 CHAPTER 46 The scene of Sir Willoughby's general ship. History, we may fear, will never know the qualities of leadership inherent in Sir Willoughby's pattern to fit him for the post of commander of an army. Seeing that he avoided the fatigue use of the service and preferred the honors bestowed in his country upon the quiet administrators of their own estates, but his possession of particular gifts, which are military, and especially of the proleptic mind, which is the stamp and sign warrant of the Heavens and General, was displayed on every urgent occasion, when in the midst of difficulties likely to have extinguished one less alert than he to the threatening aspect of disaster, he had to maneuver himself. He had received no intimation of Mr. Dale's presence in his house, nor of the arrival of the treaded women, Lady Bush and Lady Calmer. His locked door was too great a terror to his domestics. Having finished with Vernon after a tedious endeavor to bring the fellow to a sense of the policy of the step urged on him, he walked out on the lawn with the desire to behold the opening of an interview not promising to lead too much, and possibly to profit by its failure. Clara had been prepared according to his directions by Mrs. Montstuart Jenkinson, as Vernon had been prepared by him. His wishes, candidly and kindly expressed both to Vernon and Mrs. Montstuart, where, that since the girl appeared disinclined to make him a happy man, she would make one of his cousin. Intimating to Mrs. Montstuart that he would be happier without her, he alluded to the benefit of the girl's money to poor old Vernon, the general escaped from its gamble if old Vernon could manage to catch her as she dropped. The harmonious arrangement it would be for all parties, and only on the condition of her taking Vernon would he consent to give her up. This he said imperatively, adding that such was the meaning of the news she had received relating to Leticia Dale. From what quarter had she received it, he asked. She shuffled in her reply, made a gesture to signify that it was in the air, universal, and fell upon the proposed arrangement. He would listen to none of Mrs. Montstuart's woman of the world instances of the folly of pressing it upon a girl who had shown herself a girl of spirit. She foretold the failure. He would not be advised. He said, it is my scheme, and perhaps the look of mad benevolence about it induced the lady to try whether there was a chance that it would hit the madness in our nature, and somehow succeed or lead to a pacification. So will we condescend it to arrange things thus foreclear as good. He would then proceed to realize his own. Such was the face he put upon it. We can wear what appearance we please before the world until we are found out, nor is the world's praise knocking upon hollowness always hollow music. But Mrs. Montstuart's lodation of his kindness and simplicity disturbed him. For though he had recovered from his rebuff enough to imagine that Letizia could not refuse him under the reiterated pressure, he had let it be supposed that she was a submissive handmaiden, throbbing for her elevation. And Mrs. Montstuart's belief in it afflicted his recent bitter experience. His footing was not perfectly or secure. Besides assuming it to be so, he considered the sort of price he had won, and a spasm of downright hatred of a world for which we make mighty sacrifices to be repaid in a worn, thin, comparatively valueless coin, troubled discounting of his gains. Letizia, it was true, had not passed through other hands in coming to him, as Vernon would know it to be Clara's case. Time only had worn her, but the comfort of the reflection was annoyed by the physical contrast of the two. Hence an unusual melancholy in his tone that Mrs. Montstuart thought touching. It had the scenic effect on her, which greatly contributes to delude the wits. She talked of him to Clara as being a man who had revealed an unsuspected depth. Vernon took the communication curiously. He seemed readier to be in love with his benevolent relative than with the lady. He was confused, undisguisedly moved, said the plan was impossible, out of the question, but thanked Willoughby for the best of intentions, thanked him warmly. After saying that the plan was impossible, the comical fellow allowed himself to be pushed forth on the lawn to see how Miss Middleton might have come out of her interview with Mrs. Montstuart. Willoughby observed Mrs. Montstuart meet him, ushered him to the place she had quitted among the shrubs, and returned to the open turf spaces. He sprang to her. She will listen, Mrs. Montstuart said. She likes him, respects him, thinks he is a very sincere friend, clever, a scholar, a good mountainer, and thinks you mean very kindly. So much I have impressed on her, but I have not done much for Mr. Whitford. She consents to listen, said Willoughby, snatching at that as the death blow to his friend Horace. She consents to listen because you have arranged it so that if she declined she would be rather a savage. You think it will have no result? None at all. Her listening will do, and you must be satisfied with it. We shall see. Anything for peace, she says, and I don't say that a gentleman with a tongue would have not have a chance. She wishes to please you. Old Werner has no tongue for women, poor fellow. You will have us be spider or fly, and if a man can't spin a web all he can hope is not to be caught in one. She knows his history, too, and that won't be in his favor. How did she look when you left them? Not so bright, like a bit of china that once dusting. She looked a trifle gore, she struck me, more like a country girl with a heightened taming in her than the well-bred creature she is. I did not suspect her to have feeling. You must remember, Sir Willoughby, that she has obeyed your wishes, done her utmost. I do think we may say she has made some amends, and if she is to blame she repents, and you will not insist too far. I do insist, said he. Beneficent but a tyrant. Well, well, he did not dislike the character. They perceived Dr. Middleton wandering over the lawn, and Willoughby went to him to put him on the wrong track. Mrs. Montsteward swept into the drawing-room, Willoughby acquitted the Reverend Doctor, and hung about the bower where he supposed his pair of dupes had by this time ceased to stutter mutually. Or what if they had found the word of harmony? He could bear that, just bear that. He rounded the shrubs, and, behold, both had vanished. The trellis decorated emptiness. His idea was that they had soon discovered their inability to be turtles, and, desiring not to lose a moment, while Clara was fretted by the scene, he rushed to the drawing-room with a hope of lighting on her there, getting her to himself, and finally urgently, passionately offering her the sole alternative of what she had immediately rejected. Why had he not used passion before, instead of limping cripple between temper and policy? He was capable of it, as soon as imagination in him conceived his personal feelings unwounded and unimperiled. The might of it inspired him with heroical confidence, and Clara grateful. Clara softly moved, led him to think of Clara melted. Thus anticipating her, he burst into the room. One step there warned him that he was in the jaws of the world. We have the phrase that a man is himself under certain trying circumstances. There is no need to say it of Sir Willoughby. He was thrice himself when danger menaced, himself inspired him. He could read at a single glance the polyphemous eye in the general head of a company. Lady Bush, Lady Calmer, Mrs. Mont-Steward, Mr. Dale, had a similarity in the variety of their expressions that made up one giant eye for him perfectly, if awfully legible. He discerned the fact that his demon secret was abroad, universal. He ascribed it to fate. He was in the jaws of the world, on the world's teeth. This time he thought Laetitia must have betrayed him, and bowing to Lady Bush and Lady Calmer, gallantly pressing their fingers and responding to their becks and arch-nesses. He ruminated on his defenses before he should accost her father. He did not want to be alone with a man, and had considered how his presence might be made useful. I'm glad to see you, Mr. Dale. Pray be seated. Is it nature asserting her strength, or the effeasy of medicine? I fancy it can't be both. You have brought us back your daughter? Mr. Dale sank into a chair, unable to resist the hand-forcing him. No, so will it be no. I have not. I have not seen her since she came home this morning from Patern. Indeed, she is unwell. I cannot say she secludes herself. Has locked herself in, said Lady Bush. Will it be through her smile it made them intimate? This was an advantage against the world, but an exposure of himself to the abominable woman. Dr. Middleton came up to Mr. Dale to apologize for not presenting his daughter Clara, whom he could find neither in nor out of the house. We have in Mr. Dale, I suspected, he said to Willoughby, a stout alley. If I may beg two minutes with you, sir Willoughby, said Mr. Dale, Your visits are too rare for me to love of your numbering the minutes, Willoughby replied. We cannot let Mr. Dale escape us now that we have him, I think, Dr. Middleton. Not without a ransom, said the Reverend Doctor. Mr. Dale shook his head. My strength, there Willoughby, will not sustain me long. You are at home, Mr. Dale. Not far from home in truth, but too far for an invalid beginning to grow sensible of weakness. You will regard Paternas your home, Mr. Dale. Willoughby repeated for the world to hear. Unconditionally, Dr. Middleton inquired with a humorous air of dissenting. Willoughby gave him a look that was coldly courteous, and then he looked at Lady Bush. She nodded imperceptibly. Her eyebrows rose, and Willoughby returned a similar nod. Translated, the signs ran thus. Tested by the Reverend Gentleman, I see you are. Is the story I ever heard correct? Possibly it may err in a few details. This was fettering