fellow; and then Maynard might
have entered into matrimony and the rectory both at once. But, after all, that
really is no good reason for waiting. There is no need for them to leave the
Manor when they are married. The little monkey is quite old enough. It would be
pretty to see her a matron, with a baby about the size of a kitten in her arms.'
'I think that system of waiting is always bad. And if I can further any
settlement you would like to make on Caterina, I shall be delighted to carry out
your wishes.'
'My dear boy, that's very good of you; but Maynard will have enough; and from
what I know of him�and I know him well�I think he would rather provide for
Caterina himself. However, now you have put this matter into my head, I begin to
blame myself for not having thought of it before. I've been so wrapt up in
Beatrice and you, you rascal, that I had really forgotten poor Maynard. And he's
older than you�it's high time he was settled in life as a family man.'
Sir Christopher paused, took snuff in a meditative manner, and presently said,
more to himself than to Anthony, who was humming a tune at the far end of the
room, 'Yes, yes. It will be a capital plan to finish off all our family business
at once.'
Riding out with Miss Assher the same morning, Captain Wybrow mentioned to her
incidentally, that Sir Christopher was anxious to bring about the wedding
between Gilfil and Caterina as soon as possible, and that he, for his part,
should do all he could to further the affair. It would be the best thing in the
world for Tina, in whose welfare he was really interested.
With Sir Christopher there was never any long interval between purpose and
execution. He made up his mind promptly, and he acted promptly. On rising from
luncheon, he said to Mr Gilfil, 'Come with me into the library, Maynard. I want
to have a word with you.'
'Maynard, my boy,' he began, as soon as they were seated, tapping his snuff-box,
and looking radiant at the idea of the unexpected pleasure he was about to give,
'why shouldn't we have two happy couples instead of one, before the autumn is
over, eh?'
'Eh?' he repeated, after a moment's pause, lengthening out the monosyllable,
taking a slow pinch, and looking up at Maynard with a sly smile.
'I'm not quite sure that I understand you, sir,' answered Mr Gilfil, who felt
annoyed at the consciousness that he was turning pale.
'Not understand me, you rogue? You know very well whose happiness lies nearest
to my heart after Anthony's. You know you let me into your secrets long ago, so
there's no confession to make. Tina's quite old enough to be a grave little wife
now; and though the Rectory's not ready for you, that's no matter. My lady and I
shall feel all the more comfortable for having you with us. We should miss our
little singing-bird if we lost her all at once.'
Mr Gilfil felt himself in a painfully difficult position. He dreaded that Sir
Christopher should surmise or discover the true state of Caterina's feelings,
and yet he was obliged to make those feelings the ground of his reply.
'My dear sir,' he at last said with some effort, 'you will not suppose that I am
not alive to your goodness�that I am not grateful for your fatherly interest in
my happiness; but I fear that Caterina's feelings towards me are not such as to
warrant the hope that she would accept a proposal of marriage from me.'
'Have you ever asked her?'
'No, sir. But we often know these things too well without asking.'
'Pooh, pooh! the little monkey must love you. Why, you were her first
playfellow; and I remember she used to cry if you cut your finger. Besides, she
has always silently admitted that you were her lover. You know I have always
spoken of you to her in that light. I took it for granted you had settled the
business between yourselves; so did Anthony. Anthony thinks she's in love with
you, and he has young eyes, which are apt enough to see clearly in these
matters. He was talking to me about it this morning, and pleased me very much by
the friendly interest he showed in you and Tina.'
The blood�more than was wanted�rushed back to Mr Gilfil's face; he set his teeth
and clenched his hands in the effort to repress a burst of indignation. Sir
Christopher noticed the flush, but thought it indicated the fluctuation of hope
and fear about Caterina. He went on:�
'You're too modest by half, Maynard. A fellow who can take a five-barred gate as
you can, ought not to be so faint-hearted. If you can't speak to her yourself,
leave me to talk to her.'
'Sir Christopher,' said poor Maynard earnestly, 'I shall really feel it the
greatest kindness you can possibly show me not to mention this subject to
Caterina at present. I think such a proposal, made prematurely, might only
Sir Christopher was getting a little displeased at this contradiction. His tone
became a little sharper as he said, 'Have you any grounds to state for this
opinion, beyond your general notion that Tina is not enough in love with you? '
'I can state none beyond my own very strong impression that she does not love me
well enough to marry me.'
