 Chapter 9 of THE MISTORY OF EDWIN DRUDE Her mother, having no relation that she knew in the world, had from the seventh year of her age known no home but the nun's house, and no mother but Miss Twinkleton. Her remembrance of her own mother was of a pretty little creature like herself. Not much older than herself it seemed to her. Who had been brought home in her father's arms, drowned. The fatal accident had happened at a party of pleasure. Every fold and colour of the pretty summer-dress, and even the long wet hair with scattered petals of ruined flowers still clinging to it, as the dead young creature in its sad, sad beauty lay upon the bed, were fixed indelibly in Rosa's recollection. So were the wild despair and the subsequent bowed-down grief of her poor young father, who died broken-hearted on the first anniversary of that hard day. The betrothal of Rosa grew out of the soothing of his year of mental distress by his fast friend and old college companion, Druude, who likewise had been left a widower in his youth. But he too went the silent road into which all earthly pilgrimages merge, some sooner and some later, and thus the young couple had come to be as they were. The atmosphere of pity surrounding the little orphan girl when she first came to Cloisterham had never cleared away. It had taken brighter hues as she grew older, happier, prettier. Now it had been golden, now rosy-at, and now azure. But it had always adorned her with some soft light of its own. The general desire to console and caress her had caused her to be treated in the beginning as a child much younger than her years. The same desire had caused her to be still petted when she was a child no longer. Who should be her favourite? Who should anticipate this or that small present, or do her this or that small service? Who should take her home for the holidays? Who should write to her oftenest when they were separated, and whom she would most rejoice to see again when they were reunited? Even these gentle rivalries were not without the slight dashes of bitterness in the nun's house. Well for the poor nuns in their day, if they hid no harder strife under their veils and rosaries. Thus Rosa had grown to be an amiable, giddy, willful, winning little creature, spoilt in the sense of counting upon kindness from all around her, but not in the sense of repaying it with indifference. Being an exhaustous well of affection in her nature, its sparkling waters had freshened and brightened the nun's house for years, and yet its depths had never yet been moved. What might be tired when that came to pass? What developing changes might fall upon the heedless head, and light heart then remain to be seen? By what means the news that there had been a quarrel between the two young men overnight, involving even some kind of onslaught by Mr. Neville upon Edwin Drude, got into Miss Twinkleton's establishment before breakfast? It is impossible to say. Whether it was brought in by the birds of the air, or came blowing in with the very air itself when the casement windows were set open, whether the baker brought it needed into his bread, or the milkman delivered it as part of the adulteration of his milk, or the housemaids beating the dust out of their mats against the gate-posts, received it in exchange, deposited upon the mats by the town atmosphere, certain it is that the news permeated every gable of the old building before Miss Twinkleton was down, and that Miss Twinkleton herself received it through Mrs. Tisha, while in the act of dressing, or, as she might have expressed the phrase to a parent or guardian of a mythological turn of sacrificing to the graces, Miss Landlis's brother had thrown a bottle at Mr. Edwin Drude. Miss Landlis's brother had thrown a knife at Mr. Edwin Drude. A knife became suggestive of a fork, and Miss Landlis's brother had thrown a fork at Mr. Edwin Drude. As in the governing precedents of Peter Piper alleged to have picked the peck of pickled pepper, it was held to be physically desirable to have evidence of the existence of the peck of pickled pepper which Peter Piper was allegedly to have picked, so in this case it was held psychologically important to know why Miss Landlis's brother threw a bottle, knife, or fork, or bottle, knife, and fork, for the cook had been given to understand it was all three at Mr. Edwin Drude. Well then, Miss Landlis's brother had said he admired Miss Budd. Mr. Edwin Drude had said to Miss Landlis's brother that he had no business to admire Miss Budd. Miss Landlis's brother had then upped, this was the cook's exact information, with the bottle, knife, fork, and decanter, the decanter now coolly flying at everybody's head without the least introduction, and thrown them all at Mr. Edwin Drude. Poor little Rosa put a forefinger into each of her ears when these rumours began to circulate, and retired into a corner, beseeching not to be told any more, but Miss Landlis begging permission of Miss Twinkleton to go and speak with her brother, and pretty plainly showing that she would take it if it were not given, struck out the more definite course of going to Mr. Crisp Sparkle for accurate intelligence. When she came back, being first closeted with Miss Twinkleton, in order that anything objectionable in her tidings might be retained by that discreet filter, she imparted to Rosa only what had taken place, dwelling with a flushed cheek on the provocation her brother had received, but almost limiting it to that last gross affront as crowning some other words between them, and out of consideration for her new friend, passing lightly over the fact that the other words had originated in her lovers taking things in general so very easily. To Rosa direct, she brought a petition from her brother that she would forgive him, and, having delivered it with sisterly earnestness, made an end of the subject. It was reserved for Miss Twinkleton to tone down the public mind of the nun's house. That lady therefore entering in a stately manner what plebeians might have called the schoolroom, but what, in the patrician language of the head of the nun's house, was euphemistically, not to say roundaboutly, denominated the apartment allotted to study, and, saying with a forensic air, ladies, all rose. Miss Tisha at the same time grouped herself behind her chief as representing Queen Elizabeth's first historic female friend at Tilbury Fort. Miss Twinkleton then proceeded to remark that, rumour-ladies, had been represented by the bard of Avon. Needless were it to mention the immortal Shakespeare, or also called the swan of his native city, not improbably with some reference to the ancient superstition that that bird of graceful plumage, Miss Jenkins, will please stand upright, sang sweetly on the approach of death, for which we have no ornithological authority. Rumour-ladies had been represented by that bard who drew the celebrated Jew as painted full of tongues. Rumour-inclois to him, Miss Ferdinand, will honour me with her attention, was no exception to the great limnus portrait of Rumour Elsewhere. A slight frack are between two young gentlemen occurring last night within a hundred miles of these peaceful walls. Miss Ferdinand, being apparently incorrigible, will have the kindness to write out this evening in the original language the first four fables of our vivacious neighbour, Monsieur Lafontaine, had been grossly exaggerated by Rumour's voice. In the first alarm and anxiety arising from our sympathy with a sweet young friend, not wholly to be disassociated from one of the gladiators in the bloodless arena in question, the impropriety of Miss Reynolds appearing to stab