Chapter Ten.Eden’s Gate.When Lucian left her, Amethyst stood leaning over the stile, which, at the end of the long cypress walk, led through a little wood into the fields. She watched his brisk active movements, his tall slight figure, with a proud sense of possession. In the morning he would come back again, through the shade and sunlight of the woodland path, and if, as might be, she were watching for him, would wave a greeting where now he waved a farewell. She turned as he passed out of sight, and started to see her graceful, charming mother coming down the long walk towards her.“My darling child,” said Lady Haredale, with a little anxious frown on her sweet face, “I made the best of it just now; but I’m in mortal trouble. Will you help me?”“Oh, mother dear, what is it?” said Amethyst, as Lady Haredale put her arm round her waist, and walked on by her side.“Well, dear, the truth is that I owe some money. When people are in such a dreadful state ofhard-upishnessas your poor papa and I, one can do nothing like other people. You see how careful I am about my clothes, I’m not a bit extravagant; but just a little game of cards is a most innocent diversion—when one can afford it. I know it’s just the one pleasure I can’t resist—my poor old daddy couldn’t either—which was why your dear father only got about three farthings with me—a thing Charles has never forgiven.”“Oh, mother,” said Amethyst, breathlessly, “then don’t buy the velvet dress. And I would just have a plain white to be married in.”“Oh, darling, that’s nothing to do with it. But I’m going to confide in my girl, and she’ll keep my secret, won’t she?”“Oh, yes—yes!”“Well, I lost some money to Lady Saint George, and the awkward thing is, that she is a distant cousin of Mrs Leigh’s; as rich as Croesus the Saint Georges are really. But she hates me—always did—and lately she has made friends with Charles. I wouldn’t know Charles, I think a line should be drawn, but she chose to take him up, and actually ‘confided’ to him my little delay. That was mean, and I hate meanness. Well, Charles and his father had one of their pleasant interviews; Charles wanted money as usual, and when my lord couldn’t give it him, and complained of his constant drains upon him, he had the audacity to say that he was not the only culprit!”“Oh, mother, can’t you pay it?”“I must, my dear child; you see poor, good old Tony has managed hundreds of little affairs for me; but now it will be different, as he has told me.”“Didhelend you money?”“My dear, he was good-nature itself. Besides, one can’t go oneself and sell one’s poor little things. One would be cheated, and it is so much nicer, isn’t it, to leave those matters to a man to manage?”“Won’t you—ask father?”“My dear child, no! He can’t give me any money. It is you, my darling, who must help your poor mother. Will you give up your amethysts at least for a time? They are really of value.”“I would give up everything on earth,” said Amethyst.“Well then, you will make it all quite easy. I am writing a note to Tony, and you shall just direct it for me, and take it down to the post.”“Why should I direct it?”“Why, he is staying at Loseby. Miss Verrequers, his heiress, is a connection of the Riddells, you know, our Riddells’ cousins. They are there together. I don’t want to appear in the matter at all, but you might be writing to him about your wedding presents. I must be most careful not to make any trouble for him, poor fellow! Miss Verrequers wouldn’t understand our friendship.” Amethyst felt an instinctive shrinking from directing the letter, though she could hardly tell why. She was confused and puzzled. The whole story was so out of her experience, her mother fascinated her so much, that she could not judge the case on its own merits.“We are going to. Loseby on Thursday,” she said, “to a tennis party.”“Yes, I know, that will be the opportunity for giving him the amethysts. Come, dearest, and let me give you the note. And, Amethyst, Lucian, of course, mustn’t guess at this littlecontretemps. You promise?”Amethyst shrank again. She could not have told Lucian of her mother’s—what?—shame seemed too strong a word—discredit? Yet to promise secrecy towards him went against her, but at her mother’s desire, it never struck her that it was wrong.“Yes, mamma,” she said confusedly, and followed Lady Haredale into the house, directed the envelope in the modern, upright, school-girl hand, which certainly bore no resemblance to Lady Haredale’s sloping penmanship, and prepared to take it to the post-office. As she came down-stairs she saw Tory standing in the hall, her legs apart and her hands behind her back.“Amethyst,” she said, “Kat and I mean you to know. It’s quite true what I said just now. Una’s gone nearly off her head over Tony getting married. She’s a perfect fool about him. But it’s his fault, he’s an awful spoon is Tony. So is she; you’d better go and talk to her.”“But—she’s a child,” said Amethyst; so much taken aback, that she forgot that the precocious Tory was more of a child still.“Oh—little girls are amusing. He thought it didn’t matter. Una ought to have known it was nonsense.”“But mother said it was nonsense, just now—of Una’s.”“Very likely. That’s what she would think.”Amethyst turned and fled. She felt as if she could neither speak nor look. A horror seized her of “kind good Tony,” and she ran across the park, in haste to get the note addressed to him out of her hand.As she was about to put it into the box, Sylvester Riddell came up with a handful of letters.“Good afternoon, Miss Haredale,” he said, “I hope this lovely weather will last for my cousin’s party at Loseby.”The sense of unaccustomed secrecy made Amethyst give a guilty start; she dropped the letter, Sylvester picked it up, and the address in the clear-marked writing caught his eye. He noticed it, of course, by no word or look, but her crimson blush startled him.Why should she write to a man whom, in common with Lucian Leigh, he detested; and why, if she did so, should she look so frightened and ashamed?She dropped the letter into the box, and with a murmured excuse of being in a hurry, went back with winged footsteps, but a heavy heart.She took herself to task for her folly in being so much startled and upset, but the shadow of half-understood evil is very frightful to a young soul; and she turned, with almost a sense of relief, from her mother’s revelations, to what she believed to be more within her comprehension, Una’s “silliness” about Major Fowler.She had, of course, seen many girls who were “silly,” and meaning to scold and coax Una out of such folly, went straight up to her room in search of her, opening the door without waiting for an answer to her knock.The girl was crouched up in a chair all in a heap, and glared at Amethyst under her hair, as if she would have liked to spring at her.“What is the matter, Una?” said Amethyst. “Won’t you tell me all about it? Why are you so miserable, you poor little dear?”“I mean to tell you. I hate to see you think the world is all sugar, when I know it is so wicked. I’ll teach you knowledge of the world.”“Well?” said Amethyst composedly, and sitting down on the side of the bed. She was too much of a modern school-girl to be easily impressed by heroics.“My lady made a great deal of him,” began Una abruptly, “because he lent her money. After he’d toldherall about Mrs Fowler’s ill-temper he used to catchmein the passage and kiss me, and say he wishedIwas his little wife. He took me out long days, and people said I was so little it didn’t matter. And I used to put little notes in his great-coat pocket, and he’d stick his in little corners for me. And when he sat up smoking, I’d slip out when I’d been sent to bed, and run down and have such good times. He toldmea great deal more of his sorrows than he ever told my lady! And he’d plan how we’d be married when I was seventeen, and go in a yacht to a lovely island in the south. I was happy then; I didn’t care about being married. It was just enough to love him, love him, love him! Andnow, he’s been cooling off ever since we came here, and I’ve just been dying for him. And it’s over, it’s over! I won’t live! I won’t exist without him! I’d like to kill him. Last time he was here, he laughed and made jokes. It wasn’t a joke once. He was just a fool about me then. He has sucked out my life like a vampire!”Amethyst clenched her fingers together.“I wishIcould punish him!” she said. “He is a wicked man—a villain.”“Oh no, no, no!” screamed Una. “He can’t help it. He’s an angel, and I’d die for him this minute!” and she flung herself down on her bed, sobbing pitifully.It came slowly over Amethyst how dreadful a story Una had been telling her, how unfortunate a fate had fallen on the poor child. Una might be naughty; but Amethyst saw dimly that no amount of “naughtiness” could bear any relation to the great injury that had been done to her by the thoughtless mother, who had never taken care of her, and by the selfish man who, for his own pleasure, had excited her childish passion.An instinct of pity greater than she could understand came over her; she could not speak a word of blame, but knelt down, and laid her face close to Una’s, herself crying bitterly. Una nestled up to her, and sobbed more quietly, and at length Amethyst looked up.“Now,” she said, “however bad it is, we have got to leave off crying. You must go to bed, Una, and I shall see about some supper for you;I’lltake care of you, now I know, and he shall never have anything more to do with you.”A look, which Amethyst did not follow, came into Una’s eyes; but she gave a long sigh, as of relief to her feelings, submitted to Amethyst’s care, and finally settled herself down to sleep, not perhaps more miserable than usual. Amethyst went away from her, and stood by the passage window in the soft evening light, looking over the grave old garden, the peaceful spot which she had rejoiced in calling “home.”Affection, emotion, the ignorance of innocent girlhood as to the proportion of one evil to another, confused her; but her brain was clear and strong, and, through all the glamour of her mother’s charm, she saw the face of evil, and never, try as she would, could shut her eyes to it again.
When Lucian left her, Amethyst stood leaning over the stile, which, at the end of the long cypress walk, led through a little wood into the fields. She watched his brisk active movements, his tall slight figure, with a proud sense of possession. In the morning he would come back again, through the shade and sunlight of the woodland path, and if, as might be, she were watching for him, would wave a greeting where now he waved a farewell. She turned as he passed out of sight, and started to see her graceful, charming mother coming down the long walk towards her.
“My darling child,” said Lady Haredale, with a little anxious frown on her sweet face, “I made the best of it just now; but I’m in mortal trouble. Will you help me?”
“Oh, mother dear, what is it?” said Amethyst, as Lady Haredale put her arm round her waist, and walked on by her side.
“Well, dear, the truth is that I owe some money. When people are in such a dreadful state ofhard-upishnessas your poor papa and I, one can do nothing like other people. You see how careful I am about my clothes, I’m not a bit extravagant; but just a little game of cards is a most innocent diversion—when one can afford it. I know it’s just the one pleasure I can’t resist—my poor old daddy couldn’t either—which was why your dear father only got about three farthings with me—a thing Charles has never forgiven.”
“Oh, mother,” said Amethyst, breathlessly, “then don’t buy the velvet dress. And I would just have a plain white to be married in.”
“Oh, darling, that’s nothing to do with it. But I’m going to confide in my girl, and she’ll keep my secret, won’t she?”
“Oh, yes—yes!”
