Agatha's Husband Part 28

"She is just what I thought," said a voice, thin, but not unmusical.

"You described her well. Come here and kiss me, my dear new sister."

Agatha knelt down and obeyed, with her whole heart in the embrace. Of all greetings in the family, none had been like this. And not the least of its sweetness was that her husband seemed so pleased therewith, looking more like himself than he had done since they entered his father's doors.

They all sat down and talked for a long time, Elizabeth more cheerfully than any. She appeared completely versed in the affairs of the whole family, as though her mind were a hidden gallery in which were clearly daguerreotyped, and faithfully retained, all impressions of the external world. She seemed to know everybody and everybody's circ.u.mstances--to have ranged them and theirs distinctly and in order, in the wide, empty halls of her memory, which could be filled in no other way. For, as Agatha gradually learned, this spinal disease, withering up the form from infancy, had been accompanied with such long intervals of acute physical pain as to prevent all study beyond the commonest acquirements of her s.e.x. It was not with her, as with some, that the intellect alone had proved sufficient to make out of a helpless body a n.o.ble and complete human existence; Elizabeth's mind was scarcely above the average order, or if it had been, suffering had stifled its powers. Her only possession was the loving heart.

She asked an infinitude of questions, her bright quick eyes seeming to extort and gain more than the mere verbal answers. She talked a good deal, throwing more light than Agatha had ever before received on the manners, characters, and history of the Harper family, the Dugdales, and Anne Valery. But there was in her speech a certain reticence, as though all the common gossip of life was in her clear spirit received, sifted, purified, and then distributed abroad in chosen portions as goodly and pleasant food. She seemed to receive the secrets of every one's life and to betray none.

Agatha now learnt why there had been such a mystery of regret, reverence, and love hanging over the very mention of the eldest Miss Harper.

When the tumult of this strange day had resolved itself into silence, Agatha, believing her husband fast asleep, lay pondering over it, wondering why he had not asked her what she thought of his family--wondering, above all, what was the strange weight upon him which he tried so hard to conceal, and to appear just the same to every one, especially to her. Her coming life rose up like a great maze, about which all the characters now apparently mingled therein wandered mistily in and out. Among them, those which had gained most vivid individuality in a fancy not p.r.o.ne to catch quick interests, affecting her alternately with a sense of pensive ideal calm, and cheerful healthy human liking, were Elizabeth Harper, the "Missus," and Duke Dugdale.

Likewise, as an especial pleasure, she had discovered the one to whom she clung as to a well-known friend among all these strangers, lived within eight miles of Kingcombe Holm.

"And"--she kept recurring to a fact spread abroad in the house just before bed-time, and apparently diffusing universal satisfaction--"and Anne Valery is sure to be here to-morrow."

CHAPTER XIII.

On the morning--her first morning at Kingcombe Holm--Mrs. Harper woke refreshed to a bright day. All the terraced outline of the hills was pencilled distinctly against the bluest of blue skies, which hung like a tent over the shut-up valley. She stood at the window looking at it, while Mary Harper made the breakfast and Eulalie curiously examined Agatha's dress, supposed to be the latest bridal fas.h.i.+on from London.

Nathanael sat writing letters until breakfast was ready, and then took his father's place at the foot of the table.

"Elizabeth bade me ask you," said Mary, addressing him, "if you had any letters this morning from Frederick? You know she likes to look at all family letters--they amuse her. Shall I take this one?"

Nathanael put his hand upon a heap, among which was plainly distinguishable Major Harper's writing. "No, Mary--not now. If necessary, I will read part of it to Elizabeth myself."

Agatha, who had before vainly asked the same question, was annoyed by her husband's reserve. His silence in all his affairs, especially those relating to his brother, was impenetrable.

But this was rousing in her, day by day, a strong spirit of opposition.

Had not the presence of his sisters restrained her, for her external wifely pride grew as much as her inward antagonism--she would have again boldly put forward her claim to read the letter. As it was, she had self-control enough to sit silent, but her mouth a.s.sumed that peculiar expression which at times revealed a few little mysteries of her nature--showing that beneath the quietude and simplicity of the girl lay the strong, desperate will of a resolute woman.

After breakfast, when Mr. Harper, with some slight apology, had gone to his letters again, she rose, intending to stroll about and explore the lawn. She had never been used to ask any one's permission for her out-goings and in-comings, so was departing quite naturally, when Mary stopped her.

"I hope you will not mind it, but we always stay in the house until my father comes down-stairs. He likes to see us before he begins the day."

Agatha submitted--with a good grace, of course; though she thought the rule absolute was painfully prevalent in the Harper family. But as half-an-hour went by, and the morning air, so fresh and cool, tempted her sorely, she tried to set aside this formal domestic regulation.

Mary looked quite frightened at her overt rebellion.--"My dear Mrs.

Harper--indeed we never do it. Do we, Nathanael?" said she, appealingly.