herself in the hand with a pin is far too obvious, and to unglaringly un-ladylike to be pointed out, we descended from our maiden elevation to discuss the uncongenial and this unfit theme. Responsible inquiries having assured us that it was but one of those airy nothings pointed at by the poet whose name and date of birth Miss Giggles will supply within half an hour, we would now discard the subject and concentrate our minds upon the grateful labours of the day. But the subject so survived the day nevertheless, that Miss Ferdinand got into new trouble by surreptitiously clapping on a paper moustache at dinner-time and going through the motions of aiming a water-bottle at Miss Giggles, who drew a tablespoon in defence. Now Rosa thought of this unlucky quarrel a great deal, and thought of it with an uncomfortable feeling that she was involved in it, as cause or consequence or what not, through being in a false position altogether as to her marriage engagement. Never free from such uneasiness when she was with her affianced husband, it was not likely that she would be free from it when they were apart. To day two she was cast in upon herself and deprived of the relief of talking freely with her new friend, because the quarrel had been with Helena's brother, and Helena undisguisedly avoided the subject as a delicate and difficult one to herself. At this critical time of all times Rosa's guardian was announced as having come to see her. Mr. Grugius had been well selected for his trust as a man of incomparably integrity, but certainly for no other appropriate quality discernable on the surface. He was an arid sandy man who, if he had been put into a grinding mill, looked as if he would have ground immediately into hydride snuff. He had a scanty flat crop of hair in colour and consistency like some very mangy yellow fur tippet. It was so unlike hair that it must have been a wig, but for the stupendous improbability of anybody's voluntarily sporting such a head. The little play of feature that his face presented was cut deep into it in a few hard curves that made it more like work, and he had certain notches in his forehead which looked as though nature had been about to touch them into sensibility or refinement when she had impatiently thrown away the chisel and said, I cannot, I really cannot be worried to finish off this man. Let him go as he is. With too great length of throat at his upper end, and too much ankle bone and heel at his lower, with an awkward and hesitating manner with a shambling walk, and with what is called a nearsight, which perhaps prevented his observing how much white cotton stocking he displayed to the public eye in contrast with his black suit, Mr. Grugius still had some strange capacity in him of making on the whole an agreeable impression. Mr. Grugius was discovered by his ward much discomforted by being in Miss Twinkleton's company in Miss Twinkleton's own sacred room. Dimful bowdings of being examined in something and not coming well out of it seemed to oppress the poor gentleman when found in these circumstances. My dear, how do you do? I am glad to see you. My dear, how much improved you are! Permit me to hand you a chair, my dear. Miss Twinkleton rose at her little writing-table, saying with general sweetness, as to the polite universe, will you permit me to retire? By no means, madame, on my account, I beg that you will not move. I must entreat permission to move, returned Miss Twinkleton, repeating the word with a charming grace. But I will not withdraw, since you are so obliging. If I wheel my desk to this corner-window, shall I be in the way? Madam, in the way! You are very kind. Rosa, my dear, you will be under no constraint, I am sure. Here Mr. Grugius, left by the fire with Rosa, said again, My dear, how do you do? I am glad to see you, my dear. And having waited for her to sit down, sat down himself. My visits, said Mr. Grugius, are like those of the angels, not that I compare myself to an angel. No, sir, said Rosa, not by any means, assented Mr. Grugius. I merely refer to my visits, which are few and far between. The angels are, we know well, upstairs. Miss Twinkleton looked round with a kind of stiff stare. I refer, my dear, said Mr. Grugius, laying his hand on Rosa's, as the possibility thrilled through his frame of his otherwise seeming to take the awful liberty of calling Miss Twinkleton, my dear. I refer to the other young ladies. Miss Twinkleton resumed her writing. Mr. Grugius, with a sense of not having managed his opening point quite as neatly as he might have desired, smoothed his head from back to front, as if he had just dived, and were pressing the water out. This smoothing action, however superfluous, was habitual with him, and took a pocket-book from his coat-pocket, and a stump of black-lead pencil from his waistcoat-pocket. I made, he said, turning the leaves, I made a guiding memorandum or so, as I usually do, for I have no conversational powers whatever, to which I will, with your permission, my dear, refer her. Well and happy? Truly! You are well and happy, my dear? You look so? Yes indeed, sir, answered Rosa. For which, said Mr. Grugius, with a bend of his head towards the corner-window, our warm his acknowledgements are due, and I am sure are rendered to the maternal kindness and the constant care and consideration of the lady whom I have now the honour to see before me. This point, again, made but a lame departure from Mr. Grugius, and never got to its destination, for Miss Twenkelton, feeling that the courtesies required her to be by this time quite outside the conversation, was biting the end of her pen and looking upward, as waiting for the descent of an idea from any member of the celestial nine, who might have one to spare. Mr. Grugius smoothed his smooth head again, and then made another reference to his pocket-book, lining out well and happy, as disposed of. Pound's shillings had pence, is my next note, a dry subject for a young lady, but an important subject too. Life is Pound's shillings and pence, death is—a sudden recollection of the death of her two parents seemed to stop him, and he said in a softer tone, and evidently inserting the negative as an afterthought, death is not Pound's shillings and pence. His voice was as hard and dry as himself, and fancy might have ground it straight like himself into a hydride snuff. And yet, through the very limited means of expression that he possessed, he seemed to express kindness. If nature had but finished him off, kindness might have been recognisable in his face at this moment. But if the notches in his forehead wouldn't fuse together, and if his face would work and couldn't play, what could he do, poor man? Pound's shillings and pence, you find your allowance always sufficient for your once, my dear? Rosa wanted for nothing, and therefore it was ample. And you are not in debt? Rosa laughed at the idea of being in debt. It seemed to her inexperience a comical vagary of the imagination. Mr. Grugius stretched his nearsight to be sure that this was her view of the case. Ah! he said as comment, with a furtive glance towards Miss Twinkerton, and lining out Pound's shillings and pence. I spoke of having got among the angels, so I did. Rosa felt what his next memorandum would prove to be, and was blushing and folding a crease in her dress with one embarrassed hand, long before he found it. Marriage! Mr. Grugius carried his smoothing hand down over his eyes and nose, and even chin before drawing his chair a little nearer, and speaking a little more confidentially. I now touch, my dear, upon the point that is the direct cause of my troubling you with