“Well, I lost some money to Lady Saint George, and the awkward thing is, that she is a distant cousin of Mrs Leigh’s; as rich as Croesus the Saint Georges are really. But she hates me—always did—and lately she has made friends with Charles. I wouldn’t know Charles, I think a line should be drawn, but she chose to take him up, and actually ‘confided’ to him my little delay. That was mean, and I hate meanness. Well, Charles and his father had one of their pleasant interviews; Charles wanted money as usual, and when my lord couldn’t give it him, and complained of his constant drains upon him, he had the audacity to say that he was not the only culprit!”
“Oh, mother, can’t you pay it?”
“I must, my dear child; you see poor, good old Tony has managed hundreds of little affairs for me; but now it will be different, as he has told me.”
“Didhelend you money?”
“My dear, he was good-nature itself. Besides, one can’t go oneself and sell one’s poor little things. One would be cheated, and it is so much nicer, isn’t it, to leave those matters to a man to manage?”
“Won’t you—ask father?”
“My dear child, no! He can’t give me any money. It is you, my darling, who must help your poor mother. Will you give up your amethysts at least for a time? They are really of value.”
“I would give up everything on earth,” said Amethyst.
“Well then, you will make it all quite easy. I am writing a note to Tony, and you shall just direct it for me, and take it down to the post.”
“Why should I direct it?”
“Why, he is staying at Loseby. Miss Verrequers, his heiress, is a connection of the Riddells, you know, our Riddells’ cousins. They are there together. I don’t want to appear in the matter at all, but you might be writing to him about your wedding presents. I must be most careful not to make any trouble for him, poor fellow! Miss Verrequers wouldn’t understand our friendship.” Amethyst felt an instinctive shrinking from directing the letter, though she could hardly tell why. She was confused and puzzled. The whole story was so out of her experience, her mother fascinated her so much, that she could not judge the case on its own merits.
“We are going to. Loseby on Thursday,” she said, “to a tennis party.”
“Yes, I know, that will be the opportunity for giving him the amethysts. Come, dearest, and let me give you the note. And, Amethyst, Lucian, of course, mustn’t guess at this littlecontretemps. You promise?”
Amethyst shrank again. She could not have told Lucian of her mother’s—what?—shame seemed too strong a word—discredit? Yet to promise secrecy towards him went against her, but at her mother’s desire, it never struck her that it was wrong.
“Yes, mamma,” she said confusedly, and followed Lady Haredale into the house, directed the envelope in the modern, upright, school-girl hand, which certainly bore no resemblance to Lady Haredale’s sloping penmanship, and prepared to take it to the post-office. As she came down-stairs she saw Tory standing in the hall, her legs apart and her hands behind her back.
“Amethyst,” she said, “Kat and I mean you to know. It’s quite true what I said just now. Una’s gone nearly off her head over Tony getting married. She’s a perfect fool about him. But it’s his fault, he’s an awful spoon is Tony. So is she; you’d better go and talk to her.”
“But—she’s a child,” said Amethyst; so much taken aback, that she forgot that the precocious Tory was more of a child still.
“Oh—little girls are amusing. He thought it didn’t matter. Una ought to have known it was nonsense.”
“But mother said it was nonsense, just now—of Una’s.”
“Very likely. That’s what she would think.”
Amethyst turned and fled. She felt as if she could neither speak nor look. A horror seized her of “kind good Tony,” and she ran across the park, in haste to get the note addressed to him out of her hand.
As she was about to put it into the box, Sylvester Riddell came up with a handful of letters.
“Good afternoon, Miss Haredale,” he said, “I hope this lovely weather will last for my cousin’s party at Loseby.”
The sense of unaccustomed secrecy made Amethyst give a guilty start; she dropped the letter, Sylvester picked it up, and the address in the clear-marked writing caught his eye. He noticed it, of course, by no word or look, but her crimson blush startled him.
Why should she write to a man whom, in common with Lucian Leigh, he detested; and why, if she did so, should she look so frightened and ashamed?
She dropped the letter into the box, and with a murmured excuse of being in a hurry, went back with winged footsteps, but a heavy heart.
She took herself to task for her folly in being so much startled and upset, but the shadow of half-understood evil is very frightful to a young soul; and she turned, with almost a sense of relief, from her mother’s revelations, to what she believed to be more within her comprehension, Una’s “silliness” about Major Fowler.
She had, of course, seen many girls who were “silly,” and meaning to scold and coax Una out of such folly, went straight up to her room in search of her, opening the door without waiting for an answer to her knock.
The girl was crouched up in a chair all in a heap, and glared at Amethyst under her hair, as if she would have liked to spring at her.
“What is the matter, Una?” said Amethyst. “Won’t you tell me all about it? Why are you so miserable, you poor little dear?”
“I mean to tell you. I hate to see you think the world is all sugar, when I know it is so wicked. I’ll teach you knowledge of the world.”
“Well?” said Amethyst composedly, and sitting down on the side of the bed. She was too much of a modern school-girl to be easily impressed by heroics.
“My lady made a great deal of him,” began Una abruptly, “because he lent her money. After he’d toldherall about Mrs Fowler’s ill-temper he used to catchmein the passage and kiss me, and say he wishedIwas his little wife. He took me out long days, and people said I was so little it didn’t matter. And I used to put little notes in his great-coat pocket, and he’d stick his in little corners for me. And when he sat up smoking, I’d slip out when I’d been sent to bed, and run down and have such good times. He toldmea great deal more of his sorrows than he ever told my lady! And he’d plan how we’d be married when I was seventeen, and go in a yacht to a lovely island in the south. I was happy then; I didn’t care about being married. It was just enough to love him, love him, love him! Andnow, he’s been cooling off ever since we came here, and I’ve just been dying for him. And it’s over, it’s over! I won’t live! I won’t exist without him! I’d like to kill him. Last time he was here, he laughed and made jokes. It wasn’t a joke once. He was just a fool about me then. He has sucked out my life like a vampire!”
Amethyst clenched her fingers together.
“I wishIcould punish him!” she said. “He is a wicked man—a villain.”
“Oh no, no, no!” screamed Una. “He can’t help it. He’s an angel, and I’d die for him this minute!” and she flung herself down on her bed, sobbing pitifully.
It came slowly over Amethyst how dreadful a story Una had been telling her, how unfortunate a fate had fallen on the poor child. Una might be naughty; but Amethyst saw dimly that no amount of “naughtiness” could bear any relation to the great injury that had been done to her by the thoughtless mother, who had never taken care of her, and by the selfish man who, for his own pleasure, had excited her childish passion.
An instinct of pity greater than she could understand came over her; she could not speak a word of blame, but knelt down, and laid her face close to Una’s, herself crying bitterly. Una nestled up to her, and sobbed more quietly, and at length Amethyst looked up.
“Now,” she said, “however bad it is, we have got to leave off crying. You must go to bed, Una, and I shall see about some supper for you;I’lltake care of you, now I know, and he shall never have anything more to do with you.”
A look, which Amethyst did not follow, came into Una’s eyes; but she gave a long sigh, as of relief to her feelings, submitted to Amethyst’s care, and finally settled herself down to sleep, not perhaps more miserable than usual. Amethyst went away from her, and stood by the passage window in the soft evening light, looking over the grave old garden, the peaceful spot which she had rejoiced in calling “home.”
Affection, emotion, the ignorance of innocent girlhood as to the proportion of one evil to another, confused her; but her brain was clear and strong, and, through all the glamour of her mother’s charm, she saw the face of evil, and never, try as she would, could shut her eyes to it again.
Chapter Eleven.As it Looked.“Oh yes, I always knew that she was Lucian’s property. They were marked out for each other from the first. But no man can keep such loveliness all to himself; it is the inheritance of humanity, like the great beauties of nature. I am convinced that Amethyst Haredale is the embodiment of the ideal of our generation. Rossetti—Burne Jones—they aim at her, they cannot reach her. It does not matter whom she belongs to, she is—”“It strikes me, Sylvester, that you are talking nonsense.”“No, Aunt Meg, not to the initiated,” said Sylvester, pulling the collie’s ears, and looking dreamily out at the sunny Rectory garden, one day shortly after his return home at midsummer. “There is Beauty, you know, and sometimes it takes shape. Dante had his Beatrice; Faust, or Goethe himself, sought, but never found—”“I have always understood that Goethe was interested in several young women,” interrupted Miss Riddell.“Yes, but you see the ideal always escaped him; he never quite believed in it. But when one has once seen it, you know, life must be the richer and the fairer.—Eh, dad? Have you been listening?” as he suddenly met his father’s eyes fixed on him over the top of the county paper.“Yes, my dear boy, I have. But young men’s ideals have been in the habit of taking shape ever since Adam woke up and saw Eve.”“Oh, a man’s own ideal,” said Sylvester impatiently, and colouring a little; “but I meant the ideal of the race. That is impersonal, and exists for all.”“H’m!” said the Rector. “The two ideals had a way in my day of seeming identical. I strongly suspect they ran together, as far back as Plato, and will be found, in the same person, however many philosophies may succeed his.”“And I don’t think,” said Miss Riddell, “that that cheerful, healthy-looking girl is at all like those melancholy pictures that I see in the Grosvenor Gallery.”“Oh,” said Sylvester, starting up and laughing, “there is no use in talking about the ideal to either of you.”Perhaps he had been impelled to do so, by the consciousness that his feelings concerning the engagement were watched.He had known, as he said, from the first, that Amethyst was Lucian’s property; but she had so filled his imagination, that he could not help thinking of her, and fancied he had found a way of doing so, compatible with the turn events had taken. Of course he was not quite in earnest, or rather, he hid the earnestness of which he was conscious, under a veil of fine talking.He thought of little except of Amethyst and Lucian, but by talking of her he could prove to himself that the thinking was not painful. No, rather it was sweet to compare her to all the fair impersonations of poetry and art.This peculiar feeling for her was surely quite compatible with his own happiness, when she was Lucian’s wife. Then came the encounter at the post-office, perplexing him extremely; so that he thought of little else, until the day arrived for the garden-party at his cousin’s at Loseby Hall, to which he repaired with his father and aunt, thinking only that he should there see Amethyst. The weather was fine, the gardens beautiful, and half the neighbourhood were gathered on the wide smooth lawn, or scattered about in the paths and shrubberies.Sylvester, in the midst of many greetings, soon detected the various groups of which he was in search. Major Fowler, handsome and military, and very sprucely got up, was walking about with a pale dark young lady, not very young, nor very pretty, but dressed in a costume, the wonderful lace and embroidery of which was noticeable, even in the crowd of well-dressed women.Mrs Leigh as usual, elegant and appropriate, was with Lucian; and Amethyst, all white, with a large white hat, was beside him. Lady Haredale was there also, in a style which at first sight looked appropriately matronly, but which yet was like that of no other matron there. The little Leighs and Haredales were together, and Una, promoted to a long white frock, and with her hair turned up, stood by Amethyst’s side, looking in air and style very like her. Sylvester went up to join them, and, as he shook hands with Amethyst, he fancied that she blushed, and that her eyes had a new expression of anxiety in their depths.