Wilfrid Cumbermede Part 18

'Here we are in the moon's drawing-room!' said Clara.

The scene was lovely. The sky was all now--the earth only a background or pedestal for the heavens. The river, far below, shone here and there in answer to the moon, while the meadows and fields lay as in the oblivion of sleep, and the wooded hills were only dark formless ma.s.ses.

But the sky was the dwelling-place of the moon, before whose radiance, penetratingly still, the stars shrunk as if they would hide in the flowing skirts of her garments. There was scarce a cloud to be seen, and the whiteness of the moon made the blue thin. I could hardly believe in what I saw. It was as if I had come awake without getting out of the dream.

We were on the roof of the ball-room. We felt the rhythmic motion of the dancing feet shake the building in time to the music. 'A low melodious thunder' buried beneath--above, the eternal silence of the white moon!

We pa.s.sed to the roof of the drawing-room. From it, upon one side, we could peep into the great gothic window of the hall, which rose high above it. We could see the servants pa.s.sing and repa.s.sing, with dishes for the supper which was being laid in the dining-room under the drawing-room, for the hall was never used for entertainment now, except on such great occasions as a coming of age, or an election-feast, when all cla.s.ses met.

'We mustn't stop here,' said Clara. 'We shall get our deaths of cold.'

'What shall we do, then?' I asked.

'There are plenty of doors,' she answered--'only Mrs Wilson has a foolish fancy for keeping them all bolted. We must try, though.'

Over roof after roof we went; now descending, now ascending a few steps; now walking along narrow gutters, between battlement and sloping roof; now crossing awkward junctions--trying doors many in tower and turret--all in vain! Every one was bolted on the inside. We had grown quite silent, for the case looked serious.

'This is the last door,' said Clara--'the last we can reach. There are more in the towers, but they are higher up. What _shall_ we do? Unless we go down a chimney, I don't know what's to be done.' Still her voice did not falter, and my courage did not give way. She stood for a few moments, silent. I stood regarding her, as one might listen for a doubtful oracle.

'Yes. I've got it!' she said at length. 'Have you a good head, Wilfrid?'

'I don't quite know what you mean,' I answered.

'Do you mind being on a narrow place, without much to hold by?'

'High up?' I asked with a s.h.i.+ver.

'Yes.'

For a moment I did not answer. It was a special weakness of my physical nature, one which my imagination had increased tenfold--the absolute horror I had of such a transit as she was evidently about to propose.

My worst dreams--from which I would wake with my heart going like a fire-engine--were of adventures of the kind. But before a woman, how could I draw back? I would rather lie broken at the bottom of the wall.

And if the fear should come to the worst, I could at least throw myself down and end it so.

'Well?' I said, as if I had only been waiting for her exposition of the case.

'Well!' she returned.--'Come along then.'

I did go along--like a man to the gallows; only I would not have turned back to save my life. But I should have hailed the slightest change of purpose in her, with such pleasure as Daniel must have felt when he found the lions would rather not eat him. She retraced our steps a long way--until we reached the middle of the line of building which divided the two courts.

'There!' she said, pointing to the top of the square tower over the entrance to the hall, from which we had watched the arrival of the guests: it rose about nine feet only above where we now stood in the gutter--'I _know_ I left the door open when we came down. I did it on purpose. I hate Goody Wilson. Lucky, you see!--that is if you have a head. And if you haven't, it's all the same: I have.'

So saying, she pointed to a sort of flying b.u.t.tress which sprung sideways, with a wide span, across the angle the tower made with the hall, from an embrasure of the battlement of the hall to the outer corner of the tower, itself more solidly b.u.t.tressed. I think it must have been made to resist the outward pressure of the roof of the hall; but it was one of those puzzling points which often occur--and oftenest in domestic architecture--where additions and consequent alterations have been made from time to time. Such will occasion sometimes as much conjecture towards their explanation as a disputed pa.s.sage in Shakspere or Aeschylus.