the present visit. Otherwise, being a particularly angular man, I should not have intruded here. I am the last man to intrude into a sphere for which I am so entirely unfitted. I feel, on these premises, as if I was a bear, with the cramp in a youthful cotillon. His ungainliness gave him enough of the air of his simile, to set Rosa off, larting halfily. It strikes you in the same light, said Mr. Grugius, with perfect calmness, just so. To return to my memorandum, Mr. Edwin has been to and fro here, as was arranged. You have mentioned that in your quarterly letters to me. And you like him? And he likes you? I like him very much, sir, rejoined Rosa. So I said, my dear, returned her guardian, for whose ear the timid emphasis was much too fine. Good! and you correspond! We write to one another, said Rosa, pouting, as she recalled their epistolary differences. Which is the meaning that I attach to the word correspond in this application, my dear? said Mr. Grugius. Good! All goes well, time works on, and at this next Christmas time it will become necessary as a matter of form to give the exemplary lady in the corner window, to whom we are so much indebted, business notice of your departure in the ensuing half-year. Your relations with her are far more than business relations, no doubt. But a residue of business remains in them, and business is business ever. I am a particularly angular man, proceeded Mr. Grugius, as if it suddenly occurred to him to mention it. And I am not used to give anything away, if for these two reasons some competent proxy would give you away, I shall take it very kindly. Rosa intimated with her eyes on the ground that she thought a substitute might be found, if required. Surely, surely, said Mr. Grugius, for instance the gentleman who teaches dancing here, he would know how to do it with graceful propriety. He would advance and retire in a manner satisfactory to the feelings of the officiating clergyman and of yourself, and the bridegroom and all parties concerned. I am a particularly angular man, said Mr. Grugius, as if he had made up his mind to screw it out at last, and should only blunder. Rosa sat still and silent. Perhaps her mind had not got quite so far as the ceremony yet, but was lagging on the way there. Memorandum will. Now, my dear, said Mr. Grugius, referring to his notes, disposing of marriage with his pencil, and taking a paper from his pocket, although I have before possessed you with the contents of your father's will, I think it right at this time to leave a certified copy of it in your hands. And although Mr. Edwin is also aware of its contents, I think it right at this time likewise to place a certified copy of it in Mr. Jasper's hand. Not in his own, asked Rosa, looking up quickly, cannot the copy go to Eddie himself? Why, yes, my dear, if you particularly wish it, but I spoke of Mr. Jasper as being his trustee. I do particularly wish it, if you please, said Rosa hurriedly and earnestly. I don't like Mr. Jasper to come between us in any way. It is natural, I suppose, said Mr. Grugius, that our young husband should be all in all, yes. You observe that I say, I suppose. The fact is, I am a particularly unnatural man, and I don't know from my own knowledge. Rosa looked at him with some wonder. I mean, he explained, that young ways were never my ways. I was the only offspring of parents far advanced in life, and I half-believe I was born advanced in life myself. No personality is intended towards the name you will so soon change when I remark that, while the general growth of people seems to have come into existence buds, I seem to have come into existence a chip. I was a chip, and a very dry one, when I first became aware of myself. Respecting the other certified copy, your wish shall be complied with. Respecting your inheritance, I think you know all. It is an annuity of two hundred and fifty pounds. The savings upon that annuity, and some other items to your credit, all duly carried into account with vouchers, will place you in possession of a lump sum of money, rather exceeding seventeen hundred pounds. I am empowered to advance the cost of your preparations for your marriage out of that fund. All is told. Will you please tell me, said Rosa, taking the paper with a prettily knitted brow, but not opening it, whether I am right in what I am going to say? I can understand what you tell me so very much better than what I read in law-writings. My poor papa and Eddie's father made their agreement together as very dear and firm and fast friends. In order that we too might be very dear and firm and fast friends after them, just so. For the lasting good of both of us, and the lasting happiness of both of us, just so, that we might be to one another even much more than they had been to one another, just so. It was not bound upon Eddie, and it was not bound upon me by any forfeit, in case, don't be agitated, my dear. In the case that it brings tears into your affectionate eyes, even to picture to yourself, in the case of your not marrying one another, no, no forfeit you are on either side. You would have then been my ward until you were of age. Who worse would have befallen you? Bad enough, perhaps? And Eddie? He would have come into his partnership, derived from his father, and into its arrears to his credit, if any, on attaining his majority just as now. Rosa with her perplexed face and knitted brow bit the corner of her attested copy as she sat with her head on one side, looking abstractedly at the floor and smoothing it with her foot. In short, said Mr. Grugius, this betrothal is a wish, a sentiment, a friendly project, tenderly expressed on both sides, that it was strongly felt and that there was a lively hope that it would prosper there can be no doubt. When you were both children you began to be accustomed to it, and it has prospered, but circumstances alter cases, and I made this visit to-day partly indeed principally to discharge myself of the duty of telling you, my dear, that two young people can only be betrothed in marriage, except as a matter of convenience and therefore mockery and misery, of their own free will, their own attachment and their own assurance. It may or it may not prove a mistaken one, but we must take our chance on that, that they are suited to each other and will make each other happy. Is it to be supposed, for example, that if either of your fathers were living now and had any mistrust on that subject, his mind would not be changed by the change of circumstances involved in the change of your years, untenable, unreasonable, inconclusive, and preposterous? Mr. Grugius said all this, as if he were reading it aloud, or still more, as if he were repeating a lesson, so expressionless of any approach to spontaneity were his face and manner. I have now, my dear, he added, blurring out will with his pencil, discharge myself of what is doubtless of formal duty in this case, but still a duty in such a case. Memorandum wishes, my dear, is there any wish of yours that I can further? Rosa shook her head with an almost plaintive air of hesitation in want of help. Is there any instruction that I can take from you with reference to your affairs? I should like to settle them with Eddie first, if you please, said Rosa, platting the crease in her dress. Surely, surely, return, Mr. Grugius, you too should be of one mind in all things. Is the young gentleman expected shortly? He has gone away only this morning. He will be back at Christmas. Nothing could happen better. You will, on his return at Christmas, arrange all matters of detail with him. You will then communicate with me, and I will discharge myself