'Then I think that ground is worth nothing at all. I am tolerably correct in my
judgement of people; and if I am not very much deceived in Tina, she looks
forward to nothing else but to your being her husband. Leave me to manage the
matter as I think best. You may rely on me that I shall do no harm to your
cause, Maynard.'
Mr Gilfil, afraid to say more, yet wretched in the prospect of what might result
from Sir Christopher's determination, quitted the library in a state of mingled
indignation against Captain Wybrow, and distress for himself and Caterina. What
would she think of him? She might suppose that he had instigated or sanctioned
Sir Christopher's proceeding. He should perhaps not have an opportunity of
speaking to her on the subject in time; he would write her a note, and carry it
up to her room after the dressing-bell had rung. No; that would agitate her, and
unfit her for appearing at dinner, and passing the evening calmly. He would
defer it till bed-time. After prayers, he contrived to lead her back to the
drawing-room, and to put a letter in her hand. She carried it up to her own
room, wondering, and there read,
Dear Caterina, Do not suspect for a moment that anything Sir Christopher may say
to you about our marriage has been prompted by me. I have done all I dare do to
dissuade him from urging the subject, and have only been prevented from speaking
more strongly by the dread of provoking questions which I could not answer
without causing you fresh misery. I write this, both to prepare you for anything
Sir Christopher may say, and to assure you�but I hope you already believe
it�that your feelings are sacred to me. I would rather part with the dearest
hope of my life than be the means of adding to your trouble.
It is Captain Wybrow who has prompted Sir Christopher to take up the subject at
this moment. I tell you this, to save you from hearing it suddenly when you are
with Sir Christopher. You see now what sort of stuff that dastard's heart is
made of. Trust in me always, dearest Caterina, as�whatever may come�your
faithful friend and brother, Maynard Gilfil
Caterina was at first too terribly stung by the words about Captain Wybrow to
think of the difficulty which threatened her�to think either of what Sir
Christopher would say to her, or of what she could say in reply. Bitter sense of
injury, fierce resentment, left no room for fear. With the poisoned garment upon
him, the victim writhes under the torture�he has no thought of the coming death.
Anthony could do this!�Of this there could be no explanation but the coolest
contempt for her feelings, the basest sacrifice of all the consideration and
tenderness he owed her to the ease of his position with Miss Assher. No. It was
worse than that: it was deliberate, gratuitous cruelty. He wanted to show her
how he despised her; he wanted to make her feel her folly in having ever
believed that he loved her.
The last crystal drops of trust and tenderness, she thought, were dried up; all
was parched, fiery hatred. Now she need no longer check her resentment by the
fear of doing him an injustice: he had trifled with her, as Maynard had said; he
had been reckless of her; and now he was base and cruel. She had cause enough
for her bitterness and anger; they were not so wicked as they had seemed to her.
As these thoughts were hurrying after each other like so many sharp throbs of
fevered pain, she shed no tear. She paced restlessly to and fro, as her habit
was�her hands clenched, her eyes gleaming fiercely and wandering uneasily, as if
in search of something on which she might throw herself like a tigress.
'If I could speak to him,' she whispered, 'and tell him I hate him, I despise
him, I loathe him! '
Suddenly, as if a new thought had struck her, she drew a key from her pocket,
and, unlocking an inlaid desk where she stored up her keepsakes, took from it a
small miniature. It was in a very slight gold frame, with a ring to it, as if
intended to be worn on a chain; and under the glass at the back were two locks
of hair, one dark and the other auburn, arranged in a fantastic knot. It was
Anthony's secret present to her a year ago �a copy he had had made specially for
her. For the last month she had not taken it from its hiding-place: there was no
need to heighten the vividness of the past. But now she clutched it fiercely,
and dashed it across the room against the bare hearth-stone.
Will she crush it under her feet, and grind it under her high-heeled shoe, till
every trace of those false cruel features is gone?
Ah, no! She rushed across the room; but when she saw the little treasure she had
cherished so fondly, so often smothered with kisses, so often laid under her
pillow, and remembered with the first return of consciousness in the
morning�when she saw this one visible relic of the too happy past lying with the
glass shivered, the hair fallen out, the thin ivory cracked, there was a
revulsion of the overstrained feeling: relenting came, and she burst into tears.
Look at her stooping down to gather up her treasure, searching for the hair and
replacing it, and then mournfully examining the crack that disfigures the
once-loved image. There is no glass now to guard either the hair or the
portrait; but see how carefully she wraps delicate paper round it, and locks it
up again in its old place. Poor child! God send the relenting may always come
before the worst irrevocable deed!
