Two on a Tower
reference to his plans. These at the last moment had been modified to
fall in with the winter expedition formerly mentioned, to observe the
Transit of Venus at a remote southern station.
The business being done, and himself fairly plunged into the
preliminaries of an important scientific pilgrimage, Swithin acquired
that lightness of heart which most young men feel in forsaking old love
for new adventure, no matter how charming may be the girl they leave
behind them. Moreover, in the present case, the man was endowed with
that schoolboy temperament which does not see, or at least consider with
much curiosity, the effect of a given scheme upon others than himself.
The bearing upon Lady Constantine of what was an undoubted predicament
for any woman, was forgotten in his feeling that she had done a very
handsome and noble thing for him, and that he was therefore bound in
honour to make the most of it.
His going had resulted in anything but lightness of heart for her. Her
sad fancy could, indeed, indulge in dreams of her yellow-haired laddie
without that formerly besetting fear that those dreams would prompt her
to actions likely to distract and weight him. She was wretched on her
own account, relieved on his. She no longer stood in the way of his
advancement, and that was enough. For herself she could live in
retirement, visit the wood, the old camp, the column, and, like OEnone,
think of the life they had led there--
'Mournful OEnone, wandering forlorn
Of Paris, once her playmate on the hills,'
leaving it entirely to his goodness whether he would come and claim her
in the future, or desert her for ever.
She was diverted for a time from these sad performances by a letter which
reached her from Bishop Helmsdale. To see his handwriting again on an
envelope, after thinking so anxiously of making a father-confessor of
him, started her out of her equanimity. She speedily regained it,
however, when she read his note.
'THE PALACE, MELCHESTER,
_July_ 30, 18--.
'MY DEAR LADY CONSTANTINE,--I am shocked and grieved that, in the
strange dispensation of things here below, my offer of marriage should
have reached you almost simultaneously with the intelligence that your
widowhood had been of several months less duration than you and I, and
the world, had supposed. I can quite understand that, viewed from any
side, the news must have shaken and disturbed you; and your
unequivocal refusal to entertain any thought of a new alliance at such
a moment was, of course, intelligible, natural, and praiseworthy. At
present I will say no more beyond expressing a hope that you will
accept my assurances that I was quite ignorant of the news at the hour
of writing, and a sincere desire that in due time, and as soon as you
have recovered your equanimity, I may be allowed to renew my
proposal.--I am, my dear Lady Constantine, yours ever sincerely,
C. MELCHESTER.'
She laid the letter aside, and thought no more about it, beyond a
momentary meditation on the errors into which people fall in reasoning
from actions to motives. Louis, who was now again with her, became in
due course acquainted with the contents of the letter, and was satisfied
with the promising position in which matters seemingly stood all round.
Lady Constantine went her mournful ways as she had planned to do, her
chief resort being the familiar column, where she experienced the
unutterable melancholy of seeing two carpenters dismantle the dome of its
felt covering, detach its ribs, and clear away the enclosure at the top
till everything stood as it had stood before Swithin had been known to
the place. The equatorial had already been packed in a box, to be in
readiness if he should send for it from abroad. The cabin, too, was in
course of demolition, such having been his directions, acquiesced in by
her, before he started. Yet she could not bear the idea that these
structures, so germane to the events of their romance, should be removed
as if removed for ever. Going to the men she bade them store up the
materials intact, that they might be re-erected if desired. She had the
junctions of the timbers marked with figures, the boards numbered, and
the different sets of screws tied up in independent papers for
identification. She did not hear the remarks of the workmen when she had
gone, to the effect that the young man would as soon think of buying a
halter for himself as come back and spy at the moon from Rings-Hill
Speer, after seeing the glories of other nations and the gold and jewels
that were found there, or she might have been more unhappy than she was.
On returning from one of these walks to the column a curious circumstance
occurred. It was evening, and she was coming as usual down through the
sighing plantation, choosing her way between the ramparts of the camp
towards the outlet giving upon the field, when suddenly in a dusky vista
among the fir-trunks she saw, or thought she saw, a golden-haired,
toddling child. The child moved a step or two, and vanished behind a
tree. Lady Constantine, fearing it had lost its way, went quickly to the
spot, searched, and called aloud. But no child could she perceive or
hear anywhere around. She returned to where she had stood when first
beholding it, and looked in the same direction, but nothing reappeared.
The only object at all resembling a little boy or girl was the upper tuft
of a bunch of fern, which had prematurely yellowed to about the colour of
a fair child's hair, and waved occasionally in the breeze. This,
however, did not sufficiently explain the phenomenon, and she returned to
make inquiries of the man whom she had left at work, removing the last
traces of Swithin's cabin. But he had gone with her departure and the
approach of night. Feeling an indescribable dread she retraced her
steps, and hastened homeward doubting, yet half believing, what she had
seemed to see, and wondering if her imagination had played her some
trick.