“Come, Leigh,” said one of the young men of the house, “you won’t be an available bachelor much longer—so come and play tennis. Sylvester, I believe you are always lazy. Miss Haredale, will you play?”Amethyst was not prepared to play on the present occasion, and preferred looking on. She liked to watch Lucian, who went away good-humouredly, knowing that he was by far the best player in the neighbourhood. As he moved, Major Fowler came up and introduced Miss Verrequers to Lady Haredale with great propriety, and then to all the young ladies in succession. Miss Verrequers was polite, but a little formal, and it occurred to Sylvester that she had heard a good deal about Lady Haredale, and did not intend to become intimate with her. Observant as he was, nothing struck him but that Una was an unpleasant-looking girl, as her eyes glared out under her big hat. As a cousin of the house, he had to help in getting seats for the ladies, and arranging for them to see the tennis; but Miss Verrequers did not sit down, and presently she and Major Fowler walked away towards the house.Amethyst and Una, with other young ladies, walked up and down, and looked on. Fresh streams of guests poured out on to the lawn, till it was crowded with gay costumes, and the air filled with laughter and chatter. When Sylvester was left at leisure again after various greetings, he missed Amethyst. Lady Haredale had Una by her side, and was apparently introducing her to some friends; Lucian’s set of tennis was still in progress. Sylvester strolled about restlessly, he did not own to himself that he was searching for the one figure that he could not see; but he wandered about, and turned up sunny path and shady nook, lingered in gay conservatory and green fernery, exchanged chit-chat with numerous groups, till at last he turned to come back to the lawn through a bit of shrubbery between the house and the tennis ground. Walking in front of him, with their backs towards him, were Amethyst and Major Fowler. They were talking, or at least Amethyst listened, with a drooping head. At a side path they paused, Amethyst took something from her pocket and put it into her companion’s hand. He concealed it rapidly in the breast of his coat, and after another word or two went up the path towards the house. Amethyst turned round, and saw Sylvester on the long walk some paces off. There was an indescribable look of distress and disturbance on the girl’s face, but she held up her head, and walked towards him, saying with, as it seemed to him, something of her mother’s smile, and a tone in her voice that he had never heard before—“Major Fowler is in a hurry—naturally—just now. Will you take me back to the tennis ground, Mr Riddell?”Well, she was an acknowledged beauty, and a bride-elect, and her notice was a favour. She must have learned as much as that, since she had told him that the world was beginning for her among the Easter primroses! As she walked beside him, and they talked easy nothings, there was a dignity in her manner altogether new, which impressed him strangely, but the fearless joy that had been essential to his ideal of her was there no longer.As they came out on to the sunny lawn, Una came up to meet them.“Where have you been, Amethyst?” she said petulantly. “Lucian has finished playing. What have you been doing?”“I have been in the shrubbery,” said Amethyst, “with Mr Riddell.”As she spoke, Lucian appeared, exclaiming eagerly—“Syl, you haven’t taken her to see all the glories of the place without me? I want to show her the gold fish in the fernery.”“We haven’t been looking at the gold fish,” said Sylvester.“Come then, Amethyst, I’ve done my duty by the tennis. Now let us enjoy ourselves.”“But I can’t leave Una by herself,” said Amethyst. “She is a young lady to-day, and doesn’t want to go with the children.”“Will Miss Una come with me, and have an ice?” said Sylvester; and Una, not displeased by the proposal, went off willingly.As Sylvester talked to her, with due regard to herrôleof grown-up young lady, and thought of what he had seen, he felt that in that short five minutes of his walk in the shrubbery, there had passed away a glory from the earth.Una very soon had enough of Mr Riddell, who did not greatly amuse her, and found other companions for herself, exactly when she wished to do so, without the slightest awkwardness. Sylvester’s disturbance of mind took the form of disturbance of temper. The music and the ices and the gaiety annoyed him, and he was making an attempt to get out of the way of the crowd, when he met Mrs Leigh, also alone, and, as in duty bound, asked her if she would like to come and have some fruit, or an ice.“There are some fascinating little tables in the conservatory by the house, with fruit of the most picturesque description,” said Mrs Leigh. “If I don’t make the most of my opportunities on these occasions, I always feel that I defraud myself, and pay my hosts a bad compliment. Besides, I enjoy a talk with you, Sylvester, so if I am not keeping you from the young ladies—”“We can discuss the young ladies,” said Sylvester, “and admire them from a distance.”He and Mrs Leigh were very good friends, and liked each other’s company; but to-day he perceived that she, as well as himself, was abstracted and preoccupied—out of spirits, in fact; and he set it down to the approaching loss of her son from her family circle. He could not, however, make cheering remarks on the subject, just now; so with words that hardly touched the surface of the thoughts of either, he conducted her into the spacious conservatory which made of Loseby a show-place. It was very large and lofty, with nooks and bowers, formed of rare shrubs and creepers, and cunningly-contrived vistas, through which, framed in clematis or taxonia, part of the lawn, and long green walks leading away into the park and woods, were visible.Sylvester found his companion a seat, and supplied her with a peach; but he had a curious feeling of something impending, of thunder about to burst. As he watched the groups passing before him, and remarked casually on them to Mrs Leigh, he knew that he was really dreading the reappearance of the pair whom he had once before interrupted; and, as he said to himself that it was not likely that such another risk would be run, Mrs Leigh suddenly exclaimed—“There is Amethyst alone! What can she be doing?”Sylvester started, as Amethyst, with a hurried step, and glancing nervously about her, came into the conservatory at the further end, and after pausing as if in search of some one, passed out of sight behind a trellis covered with heliotrope and scarlet geraniums.“She has gone into the house,” said Mrs Leigh; “let us join her.”She rose and followed Amethyst’s footsteps round the geranium-covered trellis, behind which an open window led into a small ante-room, also adorned with flowers, and, at first sight, empty. In a moment, the white figure came again into view followed by Major Fowler. He took her by the hand, drew her close up to him, bending his face over hers, and kissed her under her hat. She clung to him for a second, then pulled herself away, and covered her face with her hands. Both moved out of sight in separate directions, and the whole thing was over in half a minute. Mrs Leigh had stopped, with a clutch at Sylvester’s arm. Now she walked hurriedly forward into the ante-room, and Sylvester, with an instinct of checking a scene then and there, dashed past her, with a loud and incoherent remark on the creepers. The ante-room was empty. Only strangers were in the drawing-room beyond. Mrs Leigh sank down into a chair, speechless and overpowered. Sylvester was pale, he neither liked to leave her, nor to speak to her, and he suffered so much that he almost forgot her.“Sylvester,” she said at length, faintly, “I have been miserable—miserable! But such as this I never thought of.”“No,” said Sylvester, stupidly, “no—of course not.”“I have been warned,” said Mrs Leigh. “I have hated the connection. I would be thankful to break off the match. But a child of eighteen!—What can I do for the best?”“Don’t say a word—don’t tell Lucian now. Speak to Miss Haredale yourself alone, first. She is, as you say, a child. Major Fowler’s position in the family, his engagement,—an unsuitable joke—”“Sylvester,” said Mrs Leigh, “That was a parting with a meaning, and you know it. But of course nothing can be done to-day, and here I will save her. I will not make a scandal, but that girl shall never be my Lucian’s wife.”There was relief as well as dismay in Mrs Leigh’s voice, and she stood up, and walked out again through the conservatory on to the terrace in front of the house. Lucian came hurrying across the lawn, looking perplexed and angry.“What has become of Amethyst?” he said. “I missed her all in a moment. Has she been with you? Lady Haredale and the little girls are on the lawn.”“Amethyst has not been with me, Lucian,” said Mrs Leigh in a tone which Sylvester thought must at once have arrested Lucian’s attention; but he only looked about restlessly, till round the corner of the house came Amethyst herself, walking beside Miss Verrequers, with Major Fowler in attendance. There was an anxious look in her eyes as she approached, but she was quite self-possessed, and did not look guilty.“I have been looking for you everywhere. Where did you vanish to?” said Lucian, in a tone of boyish vexation, that sounded utterly trivial in the anxious ears of the others.“Well, I thought that you would look for me, if you wanted me,” said Amethyst; “and, you see, here I am.”It was a not unnatural girlish retort; but it wanted to Sylvester’s ear the crystal candour of Amethyst’s ordinary utterances.“I have been having the pleasure of making Miss Haredale’s acquaintance,” said Miss Verrequers, pleasantly.“We are going to find my mother,” said Amethyst, “because Miss Verrequers wishes to settle a day to come over to Cleverley. Will you come, Lucian?”He walked on by her side, a little rebuked, and, as it were, kept down by her manner. But, as they all followed in a stream, Sylvester saw her turn her head aside for a moment, and a look swept over her face, of utter misery and shame, a look gone even while he noted it.The rest of the day was for him like a miserable dream. He thought of every kind of excuse, of the free and easy manners of great houses and fashionable folk, of childish freedom, and girlish coquetry, but every theory degraded Amethyst’s stately maidenhood, and none fitted the despair in her eyes. He could hardly bear his part with his father and aunt, as they went home, in the discussion of the party, and Mr Riddell noticed his silence and preoccupation, over their evening pipe.“Not such good company as usual to-night, my dear boy,” he said.“No, dad, I dare say not Father,” he added, as he turned to go up-stairs, “if ever you pray for your stray lambs, do so to-night. There’s trouble ahead, though you might not think it.”“Ah?” said Mr Riddell, with a long inquiring intonation. “But, Syl, I know my lambs by name, and I forget none of them; no more when their feet are in the green pastures, than when they are wandering on the mountain.”“Thank you!” said Sylvester, with unconscious fervour.Mr Riddell looked at him as he hurried up-stairs, and, in his prayers that night for those in trouble and distress of mind, he did not forget his well-beloved son.
“Oh yes, I always knew that she was Lucian’s property. They were marked out for each other from the first. But no man can keep such loveliness all to himself; it is the inheritance of humanity, like the great beauties of nature. I am convinced that Amethyst Haredale is the embodiment of the ideal of our generation. Rossetti—Burne Jones—they aim at her, they cannot reach her. It does not matter whom she belongs to, she is—”
“It strikes me, Sylvester, that you are talking nonsense.”