as a mere business acquaintance of my business responsibilities towards the accomplished lady in the corner window. They will accrue at that season, blurring pencil once again. Memorandum, leave, yes, I will now, my dear, take my leave. Could I, said Rosa, rising, as he jerked out of his chair in his ungainly way, could I ask you most kindly to come to me at Christmas, if I had anything particular to say to you? Why, certainly, certainly, he rejoined, apparently, if such a word can be used of one who has no apparent lights and shadows about him, complimented by the question. As a particularly angular man, I do not fit smoothly into the social circle, and consequently I have no other engagement at Christmas time than to partake on the twenty-fifth of a boiled turkey and celery sauce with a particularly angular clerk I have the good fortune to possess, whose father, being a Norfolk farmer, sends him up, the turkey up, as a present to me from the neighbourhood of Norwich. I should be quite proud of your wishing to see me, my dear. As a professional receiver of rents, so very few people do wish to see me, that the novelty would be bracing. For his ready acquiescence the grateful Rosa put her hands upon his shoulders, stood on tiptoe, and instantly kissed him. Lord bless me, cried Mr. Grugeous, thank you, my dear. The honour is almost equal to the pleasure. Miss Twinkleton, madam, I have had a most satisfactory conversation with my ward, and I will now release you from the encumbrance of my presence. Nay, sir, rejoined Miss Twinkleton, rising with a gracious condescension, say not in cumbrance, not so by any means, I cannot permit you to say so. The thank you, madam. I have read in the newspapers, said Mr. Grugeous, stammering a little, that when a distinguished visitor, not that I am one far from it, goes to a school, not that this is one far from it. He asks for a holiday or some kind of grace. It being now the afternoon in the college, of which you are the eminent head, the young ladies might gain nothing except in name, by having the rest of the day allowed them. But if there is any young lady at all under a cloud, might I solicit— Ah, Mr. Grugeous, Mr. Grugeous, cried Miss Twinkleton, with a chastely rallying forefinger. O you gentlemen, you gentlemen, fie for shame, that you are so hard upon us poor, maligned disciplinarians of our sex, for your sakes. But as Miss Ferdinand is at present weighed down by an incubus, Miss Twinkleton might have said a pen and incubus of writing out Mr. Lafontaine. Go to her, Rosa, my dear, and tell her the penalty is remitted, in deference to the intercession of your guardian, Mr. Grugeous. Miss Twinkleton here achieved a curtsy, suggestive of marbles happening to her respected legs, and which she came out of nobly, three yards behind her starting-point. As he held it incumbent upon him to call on Mr. Jasper before leaving Cloisterham, Mr. Grugeous went to the gate-house and climbed its post and stair, but Mr. Jasper's door being closed and presenting on a slip of paper the word Cathedral the fact of it being service-time was borne into the mind of Mr. Grugeous. So he descended the stair again, and crossing the close, paused at the great western-folding door of the Cathedral, which stood open on the fine and bright, though short-lived afternoon, for the airing of the place. Dear me! said Mr. Grugeous, peeping in, it's like looking down the throat of old time. Old time heaved a mouldy sigh from tomb and arch and vault, and gloomy shadows began to deepen in corners, and damps began to rise from green patches of stone, and jewels cast upon the pavement of the nave from stained glass by the declining sun began to perish. Within the grill-gate of the chancel, up the steps amounted loomingly by the fast darkening organ, white robes could be dimly seen, and one feeble voice, rising and falling in a cracked monotonous mutter, could at intervals be faintly heard. In the free outer air, the river, the green pastures, and the brown arable lands, the teeming hills and dales, were reddened by the sunset, while the distant little windows in windmills and farm homesteads shone patches of bright-beaten gold. In the cathedral all became grey, murky and sepulchral, and the cracked monotonous mutter went on like a dying voice, until the organ and the choir burst forth, and drowned it in a sea of music. Then the sea fell, and the dying voice made another feeble effort, and then the sea rose high and beat its life out, and lashed the roof, and surged among the arches, and pierced the heights of the great tower, and then the sea was dry, and all was still. Mr. Grugeous had by that time walked to the chancel's steps, where he met the living waters coming out. Nothing is the matter. Thus Jasper accosted him rather quickly. You have not been sent for. Not at all, not at all. I came down of my own accord. I have been to my pretty wards, and am now homeward bound again. You found her thriving. Blooming indeed most blooming, I merely came to tell her seriously what a betrothal by deceased parents is. And what is it according to your judgment? Mr. Grugeous noticed the whiteness of the lips that asked the question, and put it down to the chilling account of the cathedral. I merely came to tell her that it could not be considered binding. Against any such reason for its dissolution as a want of affection or want of disposition to carry it into effect, on the side of either party. May I ask, had you any special reason for telling her that? Mr. Grugeous answered somewhat sharply. There is special reason of doing my duty, sir, simply that. Then he added, Come, Mr. Jasper, I know your affection for your nephew, and that you are quick to feel on his behalf. I assure you that this implies not the least doubt or disrespect to your nephew. You could not, returned Jasper, with a friendly pressure on his arm as they walked on side by side, speak more handsomely. Mr. Grugeous pulled off his hat to smooth his head, and having smoothed it, nodded it contentedly, and put his hat on again. I will wager, said Jasper, smiling. His lips were still so white that he was conscious of it, and bit and moistened them while speaking. I will wager that she hinted no wish to be released from Ned. And you will win your wager, if you do, retorted Mr. Grugeous. You should allow some margin for little maidenly delicacies in a young motherless creature, under the circumstances, I suppose. It is not in my line. What do you think? There can be no doubt of it. I am glad you say so, because, proceeded Mr. Grugeous, who had all this time very knowingly felt his way round to action on his remembrance of what she had said of Jasper himself, because she seems to have some little delicate instinct, that all preliminary arrangements had best been made between Mr. Edwin Drude and herself, don't you see? She don't want us, don't you know? Mr. Grugeous touched himself on the breast, and said, somewhat indistinctly, You mean me. Mr. Grugeous touched himself on the breast, and said, I mean us. Therefore let them have their little discussions and counsels together, when Mr. Edwin Drude comes back here at Christmas, and then you and I will step in and put the final touches to the business. So you settled with her that you would come back at Christmas, observed Jasper, I see. Mr. Grugeous, as you quite fairly said just now, there is an exceptional attachment between my nephew and me, that I am more sensitive for the dear, fortunate, happy, happy fellow than for myself. But it is only right that the young lady should be considered, as you have pointed out, and that I should accept my cue from