Tales and Novels Volume X Part 31

Some days afterwards Lady Katrine took up a book, in which Helen's name was written in Beauclerc's hand. "_Gage d'amitie?_" said her ladys.h.i.+p; and she walked up and down the room, humming the air of an old French song; interrupting herself now and then to ask her sister if she could recollect the words. "The _refrain_, if I remember right, is something like this--

Sous le nom d'amitie--sous le nom d'amitie, La moitie du monde trompe l'autre moitie, Sous le nom, sous le nom, sous le nom d'amitie.

And it ends with

Sous le nom d'amitie, Damon, je vous adore, Sous le nom, sous le nom d'amitie.

"Miss Stanley, do you know that song?" concluded her malicious ladys.h.i.+p.

No--Miss Stanley had never heard it before; but the marked emphasis with which Lady Katrine sung and looked, made Helen clear that she meant to apply the words tauntingly to her and Beauclerc,--but which of them her ladys.h.i.+p suspected was cheating, or cheated--"_sous le nom d'amitie_,"

she did not know. All was confusion in her mind. After a moment's cooler reflection, however, she was certain it could not be Beauclerc who was to blame--it must be herself, and she now very much wished that every body, and Lady Katrine in particular, should know that Mr. Beauclerc was engaged--almost married; if this were but known, it would put an end to all such imputations.

The first time she could speak to Cecilia on the subject, she begged to know how soon Mr. Beauclerc's engagement would be declared. Lady Cecilia slightly answered she could not tell--and when Helen pressed the question she asked,--

"Why are you so anxious, Helen?"

Helen honestly told her, and Lady Cecilia only laughed at her for minding what Lady Katrine said,--"When you know yourself, Helen, how it is, what can it signify what mistakes others may make?"

But Helen grew more and more uneasy, for she was not clear that she did know how it was, with herself at least. Her conscience faltered, and she was not sure whether she was alarmed with or without reason. She began to compare feelings that she had read of, and feelings that she had seen in others, and feelings that were new to herself, and in this maze and mist nothing was distinct--much was magnified--all alarming.

One day Beauclerc was within view of the windows on horseback, on a very spirited horse, which he managed admirably; but a shot fired suddenly in an adjoining preserve so startled the horse that it----oh! what it did Helen did not see, she was so terrified: and why was she so much terrified? She excused herself by saying it was natural to be frightened for any human creature. But, on the other hand, Tom Isdall was a human creature, and she had seen him last week actually thrown from his horse, and had not felt much concern. But then he was not a friend; and he fell into a soft ditch: and there was something ridiculous in it which prevented people from caring about it. With such nice casuistry she went on pretty well; and besides, she was so innocent--so ignorant, that it was easy for her to be deceived. She went on, telling herself that she loved Beauclerc as a brother--as she loved the general. But when she came to comparisons, she could not but perceive a difference. Her heart never bounded on the general's appearance, let him appear ever so suddenly, as it did one day when Beauclerc returned unexpectedly from Old Forest. Her whole existence seemed so altered by his approach, his presence, or his absence. Why was this? Was there any thing wrong in it? She had n.o.body whose judgment she could consult--n.o.body to whom she could venture to describe her feelings, or lay open her doubts and scruples. Lady Cecilia would only laugh; and she could not quite trust either her judgment or her sincerity, though she knew her affection.

Besides, after what Cecilia had said of her being safe; after all she had told her of Beauclerc's engagement, how astonished and shocked Cecilia would be!

Then Helen resolved that she would keep a strict watch over herself, and repress all emotion, and be severe with her own mind to the utmost: and it was upon this resolution that she had changed her manner, without knowing how much, towards Beauclerc; she was certain he meant nothing but friends.h.i.+p. It was her fault if she felt too much pleasure in his company; the same things were, as she wisely argued, right or wrong according to the intention with which they were said, done, looked, or felt. Rigidly she inflicted on herself the penance of avoiding his delightful society, and to make sure that she did not try to attract, she repelled him with all her power--thought she never could make herself cold, and stiff, and disagreeable enough to satisfy her conscience.

Then she grew frightened at Beauclerc's looks of astonishment--feared he would ask explanation--avoided him more and more. Then, on the other hand, she feared he might guess and interpret _wrong_, or rather _right_, this change; and back she changed, tried in vain to keep the just medium--she had lost the power of measuring--altogether she was very unhappy, and so was Beauclerc; he found her incomprehensible, and thought her capricious. His own mind was fluttered with love, so that he could not see or judge distinctly, else he might have seen the truth; and sometimes, though free from conceit, he did hope it might be all love. But why then so determined to discourage him? he had advanced sufficiently to mark his intentions, she could not doubt his sincerity.

He would see farther before he ventured farther. He thought a man was a fool who proposed before he had tolerable reason to believe he should not be refused.