“No, Aunt Meg, not to the initiated,” said Sylvester, pulling the collie’s ears, and looking dreamily out at the sunny Rectory garden, one day shortly after his return home at midsummer. “There is Beauty, you know, and sometimes it takes shape. Dante had his Beatrice; Faust, or Goethe himself, sought, but never found—”
“I have always understood that Goethe was interested in several young women,” interrupted Miss Riddell.
“Yes, but you see the ideal always escaped him; he never quite believed in it. But when one has once seen it, you know, life must be the richer and the fairer.—Eh, dad? Have you been listening?” as he suddenly met his father’s eyes fixed on him over the top of the county paper.
“Yes, my dear boy, I have. But young men’s ideals have been in the habit of taking shape ever since Adam woke up and saw Eve.”
“Oh, a man’s own ideal,” said Sylvester impatiently, and colouring a little; “but I meant the ideal of the race. That is impersonal, and exists for all.”
“H’m!” said the Rector. “The two ideals had a way in my day of seeming identical. I strongly suspect they ran together, as far back as Plato, and will be found, in the same person, however many philosophies may succeed his.”
“And I don’t think,” said Miss Riddell, “that that cheerful, healthy-looking girl is at all like those melancholy pictures that I see in the Grosvenor Gallery.”
“Oh,” said Sylvester, starting up and laughing, “there is no use in talking about the ideal to either of you.”
Perhaps he had been impelled to do so, by the consciousness that his feelings concerning the engagement were watched.
He had known, as he said, from the first, that Amethyst was Lucian’s property; but she had so filled his imagination, that he could not help thinking of her, and fancied he had found a way of doing so, compatible with the turn events had taken. Of course he was not quite in earnest, or rather, he hid the earnestness of which he was conscious, under a veil of fine talking.
He thought of little except of Amethyst and Lucian, but by talking of her he could prove to himself that the thinking was not painful. No, rather it was sweet to compare her to all the fair impersonations of poetry and art.
This peculiar feeling for her was surely quite compatible with his own happiness, when she was Lucian’s wife. Then came the encounter at the post-office, perplexing him extremely; so that he thought of little else, until the day arrived for the garden-party at his cousin’s at Loseby Hall, to which he repaired with his father and aunt, thinking only that he should there see Amethyst. The weather was fine, the gardens beautiful, and half the neighbourhood were gathered on the wide smooth lawn, or scattered about in the paths and shrubberies.
Sylvester, in the midst of many greetings, soon detected the various groups of which he was in search. Major Fowler, handsome and military, and very sprucely got up, was walking about with a pale dark young lady, not very young, nor very pretty, but dressed in a costume, the wonderful lace and embroidery of which was noticeable, even in the crowd of well-dressed women.
Mrs Leigh as usual, elegant and appropriate, was with Lucian; and Amethyst, all white, with a large white hat, was beside him. Lady Haredale was there also, in a style which at first sight looked appropriately matronly, but which yet was like that of no other matron there. The little Leighs and Haredales were together, and Una, promoted to a long white frock, and with her hair turned up, stood by Amethyst’s side, looking in air and style very like her. Sylvester went up to join them, and, as he shook hands with Amethyst, he fancied that she blushed, and that her eyes had a new expression of anxiety in their depths.
“Come, Leigh,” said one of the young men of the house, “you won’t be an available bachelor much longer—so come and play tennis. Sylvester, I believe you are always lazy. Miss Haredale, will you play?”
Amethyst was not prepared to play on the present occasion, and preferred looking on. She liked to watch Lucian, who went away good-humouredly, knowing that he was by far the best player in the neighbourhood. As he moved, Major Fowler came up and introduced Miss Verrequers to Lady Haredale with great propriety, and then to all the young ladies in succession. Miss Verrequers was polite, but a little formal, and it occurred to Sylvester that she had heard a good deal about Lady Haredale, and did not intend to become intimate with her. Observant as he was, nothing struck him but that Una was an unpleasant-looking girl, as her eyes glared out under her big hat. As a cousin of the house, he had to help in getting seats for the ladies, and arranging for them to see the tennis; but Miss Verrequers did not sit down, and presently she and Major Fowler walked away towards the house.
Amethyst and Una, with other young ladies, walked up and down, and looked on. Fresh streams of guests poured out on to the lawn, till it was crowded with gay costumes, and the air filled with laughter and chatter. When Sylvester was left at leisure again after various greetings, he missed Amethyst. Lady Haredale had Una by her side, and was apparently introducing her to some friends; Lucian’s set of tennis was still in progress. Sylvester strolled about restlessly, he did not own to himself that he was searching for the one figure that he could not see; but he wandered about, and turned up sunny path and shady nook, lingered in gay conservatory and green fernery, exchanged chit-chat with numerous groups, till at last he turned to come back to the lawn through a bit of shrubbery between the house and the tennis ground. Walking in front of him, with their backs towards him, were Amethyst and Major Fowler. They were talking, or at least Amethyst listened, with a drooping head. At a side path they paused, Amethyst took something from her pocket and put it into her companion’s hand. He concealed it rapidly in the breast of his coat, and after another word or two went up the path towards the house. Amethyst turned round, and saw Sylvester on the long walk some paces off. There was an indescribable look of distress and disturbance on the girl’s face, but she held up her head, and walked towards him, saying with, as it seemed to him, something of her mother’s smile, and a tone in her voice that he had never heard before—
“Major Fowler is in a hurry—naturally—just now. Will you take me back to the tennis ground, Mr Riddell?”
Well, she was an acknowledged beauty, and a bride-elect, and her notice was a favour. She must have learned as much as that, since she had told him that the world was beginning for her among the Easter primroses! As she walked beside him, and they talked easy nothings, there was a dignity in her manner altogether new, which impressed him strangely, but the fearless joy that had been essential to his ideal of her was there no longer.
As they came out on to the sunny lawn, Una came up to meet them.
“Where have you been, Amethyst?” she said petulantly. “Lucian has finished playing. What have you been doing?”
“I have been in the shrubbery,” said Amethyst, “with Mr Riddell.”
As she spoke, Lucian appeared, exclaiming eagerly—
“Syl, you haven’t taken her to see all the glories of the place without me? I want to show her the gold fish in the fernery.”
“We haven’t been looking at the gold fish,” said Sylvester.
“Come then, Amethyst, I’ve done my duty by the tennis. Now let us enjoy ourselves.”
“But I can’t leave Una by herself,” said Amethyst. “She is a young lady to-day, and doesn’t want to go with the children.”
“Will Miss Una come with me, and have an ice?” said Sylvester; and Una, not displeased by the proposal, went off willingly.
As Sylvester talked to her, with due regard to herrôleof grown-up young lady, and thought of what he had seen, he felt that in that short five minutes of his walk in the shrubbery, there had passed away a glory from the earth.
Una very soon had enough of Mr Riddell, who did not greatly amuse her, and found other companions for herself, exactly when she wished to do so, without the slightest awkwardness. Sylvester’s disturbance of mind took the form of disturbance of temper. The music and the ices and the gaiety annoyed him, and he was making an attempt to get out of the way of the crowd, when he met Mrs Leigh, also alone, and, as in duty bound, asked her if she would like to come and have some fruit, or an ice.
“There are some fascinating little tables in the conservatory by the house, with fruit of the most picturesque description,” said Mrs Leigh. “If I don’t make the most of my opportunities on these occasions, I always feel that I defraud myself, and pay my hosts a bad compliment. Besides, I enjoy a talk with you, Sylvester, so if I am not keeping you from the young ladies—”
“We can discuss the young ladies,” said Sylvester, “and admire them from a distance.”
He and Mrs Leigh were very good friends, and liked each other’s company; but to-day he perceived that she, as well as himself, was abstracted and preoccupied—out of spirits, in fact; and he set it down to the approaching loss of her son from her family circle. He could not, however, make cheering remarks on the subject, just now; so with words that hardly touched the surface of the thoughts of either, he conducted her into the spacious conservatory which made of Loseby a show-place. It was very large and lofty, with nooks and bowers, formed of rare shrubs and creepers, and cunningly-contrived vistas, through which, framed in clematis or taxonia, part of the lawn, and long green walks leading away into the park and woods, were visible.
Sylvester found his companion a seat, and supplied her with a peach; but he had a curious feeling of something impending, of thunder about to burst. As he watched the groups passing before him, and remarked casually on them to Mrs Leigh, he knew that he was really dreading the reappearance of the pair whom he had once before interrupted; and, as he said to himself that it was not likely that such another risk would be run, Mrs Leigh suddenly exclaimed—
“There is Amethyst alone! What can she be doing?”
Sylvester started, as Amethyst, with a hurried step, and glancing nervously about her, came into the conservatory at the further end, and after pausing as if in search of some one, passed out of sight behind a trellis covered with heliotrope and scarlet geraniums.
“She has gone into the house,” said Mrs Leigh; “let us join her.”
She rose and followed Amethyst’s footsteps round the geranium-covered trellis, behind which an open window led into a small ante-room, also adorned with flowers, and, at first sight, empty. In a moment, the white figure came again into view followed by Major Fowler. He took her by the hand, drew her close up to him, bending his face over hers, and kissed her under her hat. She clung to him for a second, then pulled herself away, and covered her face with her hands. Both moved out of sight in separate directions, and the whole thing was over in half a minute. Mrs Leigh had stopped, with a clutch at Sylvester’s arm. Now she walked hurriedly forward into the ante-room, and Sylvester, with an instinct of checking a scene then and there, dashed past her, with a loud and incoherent remark on the creepers. The ante-room was empty. Only strangers were in the drawing-room beyond. Mrs Leigh sank down into a chair, speechless and overpowered. Sylvester was pale, he neither liked to leave her, nor to speak to her, and he suffered so much that he almost forgot her.
“Sylvester,” she said at length, faintly, “I have been miserable—miserable! But such as this I never thought of.”
“No,” said Sylvester, stupidly, “no—of course not.”
“I have been warned,” said Mrs Leigh. “I have hated the connection. I would be thankful to break off the match. But a child of eighteen!—What can I do for the best?”
“Don’t say a word—don’t tell Lucian now. Speak to Miss Haredale yourself alone, first. She is, as you say, a child. Major Fowler’s position in the family, his engagement,—an unsuitable joke—”
“Sylvester,” said Mrs Leigh, “That was a parting with a meaning, and you know it. But of course nothing can be done to-day, and here I will save her. I will not make a scandal, but that girl shall never be my Lucian’s wife.”