you. I accept it. I understand that at Christmas they will complete their preparations for May, and that their marriage will be put in final train by themselves, and that nothing will remain for us but to put ourselves in train also, and have everything ready for our formal release from our trusts on Edwin's birthday. That is my understanding, scented Mr. Grugeous, as they shook hands to part. God bless them both. God save them both, cried Jasper. I said bless them, remarked the former, looking back over his shoulder. I said save them, returned the latter. Is there any difference? End of chapter 9, read by Alan Chant of Tumbridge Kent, England, in January 2008. Chapter 10 of The Mystery of Edwin Drude This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Alan Chant. The Mystery of Edwin Drude. The Unfinished Novel by Charles Dickens. Chapter 10, Smoothing the Way It has been often enough remarked that women have a curious power of divining the characters of men, which would seem to be innate and instinctive, seeing that it is arrived at through no patient process of reasoning, that it can give no satisfactory or sufficient account of itself, and that it pronounces in the most confident manner even against accumulated observation on the part of the other sex. But it has not been quite so often remarked that this power, fallible like every other human attribute, is for the most part absolutely incapable of self-revision, and that when it has delivered an adverse opinion, which by all human lights is subsequently proved to have failed, it is undistinguishable from prejudice, in respect of its determination not to be corrected. Nay, the very possibility of contradiction or disproof, however remote, communicates to this feminine judgment from the first, in nine cases out of ten, the weakness attendant on the testimony of an interested witness. So personally and strongly does the fair diviner connect herself with her divination. Now don't you think, Ma, dear, said the minor canon to his mother one day as she sat at her knitting in his little book-room, that you are rather hard on Mr. Neville? No, I do not, Sepp, returned the old lady. Let us discuss it, Ma. I have no objection to discuss it, Sepp. I trust, my dear, I am always open to discussion. There was a vibration in the old lady's cap as though she internally added, and I should like to see the discussion that would change my mind. Very good, Ma, said her concilatory son, there is nothing like being open to discussion. I hope not, my dear, returned the old lady, evidently shut to it. Well, Mr. Neville, on that unfortunate occasion, commits himself under provocation. And under mulled wine, added the old lady. I must admit the wine, though I believe the two young men were much alike in that regard. I don't, said the old lady. Why not, Ma? Because I don't, said the old lady. Still, I am quite open to discussion. But, my dear Ma, I cannot see how we are to discuss if you take that line. Blame Mr. Neville for it, Sepp, and not me, said the old lady, with stately severity. My dear Ma, why Mr. Neville? Because, said Mrs. Crisp Sparkle, retiring on first principles, he came home intoxicated and did great discredit to this house, and showed great disrespect to this family. That is not to be denied, Ma. He was then, and he is now, very sorry for it. But, for Mr. Jasper's well-bred consideration in coming up to me next day after service in the nave itself, with his gown still on, and expressing his hope that I had not been greatly alarmed, or had my rest violently broken, I believe I might never have heard of that disgraceful transaction, said the old lady. To be candid, Ma, I think I should have kept it from you, if I could, though I had not decidedly made up my mind. I was following Jasper out, to confer with him on the subject, and to consider the expediency of his and my jointly hushing the thing up on all accounts, when I found him speaking to you. Then it was too late. Too late indeed, set. He was still as pale as gentlemanly ashes at what had taken place in his rooms overnight. If I had kept it from you, Ma, you may be sure that it would have been for your peace and quiet, and for the good of the young men and in my best discharge of my duty, according to my lights. The old lady immediately walked across the room and kissed him, saying, Of course, my dear Sepp, I am sure of that. However, it became the town talk, said Mr. Crisp Sparkle, rubbing his ear, as his mother resumed her seat and her knitting, and passed out of my power. And I said then, Sepp, returned the old lady, that I thought ill of Mr. Neville, and I say now that I think ill of Mr. Neville, and I said then and I say now that I hope Mr. Neville may come to good, but I don't believe he will. Hear the cap vibrated again considerably. I am sorry to hear you say so, Ma. And I am sorry to say so, my dear, interposed the old lady, knitting on firmly, but I can't help it. For, pursued the minor canon, it is undeniable that Mr. Neville is exceedingly industrious and attentive, and that he improves a pace, and that he has, I hope I may say, an attachment for me. There is no merit in the last article, my dear, said the old lady quickly, and if he says there is, I think the worst of him for the boast, but my dear Ma, he never said there was. Perhaps not, said the old lady, still I don't see that it greatly signifies. There was no impatience in the pleasant look with which Mr. Crisp Sparkle contemplated the pretty old piece of china as it knitted, but there was certainly a humorous sense of it not being a piece of china to argue with very closely. Besides, Sepp, ask yourself what he would be without his sister. You know what an influence she has over him. You know what a capacity she has. You know that whenever he reads with you, he reads with her. Give her her fair share of your praise, and how much do you leave for him? With these words Mr. Crisp Sparkle fell into a little reverie, in which he thought of several things. He thought of the times he had seen the brother and sister together in deep converse over one of his own old college books, now in the rhymy mornings, when he had made those sharpening pilgrimages to cloister and weir. Now in the somber evenings, when he faced the wind at sunset, having climbed his favourite outlook, a beatling fragment of monastery ruin, and the two studious figures passed below him, along the margin of the river in which the town's fires and lights already shone, making the landscape bleaker. He thought how the consciousness had stolen upon him that in teaching one he was teaching two, and how he had almost insensibly adapted his explanations to both minds, that with which his own was daily in contact, and that which he only approached through it. He thought of the gossip that had reached him from the nun's house, to the effect that Helena, whom he had mistrusted as so proud and fierce, submitted herself to the fairy bride, as he called her, and learnt from her what she knew. He thought of the picturesque alliance between those two, externally so very different. He thought, perhaps most of all, could it be that these things which were yet, but so many weeks old, had become an integral part of his life? As whenever the reverent Septimus fell amusing, his good mother took it to be an infallible sign that he wanted support. The blooming old lady made all haste to the dining-room closet, to produce from it the support embodied in a glass of Constantine and a homemade biscuit. It was a most wonderful closet, worthy of cloister-room, and of minor cannon-corner. Above it a portrait of Handel in a flowing wig beamed down at