God's Good Man Part 37

Sens-tu mon coeur, comme il palpite?

Le tien, comme il battait gaiment!

Je m'en vais pourtant, ma pet.i.te, Bien loin, bien vite Tourjours t'aimant!

Adieu, Suzon!"

With the pa.s.sion, fire and exquisite abandon of her singing of this verse in tones of such youthful freshness and fervour as could scarcely be equalled and never surpa.s.sed, Adderley could no longer restrain himself, and crying 'Brava!--brava! Bravissima!' fell to clapping his hands in the wildest ecstasy. Walden, less demonstrative, was far more moved. Something quite new and strange to his long fixed habit and temperament had insidiously crept over him,--and being well accustomed to self-a.n.a.lysis, he was conscious of the fact, and uneasy at finding himself in the grip of an emotion to which he could give no name. Therefore, he was glad when,--the music being ended, and when he had expressed his more or less incoherent praise and thanks to Cicely for the delight her wonderful gift had afforded him,--he could plead some business in the village as an excuse to take his departure. Maryllia very sweetly bade him come again.

"As often as you like,"--she said--"And I want you to promise me one thing, Mr. Walden!--you must consent to meet some of my London friends here one evening to dinner."

She had given him her hand in parting, and he was holding it in his own.

"I'm afraid I should be very much in the way, Miss Vancourt,"--he replied, with a grave smile--"I am not a social acquisition by any means! I live very much alone,--and a solitary life, I think, suits me best."

She looked at him thoughtfully, and withdrew her hand.

"That means that you do not care to come,"--she said, simply--"I am so sorry you do not like me!"

The blood rushed up to his brows.

"Miss Vancourt!" he stammered--"Pray--pray do not think---"

But here she turned aside to receive Adderley's farewells and thanks for the charming afternoon he had spent in her company. After this, and when Julian had made his exit, accompanied by Cicely who wanted him to give her a written copy of certain verses he had composed, Maryllia again spoke:

"Well, at any rate, I shall send you an invitation to one of my parties, whether you come or not, Mr. Walden;" she said, playfully-- "Otherwise, I shall feel I have not done my social duty to the minister of the paris.h.!.+ It will be for some evening during the next three weeks. I hope you will be able to accept it. If not---"

A sudden resolve inspired John's hesitating soul. Taking the hand she offered, he raised it lightly to his lips with all the gallantry of an old-world courtier rather than a modern-time parson.

"If you wish me to accept it, it shall be accepted!"--he said, and his voice shook a little--"Forgive me if in any way. I have seemed to you discourteous, Miss Vancourt!--I am so much of a solitary, that 'society' has rather an intimidating effect upon me,--but you must never"--here he looked at her full and bravely--"You must never say again or think that I do not like you! I DO like you!"

Her eyes met his with pure and candid earnestness.

"That is kind of you,"--she said--"And I am glad! Good-bye!"

"Good-bye!"

And so he left her presence.

When he started to walk home across the fields, Adderley proffered his companions.h.i.+p, which could not in civility be refused. They left the Manor grounds together by the little wicket-gate, and took the customary short-cut to the village. The l.u.s.trous afternoon light was mellowing warmly into a deeper saffron glow,--a delicate suggestion of approaching evening was in the breath of the cooling air, and though the uprising orb of Earth had not yet darkened the first gold cloud beneath the western glory of the sun, there was a gentle murmur and movement among the trees and flowers and birds, which indicated that the time for rest and sleep was drawing nigh. The long gra.s.ses rustled mysteriously, and the smafl unseen herbs hidden under them sent up a pungently sweet odour as the two men trod them down on their leisurely way across the fields,--and it was with a certain sense of relief from mental strain that Walden lifted his hat and let the soft breeze fan his temples, which throbbed and ached very strangely as though with a weight of pent-up tears. He was very silent,--and Julian Adderley, generally accustomed to talk for two, seemed disposed to an equal taciturnity. The few hours they had spent in the society of Maryllia Vancourt and her weird protegee, Cicely Bourne, had given both men subject for various thoughts which neither of them were inclined to express to one another. Walden, in particular, was aware of a certain irritation and uneasiness of mind which troubled him greatly and he looked askance at his companion with unchristian impatience. The long- legged, red-haired poet was decidedly in his way at the present moment,--he would rather have been alone. He determined in any case not to ask him to enter the rectory garden,--more of his society would be intolerable,--they would part at the gate,--

"I'm afraid I'm boring you, Mr. Walden,"--said the unconscious object of his musings, just then--" I am dull! I feel myself under a cloud. Pray excuse it!"

The expression of his face was comically lachrymose, and John felt a touch of compunction at the nature of his own immediate mental att.i.tude towards the harmless 'moon-calf.'

"Don't apologise!" he said, with a frank smile--"I myself am not in a companionable humour. I think Miss Bourne's music has not only put something into us, but taken something out of us as well."