There was relief as well as dismay in Mrs Leigh’s voice, and she stood up, and walked out again through the conservatory on to the terrace in front of the house. Lucian came hurrying across the lawn, looking perplexed and angry.
“What has become of Amethyst?” he said. “I missed her all in a moment. Has she been with you? Lady Haredale and the little girls are on the lawn.”
“Amethyst has not been with me, Lucian,” said Mrs Leigh in a tone which Sylvester thought must at once have arrested Lucian’s attention; but he only looked about restlessly, till round the corner of the house came Amethyst herself, walking beside Miss Verrequers, with Major Fowler in attendance. There was an anxious look in her eyes as she approached, but she was quite self-possessed, and did not look guilty.
“I have been looking for you everywhere. Where did you vanish to?” said Lucian, in a tone of boyish vexation, that sounded utterly trivial in the anxious ears of the others.
“Well, I thought that you would look for me, if you wanted me,” said Amethyst; “and, you see, here I am.”
It was a not unnatural girlish retort; but it wanted to Sylvester’s ear the crystal candour of Amethyst’s ordinary utterances.
“I have been having the pleasure of making Miss Haredale’s acquaintance,” said Miss Verrequers, pleasantly.
“We are going to find my mother,” said Amethyst, “because Miss Verrequers wishes to settle a day to come over to Cleverley. Will you come, Lucian?”
He walked on by her side, a little rebuked, and, as it were, kept down by her manner. But, as they all followed in a stream, Sylvester saw her turn her head aside for a moment, and a look swept over her face, of utter misery and shame, a look gone even while he noted it.
The rest of the day was for him like a miserable dream. He thought of every kind of excuse, of the free and easy manners of great houses and fashionable folk, of childish freedom, and girlish coquetry, but every theory degraded Amethyst’s stately maidenhood, and none fitted the despair in her eyes. He could hardly bear his part with his father and aunt, as they went home, in the discussion of the party, and Mr Riddell noticed his silence and preoccupation, over their evening pipe.
“Not such good company as usual to-night, my dear boy,” he said.
“No, dad, I dare say not Father,” he added, as he turned to go up-stairs, “if ever you pray for your stray lambs, do so to-night. There’s trouble ahead, though you might not think it.”
“Ah?” said Mr Riddell, with a long inquiring intonation. “But, Syl, I know my lambs by name, and I forget none of them; no more when their feet are in the green pastures, than when they are wandering on the mountain.”
“Thank you!” said Sylvester, with unconscious fervour.
Mr Riddell looked at him as he hurried up-stairs, and, in his prayers that night for those in trouble and distress of mind, he did not forget his well-beloved son.
Chapter Twelve.As it was.The letter, which Amethyst had posted with so much distress of mind, had been answered by a little note from Major Fowler, offering to take charge of the amethysts, if they could be privately handed over to him at Loseby. He would make the opportunity, he said, if Miss Haredale would watch for indications of the right moment.Amethyst approved of selling the amethysts, and, hateful as was the secrecy with regard to Lucian, she braced herself up to the effort, with a sense of martyrdom. Lady Haredale contrived to work on her feelings, and bewilder her mind, and would have influenced her still further, if she had understood better the views that would influence an innocent and high-minded girl. Lady Haredale, with all her experience, and all her fine ladyhood, had the delight of a school-girl in sentimental mysteries. As she believed all her relations with “Tony” to be quite innocent, not to say praiseworthy, she confided much of them to Amethyst, finding even her daughter a better confidant than no one. Otherwise, no doubt, the affair could have been managed in a simpler fashion.Amethyst listened, and half believed that her mother had been Tony’s good angel, but that stupid conventionalities obliged all this caution. She was so much puzzled by Una, that her mother’s light treatment of the matter seemed to her possibly the best and wisest. It was easier to fall back on the idea that Una talked exaggerated nonsense, than to recognise that Lady Haredale did so.She managed, when at Loseby, to follow Major Fowler’s lead with a skill and self-possession that surprised herself; and which made him smile, and think to himself that none of Lady Haredale’s daughters found a little plotting unnatural.But, when she found herself alone with him in the turfed walk, she froze up into shy dignity.“My mother desired me to say that you had shown her so much kindness, that she ventures to trouble you once more,” she said; so translating Lady Haredale’s message—“Tell dear old Tony that he is always my resource, and I know he’ll never fail me.”Major Fowler looked at her curiously. He did not quite see why she was put forward for what Lady Haredale must have known would be a painful interview, unless her mother thought that her fresh beauty would make him waver in his purpose, and soften what he meant to say. He did not know how far she comprehended the errand on which she had been sent. But the easiest course was to take it for granted that she understood it all as well as Una would have done, and had been chosen as a messenger because her secrecy could be better depended upon.“You see, my dear young lady,” said Major Fowler, twirling his moustaches, as he walked close beside her, “bachelor pleasures must come to an end. I am no end grateful to Lady Haredale for all she did for a poor lonely fellow, giving one the run of the house, and treating one like a—cousin. Any little service I could render, was quite part of the plan, as you may say. Butnow—it wouldn’t be possible.”“My mother understood that you consented to—to manage about the jewels,” said Amethyst, abruptly.“Your precious namesakes? Oh yes, I’ll manage that little piece of business. But I am afraid the other request in her letter is—well—a slight anachronism—if you understand?”His tone jarred intensely on Amethyst, she could not tell whether it was purposely offensive or only jesting. But she felt that he meant to make her understand—something.“I did not know that my mother had asked you to do anything else,” she said.“No?—That she asked me once more to act as her banker? Under present circumstances I must regret to be unable to do so. Of course it’s been an honour and a pleasure; but you will, I am sure, convince her ladyship, that I must resign the situation, its pleasures and emoluments, and—its responsibilities.”“But, if the amethysts are sold—perhaps she might be able to pay you the money back?” said Amethyst, with childish directness.He looked at her scared face, he heard the distress in her tone, and answered with a different accent.“Oh no, my dear Miss Haredale, no.—That is a closed score.”“If I could pay the money, I would not close it,” suddenly exclaimed the girl, clenching her hands in their delicate gloves. “You—you bought the right to insult us—and—you have done harm for which no money can pay! My motherdoesbelieve in you,” she went on—“she thinks you are very good, and that you are fond of us and a real friend. She trusted you with my little sisters, and you made jokes with them, thatyouknew were not right; and now you break it all off, because you think Miss Verrequers will blame you, if she hears. If you love her, you would like to tell her the truth. My mother is not selfish, she was glad to hear you had good fortune, though she knew that she would miss you, though she is very sorry to part with you. You should not look like that, and speak in that voice, when you speak of her to me.”“No, Miss Haredale, I should not,” said Major Fowler. “Nor should you have been sent on this errand. Unselfish! Good heavens! Give me the packet, and I will make all further communications direct to Lady Haredale. I assure you—” and he looked full at the girl, and pulled his moustaches hard, while he continued—“The situation is a little unusual, but I have the very greatest respect for Lady Haredale, and all her family. It’s all perfectly square, I assure you. Don’t distress yourself.”He bent closely over her as he took the packet from her hand, and before she could answer, they both became aware of the presence of Sylvester Riddell, and Amethyst, confused and ashamed, feeling herself to blame for losing her temper and her dignity, hardly knowing whether he was very kind or very hateful, had to pull herself together and play her part. So well she did it, that Major Fowler muttered to himself as he turned away, “That’s a good girl—but she’d soon be a bad one, if she was left to her mother.” Amethyst herself was surprised to find that there was a kind of excitement in managing well, and, even when she was alone with Lucian, her feeling was rather that of pushing aside the hateful burden, than of wishing to confide it to him. She wanted to think of him, not of her life apart from him. Mutual confidence is a plant of slower growth than mutual love. Besides, though she could not have put it definitely to herself, she had an instinctive dread of his stern clear judgment, and would not have had him guess at Una’s folly for the world.The real reason, therefore, why she was unwilling to be absorbed by her lover, was her desire to keep Una out of dangerous interviews; she was uneasy if both she and Major Fowler were out of sight. It was in search of her that she came into the conservatory, and almost immediately finding Miss Verrequers, and seeing Major Fowler come forward to join her, she never imagined that Una was far cleverer than herself at such a game, and had managed a moment’s fatal meeting and parting, so immediately after Amethyst had passed through the conservatory, that the two spectators, whose minds were full of the preconceived idea that Amethyst was there, and who were not accustomed to attribute so womanly an appearance to Una, never dreamed of the mistake they were making.Conflicting feelings wound Amethyst up to a kind of defiance, and when she came home, she repeated to her mother almost word for word what “Tony” had said to her.“Ah,” said Lady Haredale, “poor fellow! He was angry because I did not speak to him myself! But I think it’s right to besoprudent! And besides, if my lord heard about the debts just now, he would be so angry. He doesn’t mind getting into debt himself; but he does so dislike my borrowing money, even from an intimate friend.”Amethyst could have said “I am glad to hear it.” She was more miserable than she knew, as she lay awake in the summer morning, thinking, not of her approaching wedding, but of the miserable complications in which she had been so suddenly involved.Maidenly instinct, all the upright impulses of a good and truthful girl, revolted against the situation. Still, it was “mother,” and perhaps things might in this one instance be different from what they seemed.She meant to behave as usual in the morning, but the radiant happiness that had of late been usual with her, could not be assumed at will.She went out into the garden after breakfast to gather roses, and as she walked along the path under the cypress hedge, stopping here and there to pick and to admire, a step in the wood made her start and look up. It was not Lucian, but his mother.She crossed the stile with the slow, but secure movements of a country lady, no longer slim and active, but to whom stiles have never ceased to be familiar, and approached Amethyst, who ran to meet her with a pretty look of welcome.Mrs Leigh was a good woman. Deeply as she resented what she believed to be her son’s betrayal, to save the reputation, and, if possible, touch the conscience of this eighteen-year-old girl, to give her every chance of explaining herself, was her firm intention. She had come herself and alone to face a most painful interview, before saying one word to Lucian on the subject.“Oh, Mrs Leigh,” said Amethyst, “you have just come in time to have some roses!”“I think you must know why I have come, Amethyst,” said Mrs Leigh, who was too sincere a person, and in too nervous a mood, to fence.There was guilt in a moment on Amethyst’s face, and guilt, though not her own, in her heart; for her thoughts flew to her mother’s secret, innocent as she felt herself to be.