himself in loose manacles. But Lady Bush would not be satisfied with the compliment of the intimate looks and nods. She thought she might still be behind, Mrs. Montstuart. And she was a bold woman, and anxious about him, half-crazed by the riddle of the pot she was boiling in, and having very few minutes to spare. Not extremely reticent by nature, privileged by station and made intimate with him by his covered looks, she stood up to him. One word to an old friend, which is the father of the fortunate creature. I don't know how to behave to them. No time was afforded him to be disgusted with her vulgarity and audacity. He replied, feeling her rivet his guise. The house will be empty tomorrow. I see! A decent withdrawal and very well cloaked. We had a tale here of her running off to decline the honor, afraid on her dignity or something. How was it that the woman was ready to accept the altered posture of fairs in his house, if she had received a hint of them? He forgot that he had prepared her in self-defense. From whom did you have that? he asked. Her father and the lady aunts declare it was the cousin she refused. Willoughbys brain turned over. He righted it for action, and crossed the room to the ladies Eleanor and Isabel. His ears tingled. He and his whole story discussed in public. Himself unroofed, and the marvel that he of all men should be in such a tangle, naked and blown on, condemned to use his cunningest arch to unwind and cover himself, struck him as though the lord of his kind were running the gauntlet of a legion of imps. He felt their lashes. The ladies were talking to Mrs. Montsteute and Lady Cullmer of Vernon, and the suitableness of Leticia to a scholar. He made sign to them, and both rose. It is the hour for your drive to the cottage. Mr. Dale is in. She must come. Her sick father. No delay going or returning. Bring her here at once. Poor man, they sighed, and Willoughby said one, and the other said, There is a strange misconception you will do well to correct. They were about to murmur what it was. He swept his hand round, and excusing themselves to their guests, obediently they retired. Lady Bush at his entreaty remained, and took a seat beside Lady Cullmer and Mrs. Montsteute. She said to the latter, You have tried scholars. What do you think? Excellent, but hard to mix, was the reply. I never make experiments, said Lady Cullmer. Someone must, Mrs. Montsteute, groaned over her dull dinner party. Lady Bush consoled her. At any rate, the loss of a scholar is no loss to the county. They are well enough in towns, Lady Cullmer said. And then I'm sure you must have them by themselves. We have nothing to regret. My opinion. The voice of Dr. Middleton in Colloquy with Mr. Dale swelled on a melodious thunder. For whom else should I plead as the passionate advocate? I proclaim myself to you, sir. There is but one man known to me who would move me to back him upon such an adventure. Willoughby, join me. I'm informing Mr. Dale. Willoughby stretched his hands out to Mr. Dale to support him on his legs, though he had shown no sign of a wish to rise. You are feeling unwell, Mr. Dale? Do I look very ill, sir, Willoughby? It will pass. Leticia will be with us in twenty minutes. Mr. Dale struck his hands in a clasp. He looked alarmingly ill and satisfactorily revealed to his host how he could be made to look so. I was informing Mr. Dale that the petitioner enjoys our concurrent good wishes and mine in no degree less than yours, Willoughby. Observed Dr. Middleton, whose pillows grew the bigger for a check. He supposed himself speaking confidentially. Ladies have the trick they have, I may say, the natural disposition for playing enigma now and again. Pressure is often a sovereign specific. Let it be tried upon her all round from every radiating line of the circle. You, she refuses. Then I venture to propose myself to appeal to her. My daughter is surely an esteem for the applicant that will animate a woman's tongue in such a case. The ladies of the house will not be backward. Lastly, if necessary, we trust the lady's father to add his instances. My prescription is to fatigue her negatives, and where no rooted objection exists. I maintain it to be the unfailing receipt for the conduct of the seed. No woman can say no forever. The defence has not such resources against even a single assailant, and we shall have solved the problem of continuous motion before she will have learnt to deny in perpetuity that I stand on. Will you be glanced at, Mrs. Mount Stewart? What is that, she said, treason to our sex, Dr. Middleton? I think I heard that no woman can say no forever, remarked Lady Bush. To a loyal gentleman-ma'am, assuming the field of the recurrent request to be not unholy ground, consecrated to affirmatives rather, Dr. Middleton was attacked by three angry bees. They made him say yes and no alternately, so many times that he had to admit in men a shifter jealiness than women were charged with. Willoughby gesticulated as mute chorus on the side of the ladies, and a little show of party spirit like that, coming upon their excitement under the topic, incline them to him genially. He drew Mr. Dale away while the conflict subsided in sharp snaps of rifles, and an intervaled rejoinder of a cannon. Mr. Dale had shown by science that he was growing fretfully restive under his burden of doubt. Sir Willoughby, I have a question. I beg you to lead me where I may ask it. I know my head is weak. Mr. Dale, it is answered when I say that my house is your home, and that Leticia will soon be with us. Then this report is true. I know nothing of reports you are answered. Can my daughter be accused of any shadow of falseness dishonorable dealing? As little as I. Mr. Dale scanned his face. He saw no shadow. For I should go to my grave bankrupt if that could be said of her, and I have never yet felt poor, though you know the extent of a pensioner's income. Then this tale of refusal is nonsense. She has accepted. There are situations, Mr. Dale, too delicate to be clothed in positive definitions. Ah, Sir Willoughby, but it becomes a father to see that his daughter is not forced into delicate situations. I hope all is well. I am confused. It may be my head. She puzzles me. You are not. Can I ask it here? You are quiet. Will you moderate my anxiety? My infirmities must excuse me. Sir Willoughby conveyed by a shake of the head and a pressure on Mr. Dale's hand that he was not and that he was quiet. Dr. Middleton said, Mr. Dale, he leaves us to-morrow. Really? The invalid wore a look as if wine had been poured into him. He rooted his host's calculations by calling to the Reverend Doctor. We are to lose you, sir. Willoughby attempted an interposition, but Dr. Middleton crashed through it like the lordly organ swallowing a flute. Not before I score my victory, Mr. Dale, and establish my friend upon his rightful throne. You do not leave to-morrow, sir? Have you heard, sir, that I leave to-morrow? Mr. Dale turned to Sir Willoughby. The latter said, Clara named to-day. To-morrow I thought preferable. Ah, Dr. Middleton towered on the swelling exclamation. But with no dark light, he radiated splendidly. Yes, then to-morrow, that is, if we subdue the lady. He advanced to Willoughby, seized his hand, squeezed it, thanked him, praised him. He spoke under his breath for a wonder, but, We are in your depth, lastingly my friend, was heard, and he was impressive. He seemed subdued and saying aloud, Though I should wish to aid in the reduction of that fortress. He let it be seen that his mind was rid of a load. Dr. Middleton partly stupefied Willoughby by his way of taking it. But his conduct was too serviceable to allow of speculation on his readiness to break the match. It was the turning point of the engagement. Lady Bush made a stir. I cannot keep my horses waiting any longer, she said, and beckoned. Sir Willoughby was beside her immediately. You are admirably perfect. Don't ask me to hold my tongue. I retract. I recalm. It is a fatality. I have resolved upon that view. You could stand the shot of beauty, not of brains. That is our report, there. And it's delicious to feel that the county wins you. No, T, I cannot possibly wait. And oh, here she is. I must have a look at her, my dear Leticia Dale. Willoughby hurried to Mr. Dale. You are not to be excited, sir. Compose yourself. You will recover and be strong tomorrow. You are at home. You are in your own house. You are in Leticia's drawing-room. All will be clear tomorrow. Till tomorrow we talk riddles by consent. Sit, I beg. You stay with us. He met Leticia and rescued her from Lady Bush, murmuring with the air of a lover who says, My love, my sweet, that she had done rightly to come and come at once. Her father had been thrown into the proper condition of clammy nervousness to create the impression. Leticia's anxieties sat prettily on her long eyelashes as she bent over him in his chair. Hereupon Dr. Corney appeared and his name had a bracing effect on Mr. Dale. Corney has come to dry me to the cottage, he said. I'm ashamed of this public exhibition of myself, my dear. Let us go. My head is a poor one. Dr. Corney had been intercepted. He broke from Sir Willoughby with a dozen little nods of accurate understanding of him, even to beyond the mark of the communications. He touched his patient's pulse lightly, briefly sighed with professional composure and pronounced, Rest must not be moved. No, no, nothing serious. He quieted Leticia's fears. But rest, rest. A change of residence for a night will tone him. I will bring him a draft in the course of the evening. Yes, yes, I'll fetch everything wanted from the cottage for you and for him. Repose on Corney's forethought. You are sure, Dr. Corney? Said Leticia frightened on her father's account and on her own. Which aspect will be the best for Mr. Dale's bedroom? The hospitable ladies Eleanor and Isabel inquired. Southeast decidedly, let him have the morning sun, a warm air, a vigorous air, and a bright air, and the patient wakes and sings in his