Margaret Capel Volume Ii Part 12

CHAPTER VIII.

_Ma._ Then you believe not, Arnold, in the stars?

_Ar._ Yes, in the stars--when on a winter's night They stand as thick as drops of dew new frozen On the dark arch of Heaven--or when they lie Mirrowed upon the heaving sea--or steal Slowly and faint into the Summer sky-- But for these ignorant interpreters, They scarce are worth the scorn of disbelief.

ANON.

Aveline declared that she would not be defrauded of her ride when the evening came in all its freshness; but Mr. Haveloc said that he saw she was languid; that the morning was the proper time for exercise, and that Hakon Jarl should be his companion the next day, when he paid his respects to Mrs. Fitzpatrick.

"Ah! you will come to-morrow, that is well," said Aveline, "but do not let me go quite without a ride this evening; let me take a turn just round the garden."

Mr. Haveloc glanced at Mrs. Fitzpatrick.

"Yes, let her," she said in a tone of despondency.

The poney was brought to the window; Aveline was lifted on, and Mr.

Haveloc taking the reins led him through the shrubberies, and along the broad terrace.

"I wonder if he could go down the steps upon the sands," said Aveline.

"He could, I have no doubt," said Mr. Haveloc, "but you--"

"I should so enjoy it; riding along the sands by moonlight," said Aveline. "Oh! I am quite strong enough--never fear."

Mr. Haveloc led the poney carefully down the steep steps and over the s.h.i.+ngles to the sands, now stretching far and dry, the tide being at its lowest.

"How glad I am that we live by the sea," said Aveline. "It is delightful for a part of the year," said Mr. Haveloc. "I should not care about it in winter."

"But it is in winter," said Aveline, "that the waves are so rough; you should see them running against that headland on a stormy night; when you catch a glimpse of the foam tossed high against the very peak of the rock there, just when the wind has torn the clouds asunder, and let out a glimpse of the moon for an instant. I would not miss the sea in winter time. And then the hoa.r.s.e sound of the waves on the s.h.i.+ngles grows louder when mixed up with the boisterous north wind. And the surge boils and swells, and then the white froth parts and shows the dark angry water beneath. No! trees and fields are barren in winter; but there is always life in the sea!"

"And this creature is all this while slowly and invisibly borne onwards to the grave," he thought, "so full of the best part of life--the intellectual!"

"You are thinking!" said Aveline.

"And so were you; only you thought aloud," he answered.

"Ah! look Mr. Haveloc, they are launching a boat; let us go a few steps farther and see them. Don't you like the rough noise, and the splash, and the voices of the fishermen together. See, just in the moon's path; and now they are in shadow again. When I was a child I used to envy the fishermen as I saw them starting on a bright evening like this, for their merry night's fis.h.i.+ng."

"And they envied you, perhaps, that you were going to enjoy a good night's rest, instead of getting wet and weary, and not knowing whether they should catch fish enough to buy their next day's breakfast."

"Perhaps so," said Aveline. "Few people would envy me now."

"Because you are in bad health."

"Yes. Do you not think mamma is very much depressed to-day?"

"She struck me as being so."

"Mr. Lindsay tells her the truth," said Aveline, "it is a comfort to me to be sure of that; as he would tell me the truth if I were to ask him."

"That is a comfort," said Mr. Haveloc, "at least, whatever were to befall me, I would rather know it."

"Did you ever have your fortune told, Mr. Haveloc?"

"No, never. Oh, yes, I forgot! I had my fortune told me once near Rome; in the Campagna."

"By a gipsy?"

"A regular gipsy, with a face like the head of Memnon in the Museum; long eyed, with ma.s.sive features, and the upper and under lip of equal thickness."

"What did she tell you? Do try and recollect."

"Let me consider," said Mr. Haveloc, leaning against the pony's neck, "first she asked me for a crown."

"Of course you gave it; but such a sum ought to have bought you a very handsome fortune."

"So the Sybil seemed to think, for she told me I was greatly beloved by a young lady with dark eyes."

Aveline trembled.

"You are cold; we will finish the fortune teller in the house."

"No, no--go on here."

"Let me lead him back to the garden, you forget I am responsible to Mrs.

Fitzpatrick for your well-being. I will go on; though I did not know you were superst.i.tious."

"Yes, I am, about gipsies."

"Well, I ventured to hint that these pleasing events always told better when there was a strong contrast between the parties; and that I should be obliged to the Sybil to furnish my young lady with blue eyes before she proceeded any farther. But my Zingara was not so accommodating, 'she did not like,' she said, 'to trifle with the stars; the dark eyed lady insisted on being attached to me. But, she would work me an incredible deal of woe.'"

"Ah!" cried Aveline raising her voice almost to a shriek, "what did she say. Tell me how--what came next?"

"I'll tell you what, Miss Fitzpatrick," said he leading the pony up the stony staircase, "when I was a great many years younger, I have sat up telling ghost stories at Christmas, until I was afraid to look behind me; but I never heard that this sport was good for an invalid. You are as much afraid of gipsies as I was of ghosts. We will talk of something else."

"No, but finish I entreat you," said Aveline in a gentle tone.

"Why the Sybil told me that I should survive this injury, whatever it was; but she declined being more explicit. She also said that I should be very happy by and bye, perhaps she meant in Heaven. I hope so. But I gave her another crown and wished her good day."

"Ah!" said Aveline, "my gipsy was more explicit."

"Where did you pick up yours?"

"Here, on the sea-sh.o.r.e."

"And what news did she give you for your money?"