“No,” she said, “but I am glad to see you.”She tried to keep her secret, and when Amethyst was in any way playing a part, she played it with her mother’s soft tones and languid grace.“Amethyst,” said Mrs Leigh, “there is no use in concealment. You shall tell me your own story; but I must ask you to explain your—interview with Major Fowler. Tell me the truth, my dear, I have come first to ask yourself. It is no hearsay, I saw your parting with him.”“I dare say you did—what then?” said Amethyst. “So did Mr Riddell. There is nothing—what should there be to explain?”“Yes, Amethyst, I know Mr Riddell saw you. But oh, my dear, what if my poor Lucian had seen you then?”“What then?” said Amethyst. She was angry; but she was still more frightened and conscious of her secret. She fancied that Mrs Leigh had seen her give Major Fowler the packet.“What then? Oh, Amethyst, tell the truth at least.”“You had better ask my mother. There she is!” said Amethyst.Her manner was haughty, but it was as a sort of refuge from fear. She was still so young, and so accustomed to give an account of her conduct, that it did not occur to her to resent the inquiries. How she could elude them was her first thought!“My dear Mrs Leigh,” said Lady Haredale, all smiles and pleasant greeting, “you are an early visitor. This lovely weather makes an early bird even of a Londoner like me. And here is a telegram from my lord, to say he is coming home unexpectedly to-day. I don’t think I’ve a dinner fit for him! Lucian is not particular just at present, our scrambling meals suit him.”“Lady Haredale,” said Mrs Leigh, unable to be otherwise than formal, “I have come on most painful business. I had hoped to hear the truth from Amethyst, but perhaps, as she suggests, it is right for me to speak to you.”She had been sitting in one of the deep recesses of the hedge, and now resumed her seat, as Lady Haredale placed herself beside her, while Amethyst stood, erect and silent, fronting them both.Lady Haredale looked at her keenly, even while she spoke in a sympathetic voice to Mrs Leigh.“There is something the matter?”“I must speak plainly,” said Mrs Leigh. “Amethyst’s behaviour altogether puzzled me yesterday. I saw her hold a secret interview with your newly-engaged friend, Major Fowler. I saw them part with—a kiss given and taken.”Lady Haredale gave a little start.“Oh,” she said, “oh, my dear Mrs Leigh, that was not quite right of him. He should remember Amethyst’s position now. But they are all little girls to him, mere babies still. But it was indiscreet.”“Mother!” cried Amethyst, with passion such as Mrs Leigh’s words had failed to rouse, “he never kissed me! He does not think me a little girl! It is a mistake. You did not see right,” she added, turning to Mrs Leigh and speaking with childish directness. “He did stand very near me, but, indeed, he did not kiss me!”“I was in the conservatory, Amethyst,” said Mrs Leigh, coldly.“But I never was in the conservatory with Major Fowler,” said Amethyst. “It was not there—”She paused, and Mrs Leigh replied—“Where did you go when you went through the conservatory by yourself—why were you there alone?”“I—I was looking for my sisters,” said Amethyst, with some hesitation; but Lady Haredale rose from her seat, and struck in, with an indescribable air of having the best of the situation—“I cannot have my daughter questioned in this way, Mrs Leigh. My girls are perfectly trustworthy. It is quite impossible that anything can have passed between Amethyst and Major Fowler of the slightest consequence. He was otherwise engaged. I hope Lucian is not jealous of a few casual words. If she met him, it was quite accidentally. Was he ever away from Miss Verrequers, Amethyst, for a moment?”Amethyst looked at her mother, with horror in her eyes.“He did not kiss me,” she said, but in a tone that sounded forced and doubtful.“I have gained nothing,” said Mrs Leigh, turning back towards the stile. “I came here for the best, it has been all in vain.”“I too think,” said Lady Haredale, drawing Amethyst towards her, “that enough has been said for the present. But of course, Mrs Leigh, the subject cannot drop here.”“No,” said Mrs Leigh, “that will be impossible.” She turned away without further parting, and slowly walked down the path, and crossed the stile. Now she had to tell Lucian.
The letter, which Amethyst had posted with so much distress of mind, had been answered by a little note from Major Fowler, offering to take charge of the amethysts, if they could be privately handed over to him at Loseby. He would make the opportunity, he said, if Miss Haredale would watch for indications of the right moment.
Amethyst approved of selling the amethysts, and, hateful as was the secrecy with regard to Lucian, she braced herself up to the effort, with a sense of martyrdom. Lady Haredale contrived to work on her feelings, and bewilder her mind, and would have influenced her still further, if she had understood better the views that would influence an innocent and high-minded girl. Lady Haredale, with all her experience, and all her fine ladyhood, had the delight of a school-girl in sentimental mysteries. As she believed all her relations with “Tony” to be quite innocent, not to say praiseworthy, she confided much of them to Amethyst, finding even her daughter a better confidant than no one. Otherwise, no doubt, the affair could have been managed in a simpler fashion.
Amethyst listened, and half believed that her mother had been Tony’s good angel, but that stupid conventionalities obliged all this caution. She was so much puzzled by Una, that her mother’s light treatment of the matter seemed to her possibly the best and wisest. It was easier to fall back on the idea that Una talked exaggerated nonsense, than to recognise that Lady Haredale did so.
She managed, when at Loseby, to follow Major Fowler’s lead with a skill and self-possession that surprised herself; and which made him smile, and think to himself that none of Lady Haredale’s daughters found a little plotting unnatural.
But, when she found herself alone with him in the turfed walk, she froze up into shy dignity.
“My mother desired me to say that you had shown her so much kindness, that she ventures to trouble you once more,” she said; so translating Lady Haredale’s message—“Tell dear old Tony that he is always my resource, and I know he’ll never fail me.”
Major Fowler looked at her curiously. He did not quite see why she was put forward for what Lady Haredale must have known would be a painful interview, unless her mother thought that her fresh beauty would make him waver in his purpose, and soften what he meant to say. He did not know how far she comprehended the errand on which she had been sent. But the easiest course was to take it for granted that she understood it all as well as Una would have done, and had been chosen as a messenger because her secrecy could be better depended upon.
“You see, my dear young lady,” said Major Fowler, twirling his moustaches, as he walked close beside her, “bachelor pleasures must come to an end. I am no end grateful to Lady Haredale for all she did for a poor lonely fellow, giving one the run of the house, and treating one like a—cousin. Any little service I could render, was quite part of the plan, as you may say. Butnow—it wouldn’t be possible.”
“My mother understood that you consented to—to manage about the jewels,” said Amethyst, abruptly.
“Your precious namesakes? Oh yes, I’ll manage that little piece of business. But I am afraid the other request in her letter is—well—a slight anachronism—if you understand?”
His tone jarred intensely on Amethyst, she could not tell whether it was purposely offensive or only jesting. But she felt that he meant to make her understand—something.
“I did not know that my mother had asked you to do anything else,” she said.
“No?—That she asked me once more to act as her banker? Under present circumstances I must regret to be unable to do so. Of course it’s been an honour and a pleasure; but you will, I am sure, convince her ladyship, that I must resign the situation, its pleasures and emoluments, and—its responsibilities.”
“But, if the amethysts are sold—perhaps she might be able to pay you the money back?” said Amethyst, with childish directness.
He looked at her scared face, he heard the distress in her tone, and answered with a different accent.
“Oh no, my dear Miss Haredale, no.—That is a closed score.”
“If I could pay the money, I would not close it,” suddenly exclaimed the girl, clenching her hands in their delicate gloves. “You—you bought the right to insult us—and—you have done harm for which no money can pay! My motherdoesbelieve in you,” she went on—“she thinks you are very good, and that you are fond of us and a real friend. She trusted you with my little sisters, and you made jokes with them, thatyouknew were not right; and now you break it all off, because you think Miss Verrequers will blame you, if she hears. If you love her, you would like to tell her the truth. My mother is not selfish, she was glad to hear you had good fortune, though she knew that she would miss you, though she is very sorry to part with you. You should not look like that, and speak in that voice, when you speak of her to me.”
“No, Miss Haredale, I should not,” said Major Fowler. “Nor should you have been sent on this errand. Unselfish! Good heavens! Give me the packet, and I will make all further communications direct to Lady Haredale. I assure you—” and he looked full at the girl, and pulled his moustaches hard, while he continued—“The situation is a little unusual, but I have the very greatest respect for Lady Haredale, and all her family. It’s all perfectly square, I assure you. Don’t distress yourself.”
He bent closely over her as he took the packet from her hand, and before she could answer, they both became aware of the presence of Sylvester Riddell, and Amethyst, confused and ashamed, feeling herself to blame for losing her temper and her dignity, hardly knowing whether he was very kind or very hateful, had to pull herself together and play her part. So well she did it, that Major Fowler muttered to himself as he turned away, “That’s a good girl—but she’d soon be a bad one, if she was left to her mother.” Amethyst herself was surprised to find that there was a kind of excitement in managing well, and, even when she was alone with Lucian, her feeling was rather that of pushing aside the hateful burden, than of wishing to confide it to him. She wanted to think of him, not of her life apart from him. Mutual confidence is a plant of slower growth than mutual love. Besides, though she could not have put it definitely to herself, she had an instinctive dread of his stern clear judgment, and would not have had him guess at Una’s folly for the world.
The real reason, therefore, why she was unwilling to be absorbed by her lover, was her desire to keep Una out of dangerous interviews; she was uneasy if both she and Major Fowler were out of sight. It was in search of her that she came into the conservatory, and almost immediately finding Miss Verrequers, and seeing Major Fowler come forward to join her, she never imagined that Una was far cleverer than herself at such a game, and had managed a moment’s fatal meeting and parting, so immediately after Amethyst had passed through the conservatory, that the two spectators, whose minds were full of the preconceived idea that Amethyst was there, and who were not accustomed to attribute so womanly an appearance to Una, never dreamed of the mistake they were making.
Conflicting feelings wound Amethyst up to a kind of defiance, and when she came home, she repeated to her mother almost word for word what “Tony” had said to her.
“Ah,” said Lady Haredale, “poor fellow! He was angry because I did not speak to him myself! But I think it’s right to besoprudent! And besides, if my lord heard about the debts just now, he would be so angry. He doesn’t mind getting into debt himself; but he does so dislike my borrowing money, even from an intimate friend.”
Amethyst could have said “I am glad to hear it.” She was more miserable than she knew, as she lay awake in the summer morning, thinking, not of her approaching wedding, but of the miserable complications in which she had been so suddenly involved.
Maidenly instinct, all the upright impulses of a good and truthful girl, revolted against the situation. Still, it was “mother,” and perhaps things might in this one instance be different from what they seemed.