bed. Still doubtful whether she was in a trap, Leticia whispered to her father of the privacy and comforts of his home. He replied to her that he thought he would rather be in his own home. Dr. Corney positively pronounced no to it. Leticia breathed again of home, but with the sight of one overborn. The ladies Eleanor and Isabel took the word from Willoughby and said, But you are at home, my dear, this is your home. Your father will be at least as well attended here as at the cottage. She raised her eyelids on them mournfully, and by chance diverted her look to Dr. Middleton quite by chance. It spoke eloquently to the assembly of all that Willoughby decided to be imagined. But there is Cross Jay, she cried, my cousin has gone, and the boy is left alone. I cannot have him left alone. If we, if Dr. Corney, you are sure it is unsafe for Papa to be moved to-day, Cross Jay must. He cannot be left. Bring him with you, Corney, said Sir Willoughby, and the little doctor heartily promised that he would in the event of his finding Cross Jay at the cottage, which he thought a distant probability. He gave me his word. He would not go out in my return, said Leticia. And if Cross Jay gave you his word, the extent of a new voice vibrated close by, be certain that he will not come back with Dr. Corney unless he has authority in your handwriting. Clara Middleton stepped gently to Leticia, and with a manner that was an embrace, as much as kissed her for what she was doing on behalf of Cross Jay. She put her lips in a potent form to simulate, saying, Press it. He is to come, said Leticia, then write him his permit. There was a chatter about Cross Jay and the sentinel through to his post that he could be, during which Leticia distressfully scribbled a line for Dr. Corney to deliver to him. Clara stood near. She had rebuked herself for want of reserve in the presence of Lady Bush and Lady Calmer, and she was guilty of a slightly excessive containment when she next addressed Leticia. It was, like Leticia's look at Dr. Middleton, opportune, enough to make a man who watched as Willoughby did a fatalist for life. The shadow of a difference in her bearing toward Leticia suffice to impute acting either to her present coolness or her previous warmth. Better still, when Dr. Middleton said, So we leave tomorrow, my dear, and I hope you have written to the Dalton's. Clara flushed and beamed and repressed her animation on a sudden, with one grave loop that might be thought regretful to where Willoughby stood. Chance works for us when we are good captains. Willoughby's pride was high, though he knew himself to be keeping it up like a fearfully dexterous juggler, and for an empty reward, but he was in the toils of the world. Have you written, the post bag leaves in half an hour? He addressed her. We are expected, but I'll write, she replied, and her not having yet written counted in his favor. She went to write the letter. Dr. Corny had departed on his mission to fetch Cross J and medicine. Lady Bush was impatient to be gone. Corny, she said to Lady Calmer, is a deadly gossip. In veteran must the answer. My poor horses. Not the junk pair of bays. Luckily they are, my dear, and don't let me hear of dining to-night. So Willoughby was leading out Mr. Dale to quiet room, contiguous to the invalid gentleman's bed-chamber. He resigned him to Letitia and the Hall, that he might have the pleasure of conducting the ladies to their carriage. As little agitation as possible, Corny will soon be back. He said bitterly admiring the graceful subservience of Letitia's figure to her father's weight on her arm. He had won a desperate battle, but what had he won? What had the world given him in return for his efforts to gain it? Just a shirt it might be said, simple scanty clothing, no warmth. Lady Bush was unbearable. She cavalled, she was ill-bred, permitted herself to speak of Dr. Middleton as inelegable, no loss to the county. And Mrs. Mount Steward was hardly much above her, with her inevitable stroke of caricature. You see Dr. Middleton's pulpits scampering after him with legs. Perhaps the Reverend Doctor did punish the world for his having forsaken his pulpit, and might be conceived as haunted by it at his heels. But Willoughby was in the mood to abhor comic images. He hated the perpetrators of them and their grinners. Contempt of this laughing empty world for which he had performed a monstrous immolation led him to associate Dr. Middleton in his mind and Clara too with the desirable things he had sacrificed. A shape of youth and health, a sparkling companion, a face of innumerable charms, and his own veracity, his inner sense of his dignity, and his temper, and the limpid frankness of his air of scorn, that was to him a visage of candid happiness in the dim retrospect. Happily also he had sacrificed more. He looked scientifically into the future. He might have sacrificed a nameless more. And for what, he asked again? For the favourable looks and tongues of these women, whose looks and tongues he detested. Dr. Middleton says he is indebted to me. I am deeply in his debt, he remarked. It is we who are in your debt for a lovely romance, my dear Sir Willoughby, said Lady Bush, incapable of taking a correction. So thoroughly had he imbued her with his fiction, or with the belief that she had a good story to circulate. Away she drove, rattling her tongue to Lady Calmer. A hat and horn, as she would be in the old figure of a post-boy, on a you-and-cries sheet, said Mrs. Mont-Stewart. Willoughby thanked the great lady for her services, and she complimented the polished gentleman of his noble self-possession. But she complained at the same time of being defrauded of her charmer, Colonel Decray, since luncheon. An absence of warmth in her compliment caused Willoughby to shrink and think the wretched shirt he had got from the world, no covering after all. A breath flapped it. He comes to me tomorrow, I believe, she said, reflecting on her superior knowledge of the facts in comparison with Lady Bush, who would presently be hearing of something novel and exclaiming. So that is why you patronized the Colonel. And it was nothing of the sort for Mrs. Mont-Stewart would honestly say she was not the woman to make a business of her pleasure. Horace is an enviable fellow, said Willoughby, wise in the book which bids us ever for an assugement to fancy our friend's condition worse than our own, and recommends the deglution of irony as the most balsamic for wounds the whole moral pharmacopeia. I don't know," she replied with a marked accent of deliberation. The Colonel is to have you to himself tomorrow. I can't be sure of what I shall have in the Colonel. Your perpetual sparkler? Mrs. Mont-Stewart set her head in motion. She left the matter silent. I'll come for him in the morning, she said, and her carriage whirled her off. Either she had guessed it or Clara had confined it to her, the treacherous passion of Horace Decray. However, the world was shut away from Patern for the night. Chapter 47 Sir Willoughby and his friend Horace Decray Willoughby shut himself up in his laboratory to broad a while after the conflict. Sounding through himself as it was habitual with him to do, for the plan most agreeable to his taste, he came on a strange discovery among the lower circles of that microcosm. He was no longer guided in his choice by liking and appetite. He had to put it on the edge of a sharp discrimination, and try it by his acutious judgment before it was acceptable to his heart. And knowing well the direction of his desire, he was nevertheless unable to run two strides on a wish. He had learned to read the world, his partial capacity for reading persons had fled. The mysteries of his own bosom were bare to him, but he could comprehend them only in their immediate relation to the world outside. This hateful world had caught him and transformed him to a machine. The discovery he made was that in the gratification of the egoistic instinct, we may so beset ourselves as to deal a slaughtering wound upon self to whatsoever quarter we turn. Surely there is nothing stranger in mortal experience. The man was confounded. At the game of chess it is the dishonor of our adversary when we are stalemated, but in life combating the world such a winning of the game questions our sentiments. Willoughby's interpretation of his discovery was directed by Pity. He had no other strong emotion left in him. He pitted himself and he reached the conclusion that he suffered because he was active. He could not be quiescent. Had it not been for his devotion to his house and name, never would he have stood twice the victim of womankind. Had he been selfish, he would have been the happiest of men. He said it aloud. He schemed benevolently for his unborn young and for the persons about him. Hence he was in a position forbidding a step under pain of injury to his feelings. He was generous, otherwise would he not in scorn of soul at the outset straight off have pitched Clara Middleton to the wanton winds. He was faithful in his affection. Letizia Dale was beneath his roof to prove it. Both these women were examples of his power of forgiveness, and now a tender word to Clara might fasten shame on him. Such was her gratitude. And if he did not marry Letizia, laughter would be devilish all around him. Such was the worlds. Probably Vernon would not long be thankful for the chance which varied the monotony of his days. What of Horus? Willow be stripped to enter the ring with Horus. He cast away disguise. That man had been the first to divide him in the all but equal slices of his egoistic from his amateur self. Murder of his individuality was the crime of Horus Decray. And further suspicion fixed on Horus. He knew not how, except that the book bids us be suspicious of those we hate, as the man who had betrayed his recent dealings with Letizia. Willow be walked the thoroughfares of the house to meet Clara, and make certain of her either for himself or if it must be for Vernon, before he took another step with