the spectator, with the knowing air of being up to the contents of the closet, and a musical air of intending to combine all its harmonies in one delicious fugue. No common closet, with a vulgar door on hinges, opening all at once, and leaving nothing to be disclosed by degrees. This rare closet had a lock in mid-air, where two perpendicular slides met, the one falling down and the other pushing up. The upper slide, on being pulled down, leaving the lower a double mystery, revealed deep shelves of pickle-jars, jam-pots, tin canisters, spice-boxes, and agreeably outlandish vessels of blue and white, the luscious lodgings of preserved tamarins and ginger. Every benevolent inhabitant of this retreat had his name inscribed upon his stomach, the pickles in a uniform of rich brown double-breasted buttoned coat, and yellow or somber drab continuations announced their portly forms in printed capitals as walnut, gherkin, onion, cabbage, cauliflower, mixed, and other members of that noble family. The jams, as being of a less masculine temperament, and as wearing curl-papers, announced themselves in feminine calligraphy like a soft whisper, to be raspberry, gooseberry, apricot, plum, damson, apple, and peach. The scene closing on these charmers and the lower slide ascending, oranges were revealed, attended by a mighty Japan sugar-box, to temper their acerbity if unripe. Homemade biscuits waited at the court of these powers, accompanied by a goodly fragment of plum-cake, and various slender ladies' fingers to be dipped into sweet wine and kissed. Lowest of all, a compact leaden vault enshrined the sweet wine and a stock of cordials, wents issued whispers of civil orange, lemon, almond, and caraway seed. There was a crowning air upon this closet of closets, of having been for ages hummed through by the cathedral-bell and organ, until those venerable bees had made sublimated honey of everything in store. And it was always observed that every dipper among the shelves, deep as has been noted, and swallowing up head-shoulders and elbows, came forth again mellow-faced, and seeming to have undergone a saccharine transfiguration. The reverent Septimus yielded himself up, quite as willing a victim to a nauseous medicinal herb-closet, as presided over by the china shepherdess, as to this glorious cupboard. To what amazing infusions of gentian peppermint, gilliflower, sage, parsley, thyme, roue, rosemary, and dandelion did his courageous stomach submit itself. In what wonderful wrappers, in closing layers of dried leaves, would he swave his rosy and contented face, if his mother suspected him of a toothache? What botanical blotches would he cheerfully stick upon his cheek or forehead, if the dear old lady convinced him of an imperceptible pimple there? Into this herbaceous penitentiary, situated on an upper staircase-landing, a low and narrow, whitewashed cell, where bunches of dried leaves hung from rusty hooks in the ceiling, and were spread out upon shelves, in company with portentious bottles, would the reverent Septimus submissively be led? Like the highly popular lamb who has so long and unresistingly been led to the slaughter, and there would he, unlike that lamb, bore nobody but himself. Not even doing that much, so that the old lady were busy and pleased, he would quietly swallow what were given him, merely taking a corrective dip of hands and face into the great bowl of dried rose-leaves, and into the other great bowl of dried lavender, and then would go out, as confident in the sweetening powers of cloister and weir, and a wholesome mind, as Lady Macbeth was hopeless of those of all the seas that roll. In the present instance the good minor canon took his glass of Constantine with an excellent grace, and so supported to his mother's satisfaction, applied himself to the remaining duties of the day. In their orderly and punctual progress they brought round vests per service and twilight. The cathedral being very cold he set off for a brisk trot after service. The trot to end in a charge at his favourite fragment of ruin, which was to be carried by storm without a pause for breath. He carried it in a masterly manner, and not breathed even then stood looking down upon the river. The river at Cloisterham is sufficiently near the sea, to throw up often times a quantity of seaweed. An unusual quantity had come in with the last tide, and this and the confusion of the water, and the restless dripping and flapping of the noisy gulls, and an angry light out seaward beyond the brown-sailed barges that were turning black foreshadowed a stormy night. In his mind he was contrasting the wild and noisy sea with the quiet harbour of minor cannon-corner, when Helena and Neville Landless passed below him. He had had the two together in his thoughts all day, and at once climbed down to speak to them together. The footing was rough in an uncertain light, for any tread saved that of a good climber, but the minor cannon was as good a climber as most men, and stood beside them before many good climbers would have been half-way down. A wild evening, Miss Landless, do you not find your usual walk with your brother too exposed and cold for the time of year? Or at all events when the sun is down and the weather is driving in from the sea? Helena thought not. It was their favourite walk. It was very retired. It is very retired, ascended Mr. Chris Barkle, laying hold of his opportunity straightway, and walking on with them. It is a place of all others where one can speak without interruption, as I wish to do. Mr. Neville, I believe you tell your sister everything that passes between us. Everything, sir. Consequently, said Mr. Chris Barkle, your sister is aware that I have repeatedly urged you to make some kind of apology for that unfortunate occurrence which befell on the night of your arrival here. In saying it he looked at her, and not to him, therefore it was she and not he who replied. Yes. I call it unfortunate, Miss Helena, resumed Mr. Chris Barkle, for as much as it certainly has engendered a prejudice against Neville. There is a notion about that he is a dangerously passionate fellow of such uncontrollable and furious temper. He is really avoided as such. I have no doubt he is poor fellow, said Helena with a look of proud compassion at her brother, expressing a deep sense of his being ungenerously treated. I should be quite sure of it, from your saying so. But what you tell me is confirmed by suppressed hints and references that I meet with every day. Now, Miss Chris Barkle, again resumed, in a tone of mild though firm persuasion, is not this to be regretted, and ought it not to be amended? These are early days of Neville's in Cloisterham, and I have no fear of his outliving such a prejudice and proving himself to have been misunderstood. He said, how much wiser to take action at once than to trust to uncertain time, besides, apart from its being politic, it is right, for there can be no question that Neville was wrong. He was provoked, Helena submitted. He was the assailant, Mr. Chris Barkle submitted. They walked on in silence, until Helena raised her eyes to the minor cannon's face, and said, almost reproachfully, Oh, Mr. Chris Barkle, would you have Neville throw himself at young Druid's feet, or at Mr. Jasper's whom aligns him every day? In your heart you cannot mean it. From your heart you could not do it, if his case were yours. I have represented to Mr. Chris Barkle, Helena, said Neville, with a glance of deference towards his tutor, that if I could do it from my heart I would, but I cannot, and I revolt from the pretence. You forget, however, that to put the case to Mr. Chris