She meant to behave as usual in the morning, but the radiant happiness that had of late been usual with her, could not be assumed at will.
She went out into the garden after breakfast to gather roses, and as she walked along the path under the cypress hedge, stopping here and there to pick and to admire, a step in the wood made her start and look up. It was not Lucian, but his mother.
She crossed the stile with the slow, but secure movements of a country lady, no longer slim and active, but to whom stiles have never ceased to be familiar, and approached Amethyst, who ran to meet her with a pretty look of welcome.
Mrs Leigh was a good woman. Deeply as she resented what she believed to be her son’s betrayal, to save the reputation, and, if possible, touch the conscience of this eighteen-year-old girl, to give her every chance of explaining herself, was her firm intention. She had come herself and alone to face a most painful interview, before saying one word to Lucian on the subject.
“Oh, Mrs Leigh,” said Amethyst, “you have just come in time to have some roses!”
“I think you must know why I have come, Amethyst,” said Mrs Leigh, who was too sincere a person, and in too nervous a mood, to fence.
There was guilt in a moment on Amethyst’s face, and guilt, though not her own, in her heart; for her thoughts flew to her mother’s secret, innocent as she felt herself to be.
“No,” she said, “but I am glad to see you.”
She tried to keep her secret, and when Amethyst was in any way playing a part, she played it with her mother’s soft tones and languid grace.
“Amethyst,” said Mrs Leigh, “there is no use in concealment. You shall tell me your own story; but I must ask you to explain your—interview with Major Fowler. Tell me the truth, my dear, I have come first to ask yourself. It is no hearsay, I saw your parting with him.”
“I dare say you did—what then?” said Amethyst. “So did Mr Riddell. There is nothing—what should there be to explain?”
“Yes, Amethyst, I know Mr Riddell saw you. But oh, my dear, what if my poor Lucian had seen you then?”
“What then?” said Amethyst. She was angry; but she was still more frightened and conscious of her secret. She fancied that Mrs Leigh had seen her give Major Fowler the packet.
“What then? Oh, Amethyst, tell the truth at least.”
“You had better ask my mother. There she is!” said Amethyst.
Her manner was haughty, but it was as a sort of refuge from fear. She was still so young, and so accustomed to give an account of her conduct, that it did not occur to her to resent the inquiries. How she could elude them was her first thought!
“My dear Mrs Leigh,” said Lady Haredale, all smiles and pleasant greeting, “you are an early visitor. This lovely weather makes an early bird even of a Londoner like me. And here is a telegram from my lord, to say he is coming home unexpectedly to-day. I don’t think I’ve a dinner fit for him! Lucian is not particular just at present, our scrambling meals suit him.”
“Lady Haredale,” said Mrs Leigh, unable to be otherwise than formal, “I have come on most painful business. I had hoped to hear the truth from Amethyst, but perhaps, as she suggests, it is right for me to speak to you.”
She had been sitting in one of the deep recesses of the hedge, and now resumed her seat, as Lady Haredale placed herself beside her, while Amethyst stood, erect and silent, fronting them both.
Lady Haredale looked at her keenly, even while she spoke in a sympathetic voice to Mrs Leigh.
“There is something the matter?”
“I must speak plainly,” said Mrs Leigh. “Amethyst’s behaviour altogether puzzled me yesterday. I saw her hold a secret interview with your newly-engaged friend, Major Fowler. I saw them part with—a kiss given and taken.”
Lady Haredale gave a little start.
“Oh,” she said, “oh, my dear Mrs Leigh, that was not quite right of him. He should remember Amethyst’s position now. But they are all little girls to him, mere babies still. But it was indiscreet.”
“Mother!” cried Amethyst, with passion such as Mrs Leigh’s words had failed to rouse, “he never kissed me! He does not think me a little girl! It is a mistake. You did not see right,” she added, turning to Mrs Leigh and speaking with childish directness. “He did stand very near me, but, indeed, he did not kiss me!”
“I was in the conservatory, Amethyst,” said Mrs Leigh, coldly.
“But I never was in the conservatory with Major Fowler,” said Amethyst. “It was not there—”
She paused, and Mrs Leigh replied—
“Where did you go when you went through the conservatory by yourself—why were you there alone?”
“I—I was looking for my sisters,” said Amethyst, with some hesitation; but Lady Haredale rose from her seat, and struck in, with an indescribable air of having the best of the situation—
“I cannot have my daughter questioned in this way, Mrs Leigh. My girls are perfectly trustworthy. It is quite impossible that anything can have passed between Amethyst and Major Fowler of the slightest consequence. He was otherwise engaged. I hope Lucian is not jealous of a few casual words. If she met him, it was quite accidentally. Was he ever away from Miss Verrequers, Amethyst, for a moment?”
Amethyst looked at her mother, with horror in her eyes.
“He did not kiss me,” she said, but in a tone that sounded forced and doubtful.
“I have gained nothing,” said Mrs Leigh, turning back towards the stile. “I came here for the best, it has been all in vain.”
“I too think,” said Lady Haredale, drawing Amethyst towards her, “that enough has been said for the present. But of course, Mrs Leigh, the subject cannot drop here.”
“No,” said Mrs Leigh, “that will be impossible.” She turned away without further parting, and slowly walked down the path, and crossed the stile. Now she had to tell Lucian.
Chapter Thirteen.Is it True?As Mrs Leigh moved out of hearing, Lady Haredale turned quickly to her daughter.“Well,didhe kiss you?” she said, eagerly.Amethyst stared at her for a moment.“No,” she said, with neither outcry nor protest. It was worse to know her mother, than to be suspected herself. Her soul was hurt by the knowledge.“Well, so much the better. Now you must tell me exactly what did happen—what makes that woman think so?”“I told you, mother, I met him in that turfed walk, and he said what I told you. I gave him the packet. Mr Riddell did see us, but I don’t think Mrs Leigh did. That was all.”“But what did she mean about the conservatory?”“I did go through the conservatory, and through the ante-room into the drawing-room, and no one was there but Major Fowler, and Miss Verrequers came in, in a minute or two. It is all a mistake. But oh, mother, can’t I tell her that I had a message from you?”“No, Amethyst,” said Lady Haredale, without any of her usual softness. “If you do, we shall all be ruined. They’ll break off your engagement to a certainty. They’re just the people who never—never would understand about poor Tony. And—and you know, my dear, I’malwayshonest. I ought to have paid those losses, and it’s a story to gain in the telling. If Miss Verrequers heard some things, there’d be such an explosion. Besides, your father would be furious. Remember, I’ve trusted you with your poor mother’s honour. We must make a story up. They must not know about Tony.”“Make up a story! But what can I tell them?” exclaimed Amethyst with incautious vehemence.“The truth!”—and Lucian, who had sprung over the stile and flashed along the path, in a moment had seized her hands; his clear unfaltering eyes were looking into hers, his young strong voice, troubled, angered, and yet loving, sounded in her ears.“What does my mother mean, Amethyst? what is all this?”“I did not—oh, I did not!” gasped Amethyst, like a falsely accused child. “Oh, Lucian, don’t you believe what I say?”“Yes, yes, of course I believe it. But what do you say? What can my mother possibly be thinking of?” cried Lucian, still hasty and unrealising.“Really, Lucian,” said Lady Haredale, “I cannot tell; Mrs Leigh is under some extraordinary mistake. Amethyst has nothing to tell you, and I really hardly know if I can allow the subject to be dropped here. I believe that Amethyst took a turn with Major Fowler—dear old Tony—who has been like an uncle among the children, and Mrs Leigh has made some extraordinary mistake.”“What is it, Amethyst?Youtell me what it is,” said Lucian, who hated Lady Haredale, and never believed a word that fell from her lips.But his hastiness, which looked like anger and suspicion, though it was in truth passionate trouble, almost took from her breath and speech. Her face whitened, her figure swayed.“I—I only took a turn with him,” she stammered, with her eyes on her mother, “a turn in the turfed walk.”“But afterwards—” said Lucian. “No, I’ll not ask you in any one’s presence. Come with me, and tell me the meaning of it all.”“There’s nothing else to tell you,” said Amethyst, suddenly feeling that she would never dare to be alone with Lucian again.“I don’t think I ought to leave you with the poor child, while you are so unreasonable,” said Lady Haredale.“I do not choose to ask her such a question even before you,” said Lucian, with dignity.“Why, what a mountain out of a mole-hill you are making, you dear foolish boy,” exclaimed Lady Haredale. “It is quite true that Major Fowler and Amethyst took a turn together, and met Mr Sylvester Riddell. She gave him a little present the children have clubbed together to buy for him out of their own money, as a congratulation on his engagement. What was it, Amethyst?—a purse, I think? Then it appears that Mrs Leigh saw her with him,—where was it, Amethyst?—in the conservatory?”“No, mother, she did not,” said Amethyst, who had drawn away from Lucian, and stood upright.“Oh, my dear child, she couldn’t quite invent it, I think she must have seen you. And if he had kissed you—I shall always maintain that he did no harm.Dear old Tony!—And an engaged man! But if you say that Mrs Leigh was mistaken, of course Lucian is bound to believe you.”Amethyst did not speak.“Couldit have been some one else—Miss Verrequers herself, or one of the little girls? Shall I call them?”“Certainly not, Lady Haredale,” said Lucian; “I want no witnesses. Amethyst will explain tome.”“Well,” said Lady Haredale, still lightly, “I will leave her to do so. She can only tell you what I have told you now. But, Lucian, take care,—I cannot have her word doubted.”As Lady Haredale walked away, uttering the last words with a charming air of motherly dignity, Lucian turned round and gazed into Amethyst’s face.“What did my mother see?” he said, “what makes her think this?Shealways speaks the truth.”“She did not see me,” said Amethyst, “with Major Fowler in the ante-room.”“Then is what Lady Haredale says true?” Amethyst did not speak.“There is some mystery. There is something not square somewhere. What is your mother making you do? You were not like yourself yesterday; you had been crying when that scoundrel’s engagement was announced? What does it mean?”As she was still speechless, he went on, his boyish roughness of manner ill matching the agony in his pale stern face.“I hate mysteries. It is your duty to tell me the truth. Soon you can have no secrets from me.”“I cannot explain what Mrs Leigh saw,” said Amethyst, but she sank slowly down on the bench as she spoke, for her limbs failed her. Then suddenly she sprang up, and threw herself into his arms, with one outburst of all her forces against the fate that was closing in upon her.