Letizia Dale. Clara could reunite him, turn him once more into a whole and an animated man, and she might be willing, her willingness to listen to Vernon promised it. A gentleman with a tongue would have a chance, Mrs. Mount Stewart had said. How much greater the chance of a lover, for he had not yet supplicated her. He had shown pride and temper. He could woo, he was a torrential wooer, and it would be glorious to swing round on Lady Bush and the world with Clara Nestling under his arm, and protest astonishment at the erroneous and utterly unfounded anticipations of any other development, and it would righteously punish Letizia. Clara came downstairs bearing her letters to Miss Dalton. Must it be posed, will he be said meeting her in the hall? They expect us any day, but it will be more comfortable for Papa, was her answer. She looked kindly in her new shyness. She did not seem to think he had treated her contemptuously in flinging her to his cousin, which was odd. You have seen Vernon? It was your wish. You had a talk? We conversed. A long one? We walked some distance. Clara, I tried to make the best arrangement I could. Your intention was generous. He took no advantage of it. It could not be treated seriously. It was meant seriously. There I see the generosity. Willoughby thought this encomium, and her consent to speak on the subject, and her scarcely embarrassed air and richness of tone in speaking, were strange, and strange was her taking him quite in earnest. Apparently she had no feminine sensation of the unwantedness and the absurdity of the matter. But, Clara, am I to understand that he did not speak out? We are excellent friends. To miss it, though, his chance were the smallest. You forget that it may not wear that appearance to him. He spoke not one word of himself? No. Ah, the poor fellow was taught to see it was hopeless, chilled. May I plead? Will you step into the laboratory for a minute? We are two sensible persons. Pardon me, I must go to papa. Vernon's personal history, perhaps, I think it honourable to him. Honourable? Him? By comparison? Comparison with what? With others. He drew up to relieve himself of the critical and condemnatory expiration of a certain length. This young lady knew too much, but how physically exquisite she was. Could you, Clara, could you promise me? I hold to it. I must have it. I know his try tricks. Promise me to give him, ultimately, another chance? Is the idea repulsive to you? It is one not to be thought of. It is not repulsive? Nothing could be repulsive in Mr. Whitford. I have no wish to annoy you, Clara. I feel bound to listen to you, Willoughby. Whatever I can do to please you, I will. It's my lifelong duty. Could you, Clara? Could you conceive it? Could you simply conceive it? Give him your hand? As a friend, oh yes. In marriage? She paused. She so penetratrived of him when he opposed her. Was hoodwing when he softened her feelings. The heart, though the clearest, is not the most constant instructor of the head. The heart, unlike the often obtuse her head, works for itself, and not for the commonwealth. You are so kind. I would do much, she said. Would you accept him? Marry him? He's poor. I'm not ambitious of wealth. Would you marry him? Marriage is not in my thoughts, but could you marry him? Willoughby expected no. In his expectation of it he hung inflated. She said these words. I could engage to marry no one else. His amazement breathed without a syllable. He flapped his arms, resembling for the moment those birds of enormous body which attempt to rise upon their wings and achieve a hop. Would you engage it? He said, content to see himself stepped on as an insect, if he could but feel the agony of his false friend Horace. Their common pretensions to win her were now of that comparative size. Oh, there can be no necessity. And an oath? No, said Clara, inwardly shivering at the recollection. But you could? My wish is to please you. You could? I said so. It has been known to the patriotic mountaineer of a hoary pile of winters, with little life remaining in him, but that little on fire for his country, that by the brink of the precipice he has flung himself on a junk and lusty invader, dedicating himself exultingly to death if only he may score a point for his country by extinguishing in his country's enemy the stronger man. So likewise did Willoughby, in the blow that depred him of hope, exult in the toppling over of Horace the Cray. They perished together, but which once sublimely relished the headlong descent. And Vernon, taken by Clara, would be Vernon simply tolerated, and Clara, taken by Vernon, would be Clara, previously touched, smirched, altogether he could enjoy his fall. It was at least upon a comfortable bed, where his pride would be dressed daily, and would never be disagreeably treated. He was henceforth Letizia's own. The bell-telling of Dr. Cornish's return was a welcome sound to Willoughby. And he said, good humoredly, Wait, Clara, you will see your hero Cross Day. Cross Day and Dr. Cornish tumbled into the hall. Willoughby caught Cross Day under the arms to give him a lift in the old fashion, pleasing to Clara to see. The boy was heavy as lead. I had worked to hook him and worse to net him, said Dr. Cornish. I had to make him believe he was to nurse every soul in the house, you among them, Miss Middleton. Willoughby pulled the boy aside. Cross Day came back to Clara heavier in looks than his limbs had been. She dropped her letter in the hall-box, and took his hand to have a private hug of him. When they were alone, she said, Cross Day, my dear, my dear, you look unhappy. Yes, and who wouldn't be, and you're not to marry Sir Willoughby? His voice threatened a cry. I know you're not, for Dr. Cornish says you are going to leave. Did you so very much wish it, Cross Day? I should have seen a lot of you, and I shan't see you at all, and I'm sure if I'd known I wouldn't have, and he has been and tipped me this. Cross Day opened his fist in which lay three gold pieces. That was very kind of him, said Clara. Yes, but how can I keep it? By handing it to Mr. Whitford to keep for you? Yes, but Miss Milton oughtn't I to tell him. I mean, Sir Willoughby. What? Why, that I, Cross Day, got close to her? Why, that I, that I, you know what you used to say? I wouldn't tell a lie, but oughtn't I, without his asking, and this money, I don't mind being turned out again. Consult Mr. Whitford, Sir Clara. I know what you think, though. Perhaps you had better not say anything at present, dear boy. But what am I to do with this money? Cross Day held the gold pieces out as things that had not yet mingled with his ideas of possession. I listened, and I told of him, he said. I couldn't help listening, but I went and told. And I don't like being here, and his money, and he not knowing what I did. Haven't you heard? I'm certain I know what you think, and so do I. And I must take my luck. I'm always in mischief, getting into mess or getting out of it. I don't mind. I really don't, Miss Middleton. I can sleep in a tree quite comfortably. If you're not going to be here, I'd just as soon be anywhere. I must try to earn my living someday, and why not a cabin boy? Sir Cloudsley Shoal was no better. And I don't mind his being wrecked at last, if you drowned an admiral. So I shall go and ask him to take his money back, and if he asks me, I shall tell him, and there. You know what it is. I guess that from what Dr. Corny said. I'm sure I know you're thinking what's manly. Fancy me keeping his money, and you not marrying him. I wouldn't mind driving a plow. I shouldn't make a bad gamekeeper. Of course, I love both's best, but you can't have everything. Speak to Mr. Whitford first, said Clara, too proud of the boy for growing as she had trained him, to advise a course of conduct opposed to his notions of manliness. Though now that her battle was over, she would gladly have acquiesced in little posuistic compromises for the sake of general peace. Sometime later, Vernon and Dr. Corny were arguing upon the question. Corny was stead against the sentimental view of the morality of the case propounded by Vernon as coming from his middle-time, and partly shared by him. It is on the boy's mind, Vernon said. I can't prohibit his going to Willoughby and making a clean breast of it, especially as it involves me, and sooner or later I should have to tell him myself. Dr. Corny said no at all points. Now hear me, he said finally. This is between ourselves, and no breach of confidence, which I'd not be guilty of for forty friends, though I'd give my hand from the wrist joint for one. My lift, that's to say. Sir Willoughby puts me one or two searching interrogations on a point of interest to him, his house and name. Very well, and good night to that, and I wish Miss Dale had been ten years younger or had passed the ten with no heartstrings and sinkings wearing to the tissues of the frame and the moral fiber to boot. She'll have a fairish health with a little occasional doctoring, taking her rank and wealth in right earnest, and shying her pen back to Mother Goose. She'll do, and by the way I think it is to the credit of my suggestivity that I fetched Mr. Dale here fully primed, and roused the neighborhood, which I did, and so fixed our gentleman, neat as a prodded eel on a pair of prongs. Namely, the positive fact and the general knowledge of it. But mark me, my friend, we understand one another at a nod. This boy, Jang Squire Cross J, is a good, stiff, hearty kind of a Saxon boy, out of whom you may cut as gallant a fellow as evermore epaulets. I like him, you like him, Miss Dale and Miss Middleton like him, and Sir Willoughby Patern, a Patern whole, and other places, won't be indisposed to like him mightily in the event of the sun being seen to shine upon him with a particular determination to make him appear a prominent object, because of solitary and a Patern. Dr. Corny lifted his chest and his finger. Now mark me and verbums up. Cross J must not offend Sir Willoughby. I say no more. Look