Lord Beltravers and his sisters were now expected at Old Forest immediately, and Beauclerc went thither early every morning, to press forward the preparations for the arrival of the family, and he seldom returned till dinner-time; and every evening Lady Castlefort contrived to take possession of him. It appeared to be indeed as much against his will as it could be between a well-bred man and a high-bred belle; but to do her bidding, seemed if not a moral, at least a polite necessity.

She had been spoiled, she owned, by foreign attentions, not French, for that is all gone now at Paris, but Italian manners, which she so much preferred. She did not know how she could live out of Italy, and she must convince Lord Castlefort that the climate was necessary for her health. Meanwhile she adopted, she acted, what she conceived to be foreign manners, and with an exaggeration common with those who have very little sense and a vast desire to be fas.h.i.+onable with a certain set. Those who knew her best (all but her sister Katrine, who shook her head,) were convinced that there was really no harm in Lady Castlefort, "only vanity and folly." How frequently folly leads farther than fools ever, or wise people often foresee, we need not here stop to record. On the present occasion, all at Clarendon Park, even those most inclined to scandal, persons who, by the by, may be always known by their invariable preface of, "I hate all scandal," agreed that "no one _so far_ could behave better than Granville Beauclerc--so far,"--"as yet." But all the elderly who had any experience of this world, all the young who had any intuitive prescience in these matters, could not but fear that things could not long go on as they were now going. It was sadly to be feared that so young a man, and so very handsome a man, and such an admirer of beauty, and grace, and music, and of such an enthusiastic temper, must be in danger of being drawn on farther than he was aware, and before he knew what he was about.

The general heard and saw all that went on without seeming to take heed, only once he asked Cecilia how long she thought her cousins would stay.

She did not know, but she said "she saw he wished them to be what they were not--cousins once removed--and quite agreed with him." He smiled, for a man is always well pleased to find his wife agree with him in disliking her cousins.

One night--one fine moonlight night--Lady Castlefort, standing at the conservatory door with Beauclerc, after talking an inconceivable quant.i.ty of nonsense about her pa.s.sion for the moon, and her notions about the stars, and congenial souls born under the same planet, proposed to him a moonlight walk.

The general was at the time playing at chess with Helen, and had the best of the game, but at that moment he made a false move, was check-mated, rose hastily, threw the men together on the board, and forgot to regret his shameful defeat, or to compliment Helen upon her victory. Lady Castlefort, having just discovered that the fatality nonsense about the stars would not quite do for Beauclerc, had been the next instant seized with a sudden pa.s.sion for astronomy; she must see those charming rings of Saturn, which she had heard so much of, which the general was showing Miss Stanley the other night; she must beg him to lend his telescope; she came up with her sweetest smile to trouble the general for his gla.s.s. Lord Castlefort, following, objected strenuously to her going out at night; she had been complaining of a bad cold when he wanted her to walk in the daytime, she would only make it worse by going out in the night air. If she wanted to see Saturn and his rings, the general, he was sure, would fix a telescope at the window for her.

But that would not do, she must have a moonlight walk; she threw open the conservatory door, beckoned to Mr. Beauclerc, and how it ended Helen did not stay to see. She thought that she ought not even to think on the subject, and she went away as fast as she could. It was late, and she went to bed wis.h.i.+ng to be up early, to go on with a drawing she was to finish for Mrs. Collingwood--a view by the river side, that view which had struck her fancy as so beautiful the day she went first to Old Forest. Early the next morning--and a delightful morning it was--she was up and out, and reached the spot from which her sketch was taken. She was surprised to find her little camp-stool, which she had looked for in vain in the hall, in its usual place, set here ready for her, and on it a pencil nicely cut.

Beauclerc must have done this. But he was not in general an early riser.

However, she concluded that he had gone over thus early to Old Forest, to see his friend Lord Beltravers, who was to have arrived the day before, with his sisters. She saw a boat rowing down the river, and she had no doubt he was gone. But just as she had settled to her drawing, she heard the joyful bark of Beauclerc's dog Nelson, who came bounding towards her, and the next moment his master appeared, coming down the path from the wood. With quick steps he came till he was nearly close to her, then slackened his pace.

"Good morning!" said Helen; she tried to speak with composure, but her heart beat--she could not help feeling surprise at seeing him--but it was only surprise.

"I thought you were gone to Old Forest?" said she.

"Not yet," said he.

His voice sounded different from usual, and she saw in him some suppressed agitation. She endeavoured to keep her own manner unembarra.s.sed--she thanked him for the nicely-cut pencil, and the exactly well-placed seat. He advanced a step or two nearer, stooped, and looked close at her drawing, but he did not seem to see or know what he was looking at.

At this moment Nelson, who had been too long unnoticed, put up one paw on Miss Stanley's arm, unseen by his master, and encouraged by such gentle reproof as Helen gave, his audacious paw was on the top of her drawing-book the next moment, and the next was upon the drawing--and the paw was wet with dew.--"Nelson!" exclaimed his master in an angry tone.

"O do not scold him," cried Helen, "do not punish him; the drawing is not spoiled--only wet, and it will be as well as ever when it is dry."