This action had quieted her, and she sat down to read Maynard's letter again.
She read it two or three times without seeming to take in the sense; her
apprehension was dulled by the passion of the last hour, and she found it
difficult to call up the ideas suggested by the words. At last she began to have
a distinct conception of the impending interview with Sir Christopher. The idea
of displeasing the Baronet, of whom every one at the Manor stood in awe,
frightened her so much that she thought it would be impossible to resist his
wish. He believed that she loved Maynard; he had always spoken as if he were
quite sure of it. How could she tell him he was deceived�and what if he were to
ask her whether she loved anybody else? To have Sir Christopher looking angrily
at her, was more than she could bear, even in imagination. He had always been so
good to her! Then she began to think of the pain she might give him, and the
more selfish distress of fear gave way to the distress of affection. Unselfish
tears began to flow, and sorrowful gratitude to Sir Christopher helped to awaken
her sensibility to Mr Gilfil's tenderness and generosity.
'Dear, good Maynard!�what a poor return I make him! If I could but have loved
him instead�but I can never love or care for anythin
g again. My heart is
broken.'
Chapter 13
THE next morning the dreaded moment came. Caterina, stupified by the suffering
of the previous night, with that dull mental aching which follows on acute
anguish, was in Lady Cheverel's sitting-room, copying out some charity lists,
when her ladyship came in, and said,� 'Tina, Sir Christopher wants you; go down
into the library.'
She went down trembling. As soon as she entered, Sir Christopher, who was seated
near his writing-table, said, 'Now, little monkey, come and sit down by me; I
have something to tell you.'
Caterina took a footstool, and seated herself on it at the Baronet's feet. It
was her habit to sit on these low stools, and in this way she could hide her
face better. She put her little arm round his leg, and leaned her cheek against
his knee.
'Why, you seem out of spirits this morning, Tina. What's the matter, eh?'
'Nothing, Padroncello; only my head is bad.'
'Poor monkey! Well, now, wouldn't it do the head good if I were to promise you a
good husband, and smart little wedding-gowns, and by-and-by a house of your own,
where you would be a little mistress, and Padroncello would come and see you
sometimes?'
'O no, no! I shouldn't like ever to be married. Let me always stay with you! '
'Pooh, pooh, little simpleton. I shall get old and tiresome, and there will be
Anthony's children putting your nose out of joint. You will want some one to
love you best of all, and you must have children of your own to love. I can't
have you withering away into an old maid. I hate old maids: they make me dismal
to look at them. I never see Sharp without shuddering. My little black-eyed
monkey was never meant for anything so ugly. And there's Maynard Gilfil the best
man in the county, worth his weight in gold, heavy as he is; he loves you hetter
than his eyes. And you love him too, you silly monkey, whatever you may say
about not being married.'
'No, no, dear Padroncello, do not say so; I could not marry him.'
'Why not, you foolish child? You don't know your own mind. Why, it is plain to
everybody that you love him. My lady has all along said she was sure you loved
him�she has seen what little princess airs you put on to him; and Anthony too,
he thinks you are in love with Gilfil. Come, what has made you take it into your
head that you wouldn't like to marry him?'
Caterina was now sobbing too deeply to make any answer. Sir Christopher patted
her on the back and said, 'Come, come; why, Tina, you are not well this morning.
Go and rest, little one. You will see things in quite another light when you are
well. Think over what I have said, and remember there is nothing, after
Anthony's marriage, that I have set my heart on so much as seeing you and
Maynard settled for life. I must have no whims and follies�no nonsense.' This
was said with a slight severity; but he presently added, in a soothing tone,
There, there, stop crying, and be a good little monkey. Go and lie down and get
to sleep.'
Caterina slipped from the stool on to her knees, took the old Baronet's hand,
covered it with tears and kisses, and then ran out of the room.
Before the evening, Captain Wybrow had heard from his uncle the result of the
interview with Caterina. He thought, 'If I could have a long quiet talk with
her, I could perhaps persuade her to look more reasonably at things. But there's
no speaking to her in the house without being interrupted, and I can hardly see
her anywhere else without Beatrice's finding it out.' At last he determined to
make it a matter of confidence with Miss Assher�to tell her that he wished to
talk to Caterina quietly for the sake of bringing her to a calmer state of mind,
and persuade her to listen to Gilfil's affection. He was very much pleased with
this judicious and candid plan, and in the course of the evening he had arranged
with himself the time and place of meeting, and had communicated his purpose to