ahead, miracles happen, but it is best to reckon that they won't. Well now, and Miss Dale, she'll not be cruel. It appears as if she would, said Vernon, meditating on the cloudy sketch Dr. Corny had drawn. She can't, my friend. Her precision's precarious, her father has little besides a pension, and her writing damages her health. She can't, and she likes the baronet. Oh, it's only little fit of proud blood. She's the woman for him. She'll manage him. Give him an idea he's got a lot of ideas. He'd kill her father if she were obstinate. He talked to me when I told him of the business about his dream fulfilled, and if the dream turns to vapor, he'll be another example that we hang more upon dreams than realities for nourishment, and medicine too. Last week I couldn't have got him out of his house with all my art and science. Oh, she'll come round. Her father prophesied this, and I'll prophesy that she's fond of him. She was. She sees through him. Without quite doing justice to him now, said Vernon, he can be generous in his way. How? Corny inquired, and was informed that he should hear in time to come. Meanwhile Colonel Decray, after hovering over the park and about the cottage for the opportunity of pouncing on Miss Middleton alone, had returned crestfallen for once, and plumbed into Willoughby's hands. My dear Horace, Willoughby said, I've been looking for you all the afternoon. The fact is, I fancy you'll think yourself lured down here on false pretenses. But the truth is, I'm not so much to blame as the world will suppose. In point of fact to be brief, Miss Dale and I, I never consult other men how they would have acted. The fact of the matter is, Miss Middleton, I fancy you have partly guessed it. Partly, said Decray, well, she has a liking that way, and if it should turn out strong enough, it's the best arrangement I can think of. The lively play of the Colonel's features fixed in a blank inquiry. One can back a good friend for making a good husband, said Willoughby. I could not break with her in the present stage of affairs without seeing to that. And I can speak of her highly, though she and I have seen in time that we do not suit one another. My wife must have brains. I have always thought it, said Colonel Decray, glistening and looking hungry as a wolf through his wonderment. There will not be a word against her, you understand. You know my dislike of tattle and gossip. However, let it fall on me, my shoulders are broad. I have done my utmost to persuade her, and there seems a likelihood of her consenting. She tells me her wish is to please me, and this will please me. Certainly, host the gentleman. My best friend, I tell you, I could hardly have proposed another. Allow this business to go on smoothly just now. There was an uproar within the Colonel to blind his wits, and Willoughby looked so friendly that it was possible to suppose the man of projects had mentioned his best friend to Miss Middleton. And who was the best friend? Not having accused himself of treachery, the quick-eyed Colonel was duped. Have you his name handy, Willoughby? That would be unfair to him at present, Horace. Ask yourself and to her. Things are in a ticklish posture at present. Don't be hasty. Certainly I don't ask initials, I'll do. You have a remarkable aptitude for guessing, Horace, and this case offers you no tough problem if ever you acknowledge toughness. I have regard for her and for him, for both pretty equally. You know I have, and I should be thoughtfully thankful to bring the matter about. Lordly, said Decray, I don't see it, I call it sensible. Oh, undoubtedly, the style I mean tolerably antique. Novel, I shall say, and not the worst for that. Not plain practical dealings between men and women. Usually we go the wrong way to work, and I loathe sentimental rubbish. Decray hummed an air. But the lady, said he, I told you there seems a likelihood of her consenting. Willoughby's fish gave a perceptible little leap now that he had been taught to exercise his aptitude for guessing. Without any of the customer preliminaries on the side of the gentleman, he said, We must put him through his paces, friend Horace. He's a notorious blunderer with women, hasn't a word for them, never marked a conquest. Decray crested his plumes under the agreeable banter. He presented a face humorously skeptical. The lady is positively not indisposed to give the poor fellow a hearing. I have cause to think she's not, said Willoughby, glad of acting the indifference to her which could talk over inclinations. Cause? Good cause. Bless us, as good as one can have with a woman. Ah, I assure you. Ah, does it seem like her, though? Well, she wouldn't engage herself to accept him. Well, that seems more like her, but she said she could engage to marry no one else. The colonel sprang up crying, Clara Middleton said it. He curbed himself. That's a bit of wonderful compliancy. She wishes to please me. We separate on those terms, and I wish her happiness. I've developed a heart lately and taken to think of others. Nothing better. You appear to make cocksure of the other party, our friend. You know him too well, Horace, to doubt his readiness. Do you, Willoughby? She has money in good looks, yes, I can say I do. It wouldn't be much of a man who'd want heart-pulling to that lighted altar. And if he requires persuasion, you and I, Horace, might bring him to his senses, kicking it would be. I like to see everybody happy about me, said Willoughby, naming the hour as time to dress for dinner. The sentiment he had delivered was the craze excuse for grasping his hand and complimenting him, but the colonel betrayed himself by doing it with extreme fervor, almost tremulous. When shall we hear more? he said. Oh, probably tomorrow, said Willoughby. Don't be in such a hurry. I'm an infant asleep, the colonel replied, departing. He resembled one to Willoughby's mind, or a traitor drugged. There is a fellow I thought had some brains. Who are not fools to beset spinning if we choose to whip them with their vanity? It is the consolation of the great to watch them spin. But the pleasure is loftier and may comfort our unmerited misfortune for a while in making a false friend drunk. Willoughby, among his many preoccupations, had the satisfaction of seeing the effect of drunkenness on Horace Decray, when the latter was in Clara's presence. He could have laughed, cut in keen epigram where the marginal notes added by him to that chapter of the book which treats a friend and a woman, and had he not been profoundly preoccupied, troubled by recent intelligence, communicated by the ladies, his aunts, he would have played the two together for the royal amusement afforded him by his friend Horace. End of Chapter 47, Read by Lars Rolander Chapter 48 of The Egoist This is a LibriVox recording, or LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Reading by Lars Rolander The Egoist, A Comedy in Narrative by George Meredith Chapter 48 The Lovers The hours was close upon eleven at night. Letitia sat in the room adjoining her father's bedchamber. Perelbo was on the table beside her chair, and two fingers pressed her temples. The state between thinking and feeling when both are molten and flow by us is one of our nature's coming after thought has quieted the fiery nerves and can do no more. She seemed to be meditating. She was conscious only of a struggle past. She answered a tap at the door and raised her eyes on Clara. Clara stepped softly. Mr. Dale is asleep. I hope so. Ah, dear friend. Letitia let her hand be pressed. Have you had a pleasant evening? Mr. Whitford and Papa have gone to the library. Colonel Decray has been singing? Yes, with a voice. I thought of you upstairs, but I could not ask him to sing piano. He is probably exhilarated. One would suppose it. He sang well. You are not aware of any reason? It cannot concern me. Clara was in rosy colour, but could meet a steady gaze. And Crossier has gone to bed? Long since. He was at dessert. He would not touch anything. He is a strange boy. Not very strange, Letitia. He did not come to me to wish me good night. That is not strange. It is his habit at the cottage and here. And he professes to light me. Oh, he does. I may have awakened his enthusiasm, but you he loves. Why do you say it is not strange, Clara? He fears you a little. And why should Crossier fear me? Dear, I will tell you. Last night you will forgive him for it was by accident. His own bedroom door was locked and he ran down to the drawing room and curled himself up on the ottoman and fell asleep under that padded silk and covalet of the ladies. Boots and all, I am afraid. Letitia profited by this absurd illusion, thanking Clara in her heart for the refuge. He should have taken off his boots, she said. He slept there and woke up, dear, he meant no harm. Next day he repeated what he had heard. You will blame him. He meant well in his poor boy's head. And now it is over the county. Oh, do not frown. That explains Lady Bush, exclaimed Letitia. Dear, dear friends, said Clara, why I presume on your tenderness for me, but let me, tomorrow I go. Why will you reject your happiness? Those kind good ladies are deeply troubled. They say your resolution is inflexible. You resist their entreaties and your father's. Can it be that you have any doubt of the strength of this attachment? I have none. I have never had a doubt that it was the strongest of his feelings. If before I go I could see you both happy, I should be relieved, I should rejoice. Letitia said quietly, do you remember a walk we had one day together to the cottage? Clara put up her hands with the motion of intending to stop her ears. Before I go, said she, if I might know this was to be which all desire before I leave, I should not feel as I do now. I long to see you happy. Him, yes, him too. Is it like asking you to pay my debt? Then please, but no, I'm not more than partly selfish on this occasion. He has won my gratitude. He can be really generous. An eggwist? Who is? You have forgotten our conversation on the day