He listened to the discussion a moment.--"My dear wife, since my father would not like it, you will not go, I know."

The tone was gentle, but Agatha would as soon have thought of overleaping a stone wall as of opposing a desire thus expressed. She sat quietly down again--or would have done so, but that she saw Eulalie smile meaningly at her sister. Intercepting the young wife, the smile changed into affected condolence.

"Nathanael will have his way, you see. If you only knew what he was as a little boy," and the Beauty shrugged her shoulders pathetically.

"Really, as Harrie says, most men would never get wives at all, did their lady loves know them only half as well as their sisters do."

"Nay," said the good-natured Mary, "but Harrie also says that men, like wine, improve with age, especially if they are kept cool and not too much shaken up. She has no doubt that even her Duke was a very disagreeable boy. So, Mrs. Harper, let me a.s.sure you"------

"There is no need; I am quite satisfied," said Mrs. Harper, with no small dignity; and at this momentous crisis her father-in-law entered the room.

He entered dressed for riding--looking somewhat younger than the night before, more cheerful and pleasant too, but not a whit less stately. He saluted Agatha first, and then his daughters, with a gracious solemnity, patting their cheeks all round, something after the fas.h.i.+on of a good-humoured Eastern bashaw. The old gentleman evidently took a secret pride in his womenkind. Then he shook hands with "my son Nathanael,"

and threw abroad generally a few ordinary remarks, to which his two daughters listened with great reverence. But in all he did or said was the same benignant hauteur; he seemed frozen up within a conglomerate of reserve and formal courtesy; he walked, talked, looked perpetually as Nathanael Harper, Esquire, of Kingcombe Holm, who never allowed either his mind or his body to appear _en deshabille_. Agatha wondered how he could ever have been a baby squalling, a boy playing, or a young man wooing; nay, more (the thought irresistibly presented itself as she noticed the extreme feebleness which his dignity but half disguised), how he would ever stoop to the last levelling of all humanity--the grave-clothes and the tomb.

"Any letters, my dear children? Any news to tell me before I ride to Kingcombe?" said he, looking round the circle with a patronising interest, which Agatha would scarcely have believed real, but for the kindly expression of the old man's eye.

"There were plenty of letters for Elizabeth, as usual; one for Eulalie "--here Eulalie looked affectedly conscious--"no others, I think."

"Except one to Nathanael from Frederick," observed the Beauty.

At the name of his eldest son the Squire's mien became a little graver--a little statelier. He said coldly, "Nathanael, I hope you have pleasant news from your brother. Where is he now?"

"In the British Channel, on his way to the Continent."

"My son going abroad, and I never heard of it! Some mistake, surely. He is not really gone?"

"Yes, father, for a year, or perhaps more--but certainly a year."

The old gentleman's fingers nervously clutched the handle of his riding-whip. "If so, Frederick would certainly have shown his father the respect of informing _him_ first. Excuse me if I doubt whether my son's plans are quite decided."

"They are indeed, sir," said Nathanael gently. "And I was aware of, indeed advised, this journey. He bids me explain to you that when this letter arrives he will be already gone."

The father started--and broke the whip he was playing with. He stood a minute, the dull red mounting to his temples and lying there like a cloud. Then he took the fragments of the riding-whip from his son's ready hand--thanked him--bade good morning to the womenkind all round, and left them.

"Shall I ride with you, father?" said Nathanael, following him to the hall-door, with a concerned air.

"Not to-day--I thank you! Not to-day."

Mary and Eulalie looked at one another. "This will be a sad blow to papa," said the former. "Frederick was always a great anxiety to him."

Agatha inquired wherefore.

"Because papa abhors a gay 'vagabondising' life, and always wished his eldest son to settle down in the county. I know--though he says nothing--that this has been a sore point between them for nearly twenty years."

"And I know," added Eulalie, mysteriously, "that papa was going to make a last effort, and have Frederick proposed as member for Kingcombe. A pretty fight there would have been--papa and Frederick against Marmaduke and his pet candidate!"

"'Tis well that is prevented! Everything happens for the best," said Mary, sagely. "But here comes Nathanael. Don't tell him, Mrs. Harper, or he would say we had been gossiping."

Mrs. Harper was standing moralising on the ins and outs of family life, from which her own experience had hitherto been so free. Her eyes were wandering up the road, where her father-in-law had just disappeared, riding slowly, but erect as a young man. While she looked, there came up one of those delicious little country pony-carriages, which a lady can drive, and make herself independent of everybody.

"It is Anne Valery!" was the general cry, as all ran to meet her at the door--Agatha being the first.

"My dear--my dear!" murmured Anne Valery, leaning out of her little carriage to pat the brown curls. "Are you quite well?--quite happy? And your husband?" She glanced from one to the other, with a keen inquiry.

"Is all well, Nathanael?"

Nathanael, smiling at his wife, whose look of entire pleasure brought, as usual, the reflection of the same to him also, answered, warmly, "Yes, Anne, all is well!"