Barkle as his own is to suppose to have done what I did. I ask his pardon, said Helena. You see, remarked Mr. Chris Barkle, again laying hold of his opportunity, though with a moderate and delicate touch. You both instinctively acknowledged that Neville did wrong. Then why stop short and not otherwise acknowledge it? Is there no difference, asked Helena with a little faltering in her manner, between submission to a generous spirit, and submission to a base or trivial one? Before the worthy minor cannon was quite ready with his argument, in reference to this nice distinction, Neville struck in. Help me to clear myself with Mr. Chris Barkle, Helena. Help me to convince him that I cannot be the first to make concessions without mockery and falsehood. My nature must be changed before I can do so, and it is not changed. I am sensible of inexpressible affront, and deliberate aggravation of inexpressible affront, and I am angry. The plain truth is, I am still as angry when I recall that night, as I was that night. Neville, hinted the minor cannon with a steady countenance. You have repeated that former action of your hands, which I so much dislike. I am sorry for it, sir, but it was involuntary. I confessed that I was still as angry. And I confess, said Mr. Chris Barkle, that I hoped for better things. I am sorry to disappoint you, sir, but it would be far worse to deceive you, and I should deceive you grossly if I pretended that you had softened me in this respect. The time may come when your powerful influence will do even that with the difficult pupil whose antecedents you know, but it has not come yet. Is this so, and in spite of my struggles against myself, Helena? She who's dark eyes were watching the effect of what he said on Mr. Chris Barkle's face replied to Mr. Chris Barkle not to him. It is so. After a short pause she answered the slightest look of inquiry conceivable in her brother's eyes, with as slight an affirmative bend of her own head, and he went on. I have never yet had the courage to say to you, sir, what in full openness I ought to have said when you first talked with me on this subject. It is not easy to say, and I have been withheld by a fear of it seeming ridiculous, which is very strong upon me, down to this last moment, and might but for my sister prevent my being quite open with you even now. I admire, Miss Bud, sir, so very much, that I cannot bear her being treated with conceit or indifference, and even if I did not feel that I had an injury against young Druud on my own account, I should feel that I had an injury against him on hers. Mr. Chris Barkle, in utter amazement, looked at Helena for corroboration, and met in her expressive face full corroboration, and a plea for advice. The young lady of whom you speak is, as you know, Mr. Neville, shortly to be married, said Mr. Chris Barkle gravely. Therefore your admiration, if it be of that special nature which you seem to indicate, is outrageously misplaced. Moreover it is monstrous that you should take upon yourself to be the young lady's champion against her chosen husband. Besides, you have seen them only once. The young lady has become your sister's friend, and I wonder that your sister, even on her behalf, has not checked you in this irrational and culpable fancy. She has tried, sir, but uselessly. Husband or no husband, that fellow is incapable of the feeling with which I am inspired towards the beautiful young creature whom he treats like a doll. I say he is as incapable of it as he is unworthy of her. I say she is sacrificed in being bestowed upon him. I say that I love her, and despise and hate him. This with a face so flushed, and a gesture so violent, that his sister crossed to his side and caught his arm, remonstrating, Neville, Neville! Thus recalled to himself, he quickly became sensible of having lost the guard he had set upon his passionate tendency, and covered his face with his hand as one repentant and wretched. The chrysparkle watching him attentively, and at the same time meditating how to proceed, walked on for some paces in silence. Then he spoke, Mr. Neville, Mr. Neville, I am sorely grieved to see in you more traces of a character as sullen, angry, and wild as the night now closing in. They are of too serious an aspect to leave me the resource of treating the infatuation you have disclosed as undeserving serious consideration. I give it very serious consideration, and I speak to you accordingly. The feud between you and young druid must not go on. I cannot permit it to go on any longer, knowing what I now know from you, and you living under my roof. Whatever prejudice and unauthorised constructions your blind and envious wrath may put upon his character, it is a full, good-natured character. I know I can trust to it for that. Now pray, observe what I am about to say. On reflection, and on your sister's representation, I am willing to admit that, in making peace with young druid, you have a right to be met halfway. I will engage that you shall be, and even that young druid shall make the first advance. This condition fulfilled, you will pledge me the honour of a Christian gentleman that the quarrel is forever at an end on your side. What may be in your heart when you give him your hand can only be known to the searcher of all hearts, but it will never go well with you, if there be any treachery there. So far as to that, next, as to what I must again speak of as your infatuation, I understand it to have been confided to me, and to be known to no other person save your sister and yourself, do I understand a right? Helena answered in a low tone. It is only known to us three who are here together. It is not known at all to the young lady, your friend, or my soul know. I require, then, to give me your similar and solemn pledge, Mr. Neville, that it shall remain the secret it is, and that you will take no other action whatsoever upon it than endeavouring, and that most earnestly, to erase it from your mind. I will not tell you that it will soon pass. I will not tell you that it is the fancy of the moment. I will not tell you that such caprices have their rise and fall among the young and ardent every hour. I will leave you undisturbed in the belief that it has few parallels or none, that it will abide with you for a long time, and that it will be very difficult to conquer. So much the more weight I shall attach to the pledge I require from you, when it is unreservedly given. The young man twice authorised essay to speak, but failed. Let me leave you with your sister, whom it is time you took home, said Mr. Chris Barkle. You will find me alone in my room by and by. Pray do not leave us yet, Helena implored him, another minute. I should not, said Neville, pressing his hand upon his face, have needed so much as another minute, if you had been less patient with me, Mr. Chris Barkle, less considerate of me, and less unpretendingly good and true. Oh, if in my childhood I had known such a guide! Know your guide now, Neville, murmured Helena, and follow him to heaven. There was that in her tone, which broke the good minor cannon's voice, or it would have repudiated her exultation of him. As it was, he laid a finger on his lips, and looked towards her brother, to say that I give both pledges, Mr. Chris Barkle, out of my innermost heart, and to say that there is no treasury in it, is to say nothing. Thus Neville greatly moved. I beg your forgiveness for my miserable lapse into a burst of passion. Not my Neville, not mine! You know with whom forgiveness lies, as the highest attribute conceivable. Miss Helena, you and your brother are twin children. You came into this