of our walk to the cottage? Help me to forget it that day and those days and all those days. I should be glad to think I passed a time beneath the earth and have risen again. I was the eggwist. I'm sure if I had been buried, I should not have stood up seeing myself more widely stained. Soil disfigured, oh! Help me to forget my conduct, Letitia. He and I were unsuited, and I remember I blame myself then. You and he are not. And now I can perceive the pride that can be felt in him. The worst that can be said is that he schemes too much. Is there any fresh scheme? said Letitia. The rose came over Clara's face. You have not heard? It was impossible, but it was kindly intended. Judging by my own feeling at this moment, I can understand his. We love to see our friends established. Letitia bowed. My curiosity is peaked, of course. Dear friend, tomorrow we shall be parted. I trust to be thought by you as a little better ingrain than I have appeared. And my reason for trusting it is that I know I have been always honest. A boorish, young woman in my stupid, madding patience, but not insincere. It is no lofty ambition to decide to be remembered in that character. But such is your Clara. She discovers. I will tell you it is his wish. His wish that I should promise to give my hand to Mr. Whitford. You see the kindness. Letitia's eyes widened and fixed. You think it kindness? The intention he sent Mr. Whitford to me and I was taught to expect him. Was that quite kind to Mr. Whitford? What an impression I must have made on you during that walk to the cottage, Letitia. I do not wonder. I was in a fever. You consented to listen? I really did. It astonishes me now, but I thought I could not refuse. My poor friend Vernon Whitford tried a love speech. He? No. Oh no. You discouraged him? I? No. Gently, I mean. No. Surely you did not dream of trifling? He has a deep heart. Has he? You ask that and you know something of him. He did not expose it to me, dear, not even the surface of the mighty deep. Letitia knitted her brows. No, said Clara, not a coquette. She's not a coquette, I assure you. With a laugh, Letitia replied, You have still the dreadful power you made me feel that day. I wish I could use it to good purpose. He did not speak of Switzerland, Tirol, the Iliad, Antigone. That was all. No, political economy. Our situation you will own was unexampled, or mine was. Are you interested in me? I should be if I knew your sentiments. I was grateful to Sir Willoughby, greed for Mr. Whitford. Real grief? Because the task unposed on him of showing me politely that he did not enter into his cousin's ideas was evidently very great, extremely burdensome. You so quick-guide in some things, Clara. He felt for me, I saw that in his avoidance of, and he was, as he always is, pleasant. We rambled over the park for I know not how long, though it did not seem long. Never touching that subject? Not ever neighbouring it, dear. A gentleman should esteem the girl he would ask, certain questions. My fancy he has a liking for me as a volatile friend. If he had offered himself, despising me? You can be childish, Clara. Probably you delight to tease. He had his time of it, and it is now my turn. But he must despise me a little. Are you blind? Perhaps, dear, we both are a little. The ladies look deeper into one another. Will you answer me, said Letizia? Your if, if he had, it would have been an act of condescension. You are too slippery. Stay, dear Letizia. He was considerate in forebearing to pain me. That is an answer. You allowed him to perceive that it would have pained you? Dearest, if I may convey to you what I was in a simile for comparison, I think I was like a fisherman's float on the water, perfectly still and ready to go down at any instant or up, so much for my behaviour. Similes have the merit of satisfying the finder of them and cheating the hearer, said Letizia. You admit that your feelings would have been painful. I was a fisherman's float, please admire my simile, any way you like, this way or that, or so quiet as to tempt the eyes to go to sleep, and suddenly I might have disappeared in the depth or flown in the air, but no fish bit. Well, then, to follow you supposing the fish or the fisherman, for I do not know which is which. Oh, no, no, this is too serious for imagery. I am to understand that you thanked him at least for his reserve. Yes, without the slightest encouragement to him to break it. A fisherman's float, Letizia. Baffled and sighing, Letizia kept silence for a space, the simile chapter wits with the suspicion of a meaning hidden in it. If he had spoken, she said, he is too truthful a man, and the railings of men at Pussy women who wind about and will not be brought to a mark become intelligible to me. Then, Letizia, if he had spoken, if, and one could have imagined him sincere, so truthful a man, I'm looking at myself if. Why, then, I should have burned to death with shame. Where have I read some story of an extinguishable spark that would have been shocked into my heart? Shame, Clara? You are free as much as remains of me. I could imagine a certain shame in such a position where there was no feeling but pride. I could not imagine it where there was no feeling but pride. Letizia amused, and you dwell on the kindness of a proposition so extraordinary. Gaining some light impatiently, she cried, Vernon loves you. Do not say it. I have seen it. I have never had a sign of it. There is the proof. When it might have been shown again and again. The greater proof. Why did he not speak when he was privileged? Strangely brought privileged. He feared. Me? Fear to wound you, and himself as well possibly. Men may be pardoned for thinking of themselves in these cases. But why should he fear that another was dearer to you? What course had I given? Ah, I see. He could fear that, suspect it, see his opinion of me. Can he care for such a girl? Abuse me, Letizia. I should like a good round of abuse. I need purification by fire. What have I been in this house? I have a sense of whirling through it like a mad woman, and to be loved after it all. No, we must be hearing a tale of an antiquary pricing a battered relic of the battlefield that no one else would look at. To be loved, I see, is to feel our littleness, wholeness, feel shame. We come out in all our spots, never to have given me one sign when a lover would have been so tempted. Let me be incredulous, my own dear Letizia, because he's a man of honor, you would say. But are you unconscious of the torture you inflict? For if I am, you say it, loved by this gentleman, what an object it is he loves that has gone clamoring about more immodestly than women will bear to hear of, and she herself to think of. Oh, I have seen my own heart. It is a frightful specter. I have seen a weakness in me that would have carried me anywhere, and truly I shall be charitable to women. I have gained that. But loved by Vernon Whitford, the miserable little me to be taken up and loved after tearing myself to pieces. Have you been simply speculating? You have no positive knowledge of it. Why do you kiss me? Why do you tremble and blush so? Clara looked at her as clearly as she could. She bowed her head. It makes my conduct worse. She received a tenderer kiss for that. It was her avowal and it was understood. To know that she had loved or had been ready to love him, shadowed her in the retrospect. Ah, you read me through and through, said Clara, sliding to her for a whole embrace. Then there never was cause for him to fear? Letitia whispered. Clara slid her head more out of sight. Not that my heart, but I said I have seen it, and it is unworthy of him. And if, as I think now, I could have been so rash, so weak, wicked, unpardonable, such thoughts were in me, then to hear him speak would make it necessary for me to uncover myself and tell him, incredible to you, yes, that while, yes, Letitia, all this is true, and thinking of him as the noblest of men, I could have welcomed any help to cut my knot. So there, said Clara, issuing from her nest with winging eyelids, you see the pain I mentioned. Why did you not explain it to me at once? Dearest, I wanted a century to pass. And you feel that it has passed? Yes, in purgatory, with an angel by me. My report of the place will be favourable. Good angel, I have yet to say something. Say it, and expiate. I think I did fancy once or twice, very dimly, and especially today. Properly, I ought not to have had any idea, but is coming to me, and is not doing as another would have done seemed. A gentleman of real nobleness does not carry the common light for us to read him by. I wanted his voice, but silence, I think, did tell me more, if a nature like mine could only have had faith without bearing the rattle of a tongue. A knock at the door caused the ladies to exchange looks. Letizia rose as Vernon entered. I'm just going to my father for a few minutes, she said. And I have just come from yours, Vernon said to Clara. She observed a very threatening expression in him. The sprite of contrarity mounted her brain to indemnify her for her recent self-abasement. Seeing the bedroom door shut on Letizia, she said. And of course, Papa has gone to bed, implying, otherwise, yes, he has gone. He wished me well. His formula of good night would embrace that wish, and failing it will be good night for good to me. Clara's breathing gave a little leap. We'll leave early tomorrow. I know. I have an appointment at Pregens for June. So soon with Papa? And from there we break into Tyrol and round away to the right southward, to the Italian Alps. And was it assumed that I should be of this expedition? Your father speaks dubiously. You have spoken of me, then? I venture to speak of you. I'm not over-bold as you know. Her lovely eyes trouble the lids to hide their softness. Papa should not think of my presence with him dubiously. He leaves it to you to decide. Yes, then, many times, all that can be uttered. Do you consider what you are saying? Mr. Whitford, I shut my eyes and say yes. Beware, I