“Oh, Lucian, trust me, trust me; I swear to you you may.”As Lucian strained her in his arms, he felt all his convictions reeling and yielding; but the answer was as inevitable to his nature, as the appeal to hers.“Oh, my darling—my love, I do trust you.But you ought to tell.”What Amethyst might have done in another moment, convinced as she was that she oughtnotto tell, is doubtful, but, before she could speak. Lady Haredale returned, and with her Tory and Kattern.“Oh, Lucian,” said Tory, in her high drawling voice, “my lady says you think that Amethyst has secrets with Tony. So she has; she gave him a present from us. We bought him a purse with our own money. It was all quite correct, I assure you.”“Is that true?” said Lucian, abruptly. Amethyst had started up, and he saw the startled horror in her eyes.—“Madam,” he said to Lady Haredale, while his young eyes flashed fire, “that is the story which was to be made up. I will leave you to improve upon it,” and he lifted his hat, and dashed away almost more rapidly than he had come.Amethyst stood for a moment motionless; then she turned to her mother, and caught both her hands.“Mother,” she cried, “your are ruining my life. I will never, never marry Lucian, while I am pledged to deceive him.—Never, not if he would marry me!”Lady Haredale’s shallow sentimental nature fairly quailed before the passion in the girl’s eyes and voice, but she held to her point.“Oh, nonsense, my dear, you are far too scrupulous. It’s not your secret; we must make it right somehow. Why, there were thousands of things I had to keep secret whenIwas married!”“Yes, mother, I dare say there were,” said Amethyst, dropping her hands, and walking away across the grass.Lucian’s angry eyes had pierced her heart, but the unveiling of her sweet mother’s real nature seemed to have laid it waste. Half an hour later, as she sat in her room, crushed and stupefied, not one dear thought able to lift itself up under the frightful weight, hot, eager hands caught hers, and Una’s voice sobbed out—“Oh, Amethyst, my darling Amethyst, I’ve ruined you; it’s all my fault, I did it! Tory says so, and it’s true, but if I don’t deny it and deny it, it will ruinhim; Miss Verrequers will give him up. Oh, I can’t spoil his prospects. Oh, what shall I do?” Amethyst started up. There stood Una, with a very white face and black-ringed eyes, looking, in her ordinary striped frock and long hanging hair, as unlike her sister as could well be.“You!” exclaimed Amethyst. “What do you mean? What can you mean, Una?”“I mean, he kissed me. It was good-bye for ever and ever—and ever—there in the ante-room; Mrs Leigh must have seen me. Tory guessed directly, and of course she’ll tell. But, if I won’t own to it, they can’t bring it home to him. But you—oh, my darling! Oh, what shall I do?”That the children should be mixed up in the miserable story seemed the last drop in Amethyst’s cup. But the sense that, helpless as she was, she was less helpless than Una, did rouse her to some power of consideration.“I don’t think they could mistake you for me,” she said vaguely.“I was all white, and my frock was long. Some one did think I was Miss Haredale. Amethyst, I think I could do it this way. If they think he had an affair with you, that would be worse still for him. We’ll go all three of us to Mrs Leigh, and say, we’re very sorry there’s been a mistake, but Major Fowler always played with us, as my lady said, and that he just gave me a kiss for fun, to tease me, as I was dressed like a grown-up girl. She’ll think we’re forward little minxes, but she’ll never think more of a child like me. I candothe child well enough, if I like,” concluded Una with melancholy shrewdness.“I wouldn’t have you do such a thing for the world!” exclaimed Amethyst, horrified. “Besides, Mrs Leigh wouldn’t believe you; and that is not all.”“Oh no, I know there’s some awful scrape of my lady’s. But won’t she believe about the purse either?” said Una, to whom the scheme of exciting magnanimous confession had a certain miserable attraction.“Una!” said Amethyst, “I’d rather never see Lucian again, than have you and Tory tell lies for my sake. Oh, it is all horrible—better a thousand times lose him, than know I was deceiving him!”“Is that true?” said Una, in a tone of intense surprise, and, as she spoke, an awful wave of self-knowledge flooded Amethyst’s mind; and the nature within her, akin to the mother whom she had found out, akin to the very girl whose proposal was so shocking to her, rose up in all its strength of self-pleasing passion. Was it true? She, felt as if her own soul, and the soul of her young sister,—nay, Lucian’s soul too, might depend on her answer.“Oh, God help me! God help me!” she cried. “It shall be true! I’ll join in no cheating—nor let you do things worse than you understand, for my sake. But oh, it’s a dreadful world! Oh, mother, mother!” and floods of tears and choking sobs overwhelmed her.Una twined her arms round her, kissing her, and calling her by every tender name. For a moment Amethyst held back, half shrinking from her, half feeling how unfit it was for such a child to witness her despair. But she was little more than a child herself, in extreme need of love and sympathy. She put up her cheek to Una’s, and the two poor girls, victims of the sins and follies of others, clung to each other for the comfort there was no one else on earth to give them.
As Mrs Leigh moved out of hearing, Lady Haredale turned quickly to her daughter.
“Well,didhe kiss you?” she said, eagerly.
Amethyst stared at her for a moment.
“No,” she said, with neither outcry nor protest. It was worse to know her mother, than to be suspected herself. Her soul was hurt by the knowledge.
“Well, so much the better. Now you must tell me exactly what did happen—what makes that woman think so?”
“I told you, mother, I met him in that turfed walk, and he said what I told you. I gave him the packet. Mr Riddell did see us, but I don’t think Mrs Leigh did. That was all.”
“But what did she mean about the conservatory?”
“I did go through the conservatory, and through the ante-room into the drawing-room, and no one was there but Major Fowler, and Miss Verrequers came in, in a minute or two. It is all a mistake. But oh, mother, can’t I tell her that I had a message from you?”
“No, Amethyst,” said Lady Haredale, without any of her usual softness. “If you do, we shall all be ruined. They’ll break off your engagement to a certainty. They’re just the people who never—never would understand about poor Tony. And—and you know, my dear, I’malwayshonest. I ought to have paid those losses, and it’s a story to gain in the telling. If Miss Verrequers heard some things, there’d be such an explosion. Besides, your father would be furious. Remember, I’ve trusted you with your poor mother’s honour. We must make a story up. They must not know about Tony.”
“Make up a story! But what can I tell them?” exclaimed Amethyst with incautious vehemence.
“The truth!”—and Lucian, who had sprung over the stile and flashed along the path, in a moment had seized her hands; his clear unfaltering eyes were looking into hers, his young strong voice, troubled, angered, and yet loving, sounded in her ears.
“What does my mother mean, Amethyst? what is all this?”
“I did not—oh, I did not!” gasped Amethyst, like a falsely accused child. “Oh, Lucian, don’t you believe what I say?”
“Yes, yes, of course I believe it. But what do you say? What can my mother possibly be thinking of?” cried Lucian, still hasty and unrealising.
“Really, Lucian,” said Lady Haredale, “I cannot tell; Mrs Leigh is under some extraordinary mistake. Amethyst has nothing to tell you, and I really hardly know if I can allow the subject to be dropped here. I believe that Amethyst took a turn with Major Fowler—dear old Tony—who has been like an uncle among the children, and Mrs Leigh has made some extraordinary mistake.”
“What is it, Amethyst?Youtell me what it is,” said Lucian, who hated Lady Haredale, and never believed a word that fell from her lips.
But his hastiness, which looked like anger and suspicion, though it was in truth passionate trouble, almost took from her breath and speech. Her face whitened, her figure swayed.
“I—I only took a turn with him,” she stammered, with her eyes on her mother, “a turn in the turfed walk.”
“But afterwards—” said Lucian. “No, I’ll not ask you in any one’s presence. Come with me, and tell me the meaning of it all.”
“There’s nothing else to tell you,” said Amethyst, suddenly feeling that she would never dare to be alone with Lucian again.
“I don’t think I ought to leave you with the poor child, while you are so unreasonable,” said Lady Haredale.
“I do not choose to ask her such a question even before you,” said Lucian, with dignity.
“Why, what a mountain out of a mole-hill you are making, you dear foolish boy,” exclaimed Lady Haredale. “It is quite true that Major Fowler and Amethyst took a turn together, and met Mr Sylvester Riddell. She gave him a little present the children have clubbed together to buy for him out of their own money, as a congratulation on his engagement. What was it, Amethyst?—a purse, I think? Then it appears that Mrs Leigh saw her with him,—where was it, Amethyst?—in the conservatory?”
“No, mother, she did not,” said Amethyst, who had drawn away from Lucian, and stood upright.
“Oh, my dear child, she couldn’t quite invent it, I think she must have seen you. And if he had kissed you—I shall always maintain that he did no harm.Dear old Tony!—And an engaged man! But if you say that Mrs Leigh was mistaken, of course Lucian is bound to believe you.”
Amethyst did not speak.
“Couldit have been some one else—Miss Verrequers herself, or one of the little girls? Shall I call them?”
“Certainly not, Lady Haredale,” said Lucian; “I want no witnesses. Amethyst will explain tome.”
“Well,” said Lady Haredale, still lightly, “I will leave her to do so. She can only tell you what I have told you now. But, Lucian, take care,—I cannot have her word doubted.”
As Lady Haredale walked away, uttering the last words with a charming air of motherly dignity, Lucian turned round and gazed into Amethyst’s face.
“What did my mother see?” he said, “what makes her think this?Shealways speaks the truth.”
“She did not see me,” said Amethyst, “with Major Fowler in the ante-room.”
“Then is what Lady Haredale says true?” Amethyst did not speak.
“There is some mystery. There is something not square somewhere. What is your mother making you do? You were not like yourself yesterday; you had been crying when that scoundrel’s engagement was announced? What does it mean?”
As she was still speechless, he went on, his boyish roughness of manner ill matching the agony in his pale stern face.
“I hate mysteries. It is your duty to tell me the truth. Soon you can have no secrets from me.”
“I cannot explain what Mrs Leigh saw,” said Amethyst, but she sank slowly down on the bench as she spoke, for her limbs failed her. Then suddenly she sprang up, and threw herself into his arms, with one outburst of all her forces against the fate that was closing in upon her.
“Oh, Lucian, trust me, trust me; I swear to you you may.”
As Lucian strained her in his arms, he felt all his convictions reeling and yielding; but the answer was as inevitable to his nature, as the appeal to hers.
“Oh, my darling—my love, I do trust you.But you ought to tell.”
What Amethyst might have done in another moment, convinced as she was that she oughtnotto tell, is doubtful, but, before she could speak. Lady Haredale returned, and with her Tory and Kattern.
“Oh, Lucian,” said