The tranquil mournfulness of her night of solitude terminated in a most
unexpected manner.
The morning after the above-mentioned incident Lady Constantine, after
meditating a while, arose with a strange personal conviction that bore
curiously on the aforesaid hallucination. She realized a condition of
things that she had never anticipated, and for a moment the discovery of
her state so overwhelmed her that she thought she must die outright. In
her terror she said she had sown the wind to reap the whirlwind. Then
the instinct of self-preservation flamed up in her like a fire. Her
altruism in subjecting her self-love to benevolence, and letting Swithin
go away from her, was demolished by the new necessity, as if it had been
a gossamer web.
There was no resisting or evading the spontaneous plan of action which
matured in her mind in five minutes. Where was Swithin? how could he be
got at instantly?--that was her ruling thought. She searched about the
room for his last short note, hoping, yet doubting, that its contents
were more explicit on his intended movements than the few meagre
syllables which alone she could call to mind. She could not find the
letter in her room, and came downstairs to Louis as pale as a ghost.
He looked up at her, and with some concern said, 'What's the matter?'
'I am searching everywhere for a letter--a note from Mr. St. Cleeve--just
a few words telling me when the _Occidental_ sails, that I think he goes
in.'
'Why do you want that unimportant document?'
'It is of the utmost importance that I should know whether he has
actually sailed or not!' said she in agonized tones. 'Where _can_ that
letter be?'
Louis knew where that letter was, for having seen it on her desk he had,
without reading it, torn it up and thrown it into the waste-paper basket,
thinking the less that remained to remind her of the young philosopher
the better.
'I destroyed it,' he said.
'O Louis! why did you?' she cried. 'I am going to follow him; I think it
best to do so; and I want to know if he is gone--and now the date is
lost!'
'Going to run after St. Cleeve? Absurd!'
'Yes, I am!' she said with vehement firmness. 'I must see him; I want to
speak to him as soon as possible.'
'Good Lord, Viviette! Are you mad?'
'O what was the date of that ship! But it cannot be helped. I start at
once for Southampton. I have made up my mind to do it. He was going to
his uncle's solicitors in the North first; then he was coming back to
Southampton. He cannot have sailed yet.'
'I believe he has sailed,' muttered Louis sullenly.
She did not wait to argue with him, but returned upstairs, where she rang
to tell Green to be ready with the pony to drive her to Warborne station
in a quarter of an hour.
XXXVIII
Viviette's determination to hamper Swithin no longer had led her, as has
been shown, to balk any weak impulse to entreat his return, by forbidding
him to furnish her with his foreign address. His ready disposition, his
fear that there might be other reasons behind, made him obey her only too
literally. Thus, to her terror and dismay, she had placed a gratuitous
difficulty in the way of her present endeavour.
She was ready before Green, and urged on that factotum so wildly as to
leave him no time to change his corduroys and 'skitty-boots' in which he
had been gardening; he therefore turned himself into a coachman as far
down as his waist merely--clapping on his proper coat, hat, and
waistcoat, and wrapping a rug over his horticultural half below. In this
compromise he appeared at the door, mounted, and reins in hand.
Seeing how sad and determined Viviette was, Louis pitied her so far as to
put nothing in the way of her starting, though he forbore to help her. He
thought her conduct sentimental foolery, the outcome of mistaken pity and
'such a kind of gain-giving as would trouble a woman;' and he decided
that it would be better to let this mood burn itself out than to keep it
smouldering by obstruction.
'Do you remember the date of his sailing?' she said finally, as the pony-
carriage turned to drive off.
'He sails on the 25th, that is, to-day. But it may not be till late in
the evening.'
With this she started, and reached Warborne in time for the up-train. How
much longer than it really is a long journey can seem to be, was fully
learnt by the unhappy Viviette that day. The changeful procession of
country seats past which she was dragged, the names and memories of their
owners, had no points of interest for her now. She reached Southampton
about midday, and drove straight to the docks.
On approaching the gates she was met by a crowd of people and vehicles
coming out--men, women, children, porters, police, cabs, and carts. The
Occidental had just sailed.
The adverse intelligence came upon her with such odds after her morning's
tension that she could scarcely crawl back to the cab which had brought
her. But this was not a time to succumb. As she had no luggage she
dismissed the man, and, without any real consciousness of what she was
doing, crept away and sat down on a pile of merchandise.
After long thinking her case assumed a more hopeful complexion. Much
might probably be done towards communicating with him in the time at her
command. The obvious step to this end, which she should have thought of
sooner, would be to go to his grandmother in Welland Bottom, and there
obtain his itinerary in detail--no doubt well known to Mrs. Martin. There
was no leisure for her to consider longer if she would be home again that
night; and returning to the railway she waited on a seat without eating
or drinking till a train was ready to take her back.
By the time she again stood in Warborne the sun rested his chin upon the