give you one warning if you shut your eyes. Of course, she flew from him. Big mountains must be satisfied with my admiration at their feet. That will do for a beginning. They speak encouragingly. One of them, Bernard's breast-heaved hymn. To be at your feet makes a mountain of you, said she, with the heart of a mouse, if that satisfies me. You tarred too high. You are inaccessible. I give you a second warning. You may be seized and lifted. Someone would stoop, then, to plant you like the flag on the conquered peak. You have indeed been talking to Papa, Mr. Whitford. Vernon changed his tone. Shall I tell you what he said? I know his language so well, he said, but you have acted on it? Only partly, he said, you will teach me nothing. He said, Vernon, no, oh, not in this house. That supplication coupled with his name confessed the end to which her quick vision perceived she was being led, where she would succumb. She revived the same shrinking in him from a breath of their great word yet, not here, somewhere in the shadow of the mountains. But he was sure of her, and their hands might join. The two hands thought so, or did not think, behaved like innocents. The spirit of Dr. Middleton, as Clara felt, had been blown into Vernon, rewarding him for forthright out-speaking. Over their books, Vernon had abruptly shut up a volume and related the tale of the house. Has this man a spice of religion in him, the Reverend Doctor asked Midway. Vernon made out a fair general case for his cousin in that respect. The complimented dot on his eye of a commonly civilized human creature, said Dr. Middleton, looking at his watch and finding it too late to leave the house before the morning. The risky communication was to come. Vernon was proceeding with the narrative of Willoughby's generous plan when Dr. Middleton electrified him by calling out, He whom of all men living, I should desire my daughter to espouse, and Willoughby rose in the Reverend Doctor's esteem. He praised that sensible-minded gentleman who could acquiesce in the turn of mood of a little maid, albeit fortune had withheld from him a taste of the switch at school. The father of the little maid's appreciation of her volatility was exhibited in his exhortation to Vernon to be off to her at once with his authority to finish her moods and assure him of peace in the morning. Vernon hesitated. Dr. Middleton remarked upon being not so sure that it was not he who had done the mischief. Thereupon Vernon to prove his honesty made his own story bear. Go to her, said Dr. Middleton. Vernon proposed a meeting in Switzerland to which Dr. Middleton assented, adding, Go to her! and as he appeared a total stranger to the decorum of the situation, Vernon put his delicacy aside and taking his heart up, obeyed. He too had pondered on Clara's consent to meet him after she knew of Willoughby's terms and her grave sweet manner during the ramble over the park. Her father's breath had been blown into him so now with nothing but the faith lying in sensation to convince him of his happy fortune and how unconvincing that may be until the mind has grasped and stamped it we experience even then we acknowledge that we are most blessed. He held her hand. And if it was hard for him for both but harder for the man to restrain their particular word from a flight to heaven when the cage stood open and nature beckoned he was practised in self-mastery and she loved him the more. Letitia was a witness of their union of hands on her coming back to the room. They promised to visit her very early in the morning neither of them conceiving that they left her to a night of storm and tears. She sat meditating on Clara's present appreciation of Sir Willoughby's generosity. End of chapter 48 read by Lars Rolander. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org reading by Lars Rolander. The Egwist, a comedy in narrative by George Meredith Chapter 49 Letitia and Sir Willoughby We cannot be a betters of the tribes of Imps whose revelry is in the frailties of our poor human constitution. They have their place and their service and so long as we continue to be what we are now they will be hang on to us restlessly plucking at the garments which cover our nakedness nor ever ceasing to twitch them and strain at them until they have stripped us for one of their horrible Valpurgus nights when the laughter heard is of a character to render laughter frightful to the heirs of men throughout the remainder of their days. But if in these festival hours under the beam of Hecate they are uncontrollable by the comic muse she will not flatter them with her presence during the course of their insane and impious hilarities whereof a description would be outbrocken brockens and make Grey Malkin and Paddock too intimately our familiars. It shall suffice to say that from hour to hour of the midnight to the grey eyed morn assisted at intervals by the ladies Elinor and Isabel and by Mr. Dale awakened and reawakened hearing the vehemence of his petitioning outcry to soften her obduracy. Sir Willoughby pursued Letizia with solicitations to espouse him until the inveteracy of his wooing wore the aspect of the lifelong love he read of, aroused to a state of mania. He appeared, he departed, he returned and all the while his imps were about him and upon him riding him shooting, driving, inspiring him with outrageous pathos and eloquence to move anyone but the dead which its object seemed to be in her torpid attention. He heard them, he talked to them, caressed them, he flung them off and ran from them and stood vanquished for them to mount him again and swarm on him. There are men thus impaunted men who setting their minds upon an object must have it, breed imps. They are noted for their singularities as their converse with the invisible and amazing distractions are called. Willoughby became aware of them that night. He said to himself upon one of his stashes into solitude, I believe I am possessed and if he did not actually believe it but only suspected it and speech to account for the transformation he had undergone into a desperately beseeching creature. Having lost acquaintance with his habitual personality the operations of an impish host had undoubtedly smitten his consciousness. He had them in his brain for while burning with an ardor for Letizia that incited him to frantic successes of language and comportment. He was aware of shouts of the names of Lady Bush and Mrs. Mount Stuart Jenkinson the witch freezing him as they did were directly the cause of his hurrying to a wilder extravagance and more headlong determination to subdue before break of day the woman he almost needed to be home by daylight though he had now passionately persuaded himself of his love of her. He could not, he felt, stand in the daylight without her. She was his mourning. She was, he raved, his predestinated wife. He cried, Darling, both to her and to solitude. Every prescription of his ideal of demeanour as an example to his class and country was abandoned by the Enamur gentleman. He had lost command of his countenance. He stooped so far as to kneel and not gracefully. Nay, it is in the chronicles of the invisible host around him that in a fit of supplication upon a cry of Letizia twice repeated he whimpered. Let so much suffice and indeed not without reason to the multitudes of the servants for the muse in this land of social policy avoid scenes of an inordinate wantoness which detract from the dignity of our leaders and men's human nature with confusion. Sir Jasus are they who conduct the individual on broad lines of a familiar tracks under well-known characteristics. What men will do, an amorously minded men will do, is less a question than what it is politic they should be shown to do. The night wore through. Letizia was bent but had not gilded. She had been obliged to say and how many times she could not bear to recollect I do not love you. I have no love to give. And issuing from such a night to look again upon the face of day she scarcely felt that she was alive. The contest was renewed by her father with the singing of the birds. Mr. Dale then produced the first serious impression she had received. He spoke of their circumstances of his being taken from her and leaving her to poverty in weak health of the injury done to her health by writing for bread and of the oppressive weight he would be relieved by her consenting. He no longer implored her. He put the case on common ground and he wound up pray do not be ruthless my girl. The practical statement and this adoration incongruously to conclude it harmonized with her disordered understanding her loss of all sentiment and her desire to be kind. She sighed to herself happily it is over. Her father was too weak to rise. He fell asleep. She was bound down to the house for hours and she walked through her suite here at the doors there at the windows thinking of Clara's remark of a century passing. She had not wished it but a light had come on her to show her what she would have supposed a century could not have effected. She saw the impossible of a night a possible thing not desirable yet possible wearing the features of the possible. Happily she had resisted too firmly to be again besought. Those features of the possible once beheld allured the mind to reconsider them. Wealth gives us the power to do good on earth. Wealth enables us to see the world the beautiful scenes of the earth. Letizia had long thirsted both for a douring money bag at her girdle and the wings to fly abroad of a lance which had begun to seem fabulous in her starred imagination. Then moreover if her sentiment for this gentleman was gone it was only a delusion gone. Accurate sight and knowledge of him would not make a woman the less helpful mate. That was the mate he required and he could be led. A sentimental attachment would have been serviceless to him. Not so the woman allied by purely rational bond and he wanted guiding. Happily she had told him too much of her feeble health and her lovelessness to be reduced to submit to