"You are right!" said Julian--"You are perfectly right. And you express the emotion aptly. It was extraordinary music! But that voice! That voice will be a wonder of the world!"

"It is a wonder already"--rejoined Walden--"If the girl keeps her health and does not break down from nervous excitement and overstrain, she will have a dazzling career. I think Miss Vancourt will take every possible care of her."

"Miss Vancourt is very lovely,"--said Adderley reflectively, "I have made up my mind on that point at last. When I first saw her, I was not convinced. Her features are imperfect. But they are mobile and expressive--and in the expression there is a subtle beauty which is quite provocative. Then again, my own 'ideals' of women have always been tall and queenly,--yet in Miss Vanconrt we have a woman who is queenly without being tall. It is the regal air without the material inches. And I am now satisfied that the former is more fascinating than the latter. Though I admit that it was once my dream to die upon the breast of a tall woman!"

Walden. laughed forcedly. He was vexed to be compelled to listen to Adderley's criticism of Maryllia Vancourt's physical charms, yet he was powerless to offer any remonstrance.

"But, after all," continued Julian, gazing up into the pink and mauve clouds of the kindling sunset,--"The tall woman might possibly, from the very coldness of her height, be unsympathetic.

She might be unclaspable. Juno seems even more repellent than Venus or Psyche. Then again, there are so many large women. They are common. They obstruct the public highway. They tower forth in theatre-stalls, and nod jewelled tiaras from the elevation of opera- boxes, blocking out the view of the stage. They are more often a.s.sertive than lovable. Therefore let me not cling to an illusion which will not bear a.n.a.lysis. For Miss Vancourt is not a tall woman,--nor for that matter is she short,--she is indescribable, and therefore entirely bewitching!"

John said nothing, but only walked on a trifle more quickly.

"You are perhaps not an admirer of the fair s.e.x, Walden?" pursued his companion--"And therefore my observations awaken no sympathy in your mind?"

"I never discuss women,"--replied Walden, drily--"I am not a poet, you see,--" and he smiled--"I am merely a middle-aged parson. You can hardly expect me to share in your youthful enthusiasms, Adderley! You are going up the hill of life,--I am travelling down.

We cannot see things from the same standpoint." Here, they left the fields and came to the high road,--from thence a few more paces brought them to the gate of the rectory. "But I quite agree with you in your admiration of Miss Vancourt. She seems a most kindly and charming lady--and--I believe--I am sure"--and his remarks become somewhat rambling and disjointed--"yes--I am sure she will try to do good in the village now that she has taken up her residence here.

That is, of course, if she stays. She may get tired of country life- -that is quite probable--but--it is, of course, a good thing to have a strong social influence in the neighbourhood--especially a woman's influence--and I should say Miss Vancourt will make herself useful and beloved in the parish---"

At this period he caught Adderley's eyes fixed upon him somewhat quizzically, and realised that he was getting quite 'parochial' in his talk. He checked himself abruptly and swung open his garden gate.

"I'm sorry I can't ask you in just now,"--he said--"I have some pressing work to do---"

"Don't mention it!" and Julian clasped him by the hand fervently--"I would not intrude upon you for worlds! You must be alone, of course.

You are delightful!--yes, my dear Walden, you are delicious! So new- -so fres.h.!.+ It is a privilege to know you! Good-bye for the moment! I may come and talk to you another time!"

"Oh, certainly! By all means!" And Walden, shaking hands with all the vigour Adderley's grasp enforced upon him, escaped at last into the sanctuary of his own garden, and hastened under the covering shadow of the trees that bordered the lawn. Adderley watched him disappear, and then went on his own way with a gratified air of perfect complacency.

"Those who 'never discuss women' are apt to be most impressed by them,"--he sagaciously reflected--"The writhings of a beetle on a pin are not so complex or interesting as the writhings of a parson's stabbed senses! Now a remarkable psychological study might be made-- My good friend! Kindly look where you are going!"

This last remark was addressed to a half-drunken man who pushed past him roughly without apology, almost jostling him off the foot-path.

It was Oliver Leach, who hearing himself spoken to, glanced round sullenly with a muttered oath, and stumbled on.

"That is Miss Vancourt's dismissed agent,"--said Adderley, pausing a moment to watch his uncertain progress up the road. "What an objectionable beast!"

He walked on, and, his former train of thought being entirely disturbed, he went to the 'Mother Huff,' where he was a frequent visitor, his elaborate courtesies to Mrs. Buggins enabling him to hear from that lady's pious lips all the latest news, scandal and gossip, true or untrue, concerning the whole neighbourhood.