world with the same dispositions, and you passed your younger days together, surrounded by the same adverse circumstances. What you have overcome in yourself, can you not overcome in him? You see the rock that lies in his course. Who but you can keep him clear of it? Who but you, sir? replied Helena. What is my influence or my weak wisdom, compared with yours? You have the wisdom of love, returned the minor canon, and it was the highest wisdom ever known upon this earth, remember, as to mine, about the least said of that commonplace commodity, the better. Good night. She took the hand he offered her, and gratefully and almost reverently raised it to her lips. Tutt, said the minor canon softly, I am much overpaid. And turned away, retracing his steps towards the cathedral-clothes, he tried, as he went along in the dark, to think out the best means of bringing to pass what he had promised to effect, and what must somehow be done. I shall probably be asked to marry them, he reflected, and I would they were married and gone, but this press is first. He debated principally whether he should write to young Druud, or whether he should speak to Jasper. The consciousness of being popular with the whole cathedral establishment inclined him to the latter course, and the well-timed sight of the lighted gatehouse decided him to take it. I will strike while the iron is hot, he said, and see him now. Jasper was lying asleep on a couch before the fire, when, having ascended the post and stare, and received no answer to his knock at the door, Mr. Chris Sparkle gently turned the handle and looked in. Long afterwards he had caused to remember how Jasper sprang from the couch in a delirious state between sleeping and waking, and crying out, What is the matter? Who did it? It is only I, Jasper. I am sorry to have disturbed you. The glare of his eyes settled down into a look of recognition, and he moved a chair or two to make a way to the fireside. I was dreaming at a great rate, and am glad to be disturbed from an indigestive after dinner sleep, not to mention that you are always welcome. Thank you. I am not confident, returned Mr. Chris Sparkle, as he sat himself down in the easy-chair place for him, that the subject will at first sight be quite as welcome as myself, but I am a minister of peace, and I pursue my subject in the interests of peace. In a word, Jasper, I want to establish peace between these two young fellows. A very perplexing expression took hold of Mr. Jasper's face, a very perplexing expression too, for Mr. Chris Sparkle could make nothing of it. How was Jasper's inquiry in a low and slow voice, after a silence? For the how I come to you. I want to ask you to do me the great favour and service of interposing with your nephew. I have already interposed with Mr. Neville, and getting him to write you a short note in his lively way, saying that he is willing to shake hands. I know what a good-natured fellow he is, and what influence you have with him. And without in the least defending Mr. Neville, we must all admit that he was bitterly stung. Jasper turned that perplexed face towards the fire. Mr. Chris Sparkle continuing to observe it, found it even more perplexing than before, inasmuch as it seemed to denote, which could hardly be, some close internal calculation. I know that you are not predisposed in Mr. Neville's favour, the minor canon was going on when Jasper stopped him. You have cause to say so. I am not indeed. Undoubtedly, and I admit his lamentable violence of temper, though I hope he and I will get the better of it between us. But I have exacted a very solemn promise from him as to his future demeanour towards your nephew. So if you do kindly interpose, I am sure he will keep it. You are always responsible and trustworthy, Mr. Chris Sparkle. Do you really feel sure that you can answer for him so confidently? I do. The perplexed and perplexing look vanished. When you relieve my mind of a great dread, and a heavy weight, said Jasper, I will do it. Mr. Chris Sparkle, delighted by the swiftness and completeness of his success, acknowledged it in the handsomest terms. I will do it, repeated Jasper, for the comfort of having your guarantee against my vague and unfounded fears. Who will laugh? But do you keep a diary? A line for a day, not more. A line for a day would be quite as much as my uneventful life would need. Heaven knows, said Jasper, taking a book from a desk. But that my diary is, in fact, a diary of Ned's life, too. You will laugh at this entry. You will guess when it was made. Past midnight, after what I have now seen, I have a morbid dread upon me of some horrible consequence resulting to my dear boy that I cannot reason with or in any way contend against. All my efforts are in vain. The demoniacal passion of this neverlandless, his strength in his fury and his savage rage for the destruction of its object appalled me. So profound is the impression that twice since I have gone into my dear boy's room to assure myself of his sleeping safely and not lying dead in his blood. Here is another entry next morning. Ned up and away, light-hearted and unsuspicious as ever. He laughed when I cautioned him, and he said he was as good a man as neverlandless any day. I told him that it might be, but he was not as bad a man. He continued to make light of it, but I travelled with him as far as I could, and left him most unwillingly. I am unable to shake off these dark, intangible presentiments of evil, if feelings founded upon staring facts are so to be called. Again and again, said Jasper, in conclusion, twirling the leaves of the book before putting it by, I have relapsed into these moods as other entries show, but I have now your assurance at my back, and shall put it in my book, and make it an antidote to my black humours. Such an antidote, I hope, returned Mr. Chris Sparkle, as will induce you before long to consign the black humours to the flames. I ought to be the last to find fault with you this evening, when you have met my wishes so freely, but I must say, Jasper, that your devotion to your nephew has made you exaggerate here. You are my witness, said Jasper, shrugging his shoulders. What my state of mind honestly was that night before I sat down to write, and in what words I expressed it. You remember objecting to a word I used as being too strong? It was a stronger word than any in my diary. Well, well, try the antidote, rejoined Mr. Chris Sparkle, and may it give you a brighter and better view of the case. We will discuss it no more now. I have to thank you for myself, thank you sincerely. You shall find, said Jasper, as they shook hands, that I will not do the thing you wish me to do by halves. I will take care that Ned, giving way at all, shall give way thoroughly. On the third day after this conversation he called on Mr. Chris Sparkle with the following letter. My dear Jack, I am touched by your account of the interview with Mr. Chris Sparkle, whom I much respect and esteem. At once I openly say that I forgot myself on that occasion quite as much as Mr. Landlis did, and that I wish that bygone to be a bygone, and all to be right again. Look here, dear old boy, ask Mr. Landlis to dinner on Christmas Eve, the better the day, the better the deed, and let there be only we three, and let us shake hands all round there and then, and say no more about it. My dear Jack, ever your most affectionate, headwind drood. P.S. Love to Miss Pussy at the next music lesson. You expect Mr. Neville then? said Mr. Chris Sparkle. I count upon his coming, said Mr. Jasper. End of Chapter 10. Read by Alan Chant of Tumbridge in Kent, England, during January 2008.