another attack. She beset herself in her room arranging for her departure so that no minutes might be lost after her father had breakfasted and dressed. Clara was her earliest visitor and each asked the other whether she had slept and took the answer from the face presented to her. The rings of Letizia's eyes were very dark. Clara was her mirror and she said a singular object to be persecuted through a night for her hand. I know these two damp dead leaves I wear on my cheeks to remind me of midnight vigils but you have slept well, Clara. I have slept well and yet I could say I have not slept at all, Letizia. I was with you, dear, part in dream and part in thought hoping to find you sensible before I go. Sensible! That is the word for me. Letizia briefly sketched the history of the night and Clara said with a manifest sincerity that testified of her gratitude to Sir Willoughby. Could you resist him so earnest as he is? Letizia saw the human nature without sourness and replied, I hope, Clara, you will not begin with a large stock of sentiment for there is nothing like it for making your hard matter of fact wordly calculating. The next visitor was Vernon, exceedingly anxious for news so Mr Dale. Letizia went into her father's room to obtain it for him. Frightening, she found them both with sad visages and she ventured in alarm for them to ask the cause. It's this, Vernon said, Willoughby will everlastingly tease that boy to be loved by him. Perhaps poor fellow he had an excuse last night. Anyhow he went into Crossier's room this morning, woken up and talked to him and said the lad crying and what with one thing and another Crossier got a berry in his throat as he calls it and poured out everything he knew and all he had done. I needn't tell you the consequence. He has ruined himself here for good so I must take him. Vernon glanced at Clara. You must indeed, said she, he is my boy as well as yours, no chance of pardon. It's not likely. Letizia, what can I do? Oh, what can you not do? I do not know. Teach him to forgive. Letizia's brass were heavy and Clara forbore to torment her. She would not descend to the family breakfast table. Clara would feign have stayed to drink tea with her in her own room but a last act of conformity was demanded of the liberated young lady. She promised to run up the moment breakfast was over. Not unnaturally therefore, Letizia supposed it to be she to whom she gave admission half an hour later with a glad cry of come in, dear. The knock had sounded like Clara's. Sir Willoughby entered. He stepped forward. He seized her hands. Dear, he said. You cannot withdraw that. You call me dear. I am. I must be dear to you. The word is out by accident or not but by heaven. I have it and I give it up to no one. And love me or not. Marry me. And my love will bring it back to you. You have taught me I'm not so strong. I must have you by my side. You have powers I did not credit you with. You are mistaken in me, Sir Willoughby. Letizia said feebly outworn as she was. A woman who can resist me by declining to be my wife through a whole night of entreaty as the quality I need for my house. And I will batter at her ears for months with as little rest as I had last night before I surrender my chance of her. But I told you last night I want you within the twelve hours. I have staked my pride on it. By noon you are mine. You are introduced to Mrs. Mount Stuart as mine as the lady of my life and house. And to the world I shall not let you go. You will not detain me here, Sir Willoughby? I will detain you. I will use force and skill. I will spare nothing. He reigned for a term as he had done overnight. On his growing rather breathless, Letizia said, You do not ask me for love? I do not. I pay you the higher compliment of asking for you. Love or no love. My love shall be enough. Reward me or not. I am not used to be denied. But do you know what you ask for? Do you remember what I told you of myself? I am hard, materialistic. I have lost faith in Romans. The skeleton is present with me all over life. And my health is not good. I crave for money. I should marry to be rich. I should not worship you. I should be a burden. Barely a living one. Irresponsive and cold. Conceive such a wife, Sir Willoughby. It will be you. She tried to recall how this would have sung in her ears long back. Her bosom rose and fell in absolute dejection. Her ammunition of arguments against him had been expended overnight. You are so unforgiving, she said. Is it I who am? You do not know me. But you are the woman of all the world who knows me, Letitia. Can you think it better for you to be known? He was about to say other words. He checked them. I believe I do not know myself. Anything you will, only give me your hand. Give it. Trust me. You shall direct me. If I have faults, help me to obliterate them. Will you not expect me to regard them as the virtues of meaner men? You will be my wife. Letitia broke from him crying. Your wife, your critic. Oh, I cannot think it possible. Send for the ladies, let them hear me. They are at hand, said Willoughby, opening the door. They were in one of the upper rooms anxiously on the watch. Dear ladies, Letitia said to them as they entered, I am going to warn you, and I grieve to do it, but rather now than later if I am to be your housemate. He asks me for a hand that cannot carry a heart because mine is dead. I repeat it. I used to think the heart a woman's marriage portion for her husband. I see now that she may consent, and he accept her without one. But it is right that you should know what I am when I consent. I was once a foolish romantic girl. Now I am a sickly woman. All illusions vanished. Privation has made me what an abounding fortune usually makes of others. I am an egotist. I am not deceiving you. That is my real character. My girl's view of him has entirely changed, and I am almost indifferent to the change. I can endeavor to respect him. I cannot venerate. Dear child, the ladies gently remonstrated, Willoughby motioned to them. If we are to live together, and I could very happily live with you, the titsia continued to dress them. You must not be ignorant of me. And if you, as I imagine, worship him blindly, I do not know how we are to live together. And never shall you quit this house to make way for me. I have a hard detective eye. I see many faults. Have we not all of us faults, dear child? Not such as he has, though the excuses of a gentleman nurtured in idolatry may be pleaded. But he should know that they are seen, and seen by her he asks to be his wife, that no misunderstanding may exist, and while it is yet time he may consult his feelings, he worships himself. Willoughby? He is vindictive. Our Willoughby? That is not your opinion, ladies. It is firmly mine. Time has taught it me. So if you and I are at such variance, how can we live together? It is an impossibility. They looked at Willoughby. He nodded imperiously. We have never affirmed that our dear nephew is devoid of faults if he is offended. And supposing he claims to be foremost, is it not his rightful claim made good by much generosity? Reflect, dear Letizia. We are your friends, too. She could not justice the kind ladies any further. You have always been my good friends, and you have no other charge against him. Letizia was milder in saying, he is unpardoning. Name one instance, Letizia. He has turned Crossie out of his house, interdicting the poor boy ever to enter it again. Crossie, said Willoughby, was guilty of a piece of infamous treachery. Which is the course of your persecuting meat to become your wife. There was a cry of persecuting. No young fellow behaving so basely can come to good, said Willoughby, stained about the face with flecks of redness at the lashings he received. Honestly, she retorted. He told of himself, and he must have anticipated the punishment he would meet. He should have been studying with a master for his profession. He has been kept here in comparative idleness, to be alternately pitted and discarded. No one but Vernon Whitford, a poor gentleman, doomed to struggle for a livelihood by literature. I know something of that struggle too much for me. No one but Mr. Whitford for his friend. Crossie is forgiven, said Willoughby. You promise me that? He shall be packed off to a crammer at once. But my home must be Crossie's home. You are mistress of my house, Letizia. She hesitated. Her eyelashes grew moist. You can be generous. He is dear child, the ladies cried. He is, forget his errors, in his generosity as we do. There is that wretched man, Fletch. That sort has gone about the county for years to get me a bad character, said Willoughby. It would have been generous in you to have offered him another chance. He has children. Nine, and I am responsible for them. I speak of being generous. Dictate. Willoughby spread out his arms. Surely now you should be satisfied, Letizia, said the ladies. Is he? Willoughby perceived Mrs. Montstewer's carriage coming down the avenue. To the fall, he presented his hand. She raised hers with the fingers catching back before she ceased to speak and dropped it. Ladies, you are witness that there is no concealment. There has been no reserve on my part. May heaven grant me kinder eyes than I have now. I would not have you changed your opinion of him, only that you should see how I read him. For the rest I vow to do my duty by him. Whatever is of worth in me is at his service. I am very tired. I feel I must yield or break. This is his wish, and I submit. And I salute my wife, said Willoughby, making her hand his own and warming to his possession as he performed the act. Mrs. Montstewer's indecent hurry to be at the hall before the departure of Dr. Middleton and his daughter afflicted him with visions of the physical contrast which would be sharply perceptible to her this morning of his letitia beside Clara. But he had the lady with brains. He had, and he was to learn the nature of that possession in the woman who is our wife. End of chapter 49, read by Lorsch Rolander.