Walden, meanwhile, finding himself once more alone in his own domain, breathed freely. The faithful Nebbie, who had pa.s.sed all the hours of his master's absence, 'on guard' by the window of the vacant study, came running to meet him as he set foot upon the lawn,--three or four doves that were brooding on the old tiled and gabled roof of the rectory, rose aloft in a short flight and descended again, cooing softly as though with satisfaction at his return,--and there was a soothing silence everywhere, the work of the day being done, and Bainton having left the garden trim and fair to its own sweet solitude and calm. Gently patting his dog's rough head, as the animal sprang up to him with joyous short barks of welcome, John looked about him quietly for a moment or two with an expression in his eyes that was somewhat dreamy and pathetic.

"I have known the old place so long and loved every corner of it!"-- he murmured--"And yet,--to-day it seems all strange and unfamiliar!"

The glow of the sunset struck a red flare against the walls of his house, and beat out twinkling diamond flashes from the latticed windows,--the clambering ma.s.ses of honeysuckle and roses shone forth in vivid cl.u.s.ters as though inwardly illuminated. The warmth and ecstasy of life seemed palpitating in every flush of colour, every shaft of light,--and the wild, voluptuous singing of unseen skylarks, descending to their nests, and shaking out their songs, as it seemed, like bubbles of music breaking asunder in the clear empyrean, expressed the rapture of heaven wedded to the sensuous, living, breathing joys of earth. The glamour and radiance of the air affected Walden with a sudden unwonted sense of fatigue and pain, and pressing one hand across his eyes, he shut out the dazzle of blue sky and green gra.s.s for a moment's respite,--then went slowly, and with bent head into his study. Here everything was very quiet,-- and, as it struck him then, curiously lonely,--on his desk lay various notes and messages and accounts--the usual sort of paper litter that acc.u.mulated under his hands every day,--two or three visiting cards had been left for him during his absence,--one on the part of the local doctor, a very clever and excellent fellow named James Forsyth, who was familiarly called 'Jimmy' by the villagers, and who often joined Walden of an evening to play a game of chess with him,--and another bearing the neat superscription 'Mrs.

Mandeville Poreham. The Leas. At Home Thursdays,'--whereat he smiled. Mrs. Mandeville Poreham was a 'county' lady, wife of a gentleman-at-ease who did nothing but hunt, and who never had done anything in all his life but hunt,--she was also the mother of five marriageable daughters, and her calls on the Reverend John were marked by a polite and patient persistency that seemed altogether admirable. She lived some two miles out of St. Rest, but always attended Walden's church regularly, driving thither with her family in a solemnly closed private omnibus of the true 'county' type. She professed great interest in all Church matters, on the ground that she was herself the daughter of a dead-and-gone clergyman.

"My poor father!" she was wont to say, smoothing her sleek bandeaux of grey hair on either side of her forehead with one long, pale, thin finger--"He was such a good man! Ah yes!--and he had such a lovely mind! My mother was a Beedle."

This last announcement, generally thrown in casually, was apt to be startling to the uninitiated,--and it was not till the genealogy of the Beedle family had been duly explained to the anxious enquirer, that it was seen how important and allsufficing it was to have had a Beedle for one's maternal parent. The Beedles were a noted 'old stock' in Suffolk, so it appeared,--and to be connected with a Suffolk Beedle was, to certain provincial minds of limited perception, a complete guarantee of superior birth and breeding.

Walden was well accustomed to receiving a call from Mrs. Poreham about every ten days or so, and he did his utmost best to dodge her at all points. Bainton was his ready accomplice in this harmless conspiracy, and promptly gave him due warning whenever the Poreham ''bus' or landau was seen weightily bearing down upon the village, with the result that, on the arrival of the descendant of the Beedles at the rectory door she was met by Hester Rockett, the parlourmaid, with a demure smile and the statement,--'Mr. Walden is out, mim.' Then, when Walden, according to the laws of etiquette, had to return the lady's visit, Bainton again a.s.sisted him by watching and waiting till he could inform him, ''as 'ow he'd seen that blessed old Poreham woman drivin' out with 'er fam'ly to Riversford. They won't likely be back for a couple of hours at least.' Whereupon Walden straightway took a swinging walk up to 'The Leas,' deposited his card with the footman, for the absent 'fam'ly'

and returned again in peace to his own dwelling.

This afternoon he had again, as usual, missed the worthy lady, and he set aside her card, the smile with which he had glanced at it changing suddenly to a sigh of somewhat wearied impatience. Surely there was something unusually dark and solitary in the aspect of the room to which, for so many years, he had been accustomed, and where he had generally found comfort and contentment? The vivid hues of the sunset were declining rapidly, and the solemn shadow of evening was creeping up apace over the sky and outer landscape--but something heavier than the mild obscurity of approaching night seemed weighing on the air around him, which oppressed his nerves and saddened his soul. He stood absently turning over the papers on his desk, in a frame of mind which left him uncertain how to employ himself,--whether to read,--to write,--to finish a sketch of the flowering reeds on the river which he had yesterday begun,--or to combat with his own mood, fathom its meaning, and conquer its tendency? There came a light tap at his door and the maid Hester entered with a letter.

"The last post, sir. Only one for you."