Beauclerc e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed something about the temper of an angel while she patted Nelson's penitent head.

"As the drawing must be left to dry," said Beauclerc, "perhaps Miss Stanley would do me the favour to walk as far as the landing-place, where the boat is to meet me--to take me--if--if I MUST go to Old Forest!" and he sighed.

She took his offered arm and walked on--surprised--confused;--wondering what he meant by that sigh and that look--and that strong emphasis on _must_. "If I _must_ go to Old Forest." Was not it a pleasure?--was it not his own choice?--what could he mean?--What could be the matter?

A vague agitating idea rose in her mind, but she put it from her, and they walked on for some minutes, both silent. They entered the wood, and feeling the silence awkward, and afraid that he should perceive her embarra.s.sment, and that he should suspect her suspicion, she exerted herself to speak--to say something, no matter what.

"It is a charming morning!"

After a pause of absence of mind, he answered,

"Charming!--very!"

Then stopping short, he fixed his eyes upon Helen with an expression that she was afraid to understand. It could hardly bear any interpretation but one--and yet that was impossible--ought to be impossible--from a man in Beauclerc's circ.u.mstances--engaged--almost a married man, as she had been told to consider him. She did not know at this moment what to think--still she thought she must mistake him, and she should be excessively ashamed of such a mistake, and now more strongly felt the dread that he should see and misinterpret or interpret too rightly her emotion; she walked on quicker, and her breath grew short, and her colour heightened. He saw her agitation--a delightful hope arose in his mind. It was plain she was not indifferent--he looked at her, but dared not look long enough--feared that he was mistaken. But the embarra.s.sment seemed to change its character even as he looked, and now it was more like displeasure--decidedly, she appeared displeased.

And so she was; for she thought now that he must either be trifling with her, or, if serious, must be acting most dishonourably;--her good opinion of him must be destroyed for ever, if, as now it seemed, he wished to make an impression upon her heart--yet still she tried not to think, not to see it. She was sorry, she was very wrong to let such an idea into her mind--and still her agitation increased.

Quick as she turned from him these thoughts pa.s.sed in her mind, alternately angry and ashamed, and at last, forcing herself to be composed, telling herself she ought to see farther and at least to be certain before she condemned him--condemned so kind, so honourable a friend, while the fault might be all her own; she now, in a softened tone, as if begging pardon for the pain she had given, and the injustice she had done him, said some words, insignificant in themselves, but from the voice of kindness charming to Beauclerc's ear and soul.

"Are not we walking very fast?" said she, breathless. He slackened his pace instantly, and with a delighted look, while she, in a hurried voice, added, "But do not let me delay you. There is the boat. You must be in haste--impatient!"

"In haste! impatient! to leave you, Helen!" She blushed deeper than he had ever seen her blush before. Beauclerc in general knew--

"Which blush was anger's, which was love's!"

--But now he was so much moved he could not decide at the first glance: at the second, there was no doubt; it was anger--not love. Her arm was withdrawn from his. He was afraid he had gone too far. He had called her Helen! He begged pardon, half humbly, half proudly. "I beg pardon; Miss Stanley, I should have said. I see I have offended. I fear I have been presumptuous, but Lady Davenant taught me to trust to Miss Stanley's sincerity, and I was encouraged by her expressions of confidence and friends.h.i.+p."

"Friends.h.i.+p! Oh, yes! Mr. Beauclerc," said Helen, in a hurried voice, eagerly seizing on and repeating the word friends.h.i.+p; "yes, I have always considered you as a friend. I am sure I shall always find you a sincere, good friend."

"Friend!" he repeated in a disappointed tone--all his hopes sunk. She took his arm again, and he was displeased even with that. She was not the being of real sensibility he had fancied--she was not capable of real love. So vacillated his heart and his imagination, and so quarrelled he alternately every instant with her and with himself.

He could not understand her, or decide what he should next do or say himself; and there was the boat nearing the land, and they were going on, on, towards it in silence. He sighed.

It was a sigh that could not but be heard and noticed; it was not meant to be noticed, and yet it was. What could she think of it? She could not believe that Beauclerc meant to act treacherously. This time she was determined not to take anything for granted, not to be so foolish as she had been with Mr. Churchill.

"Is not that your boat that I see, rowing close?"

"Yes, I believe--certainly. Yes," said he.

But now the vacillation of Beauclerc's mind suddenly ceased. Desperate, he stopped her, as she would have turned down that path to the landing-place where the boat was mooring. He stood full across the path.

"Miss Stanley, one word--by one word, one look decide. You must decide for me whether I stay--or go--for ever!"

"I!--Mr. Beauclerc!--"

The look of astonishment--more than astonishment, almost of indignation--silenced him completely, and he stood dismayed. She pressed onwards, and he no longer stopped her path. For an instant he submitted in despair. "Then I must not think of it. I must go--must I, Miss Stanley? Will not you listen to me, Helen? Advise me; let me open my heart to you as a friend."