Could she mean me to cross that hair-like bridge? The mere thought was a terror. But I would not blench. Fear I confess--cowardice if you will:--poltroonery, not.

'I see,' I answered. 'I will try. If I fall, don't blame me. I will do my best.'

'You don't think,' she returned, 'I'm going to let you go alone! I should have to wait hours before you found a door to let me down--unless indeed you went and told Goody Wilson, and I had rather die where I am. No, no. Come along. I'll show you how.'

With a rush and a scramble, she was up over the round back of the b.u.t.tress before I had time to understand that she meant as usual to take the lead. If she could but have sent me back a portion of her skill, or lightness, or nerve, or whatever it was, just to set me off with a rush like that! But I stood preparing at once and hesitating.

She turned and looked over the battlements of the tower.

'Never mind, Wilfrid,' she said; 'I'll fetch you presently.'

'No, no,' I cried. 'Wait for me. I'm coming.'

I got astride of the b.u.t.tress, and painfully forced my way up. It was like a dream of leap-frog, prolonged under painfully recurring difficulties. I shut my eyes, and persuaded myself that all I had to do was to go on leap-frogging. At length, after more trepidation and brain-turning than I care to dwell upon, lest even now it should bring back a too keen realization of itself, I reached the battlement, seizing which with one shaking hand, and finding the other grasped by Clara, I tumbled on the leads of the tower.

'Come along!' she said. 'You see, when the girls like, they can beat the boys--even at their own games. We're all right now.'

'I did my best,' I returned, mightily relieved. '_I'm_ not an angel, you know. I can't fly like you.'

She seemed to appreciate the compliment.

'Never mind. I've done it before. It was game of you to follow.'

Her praise elated me. And it was well.

'Come along,' she added.

She seemed to be always saying _Come along_.

I obeyed, full of grat.i.tude and relief. She skipped to the tiny turret which rose above our heads, and lifted the door-latch. But, instead of disappearing within, she turned and looked at me in white dismay. The door was bolted. Her look roused what there was of manhood in me. I felt that, as it had now come to the last gasp, it was mine to comfort her.

'We are no worse than we were,' I said. 'Never mind.'

'I don't know that,' she answered mysteriously.--'Can _you_ go back as you came? _I_ can't.'

I looked over the edge of the battlement where I stood. There was the b.u.t.tress crossing the angle of moonlight, with its shadow lying far down on the wall. I shuddered at the thought of renewing my unspeakable dismay. But what must be must.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SHE BENT OVER THE BATTLEMENT, STOOPED HER FACE TOWARD ME, AND KISSED ME.]

Besides, Clara had praised me for creeping where she could fly: now I might show her that I could creep where she could not fly.

'I will try,' I returned, putting one leg through an embrasure, and holding on by the adjoining battlement.

'Do take care, Wilfrid,' she cried, stretching out her hands, as if to keep me from falling.

A sudden pulse of life rushed through me. All at once I became not only bold, but ambitious.

'Give me a kiss,' I said, 'before I go.'

'Do you make so much of it?' she returned, stepping back a pace.--How much a woman she was even then!

Her words roused something in me which to this day I have not been able quite to understand. A sense of wrong had its share in the feeling; but what else I can hardly venture to say. At all events, an inroad of careless courage was the consequence. I stepped at once upon the b.u.t.tress, and stood for a moment looking at her--no doubt with reproach. She sprang towards me.

'I beg your pardon,' she said.

The end of the b.u.t.tress was a foot or two below the level of the leads, where Clara stood. She bent over the battlement, stooped her face towards me, and kissed me on the mouth. My only answer was to turn and walk down the b.u.t.tress, erect; a walk which, as the arch of the b.u.t.tress became steeper, ended in a run and a leap on to the gutter of the hall. There I turned, and saw her stand like a lady in a ballad leaning after me in the moonlight. I lifted my cap and sped away, not knowing whither, but fancying that out of her sight I could make up my mind better. Nor was I mistaken. The moment I sat down, my brains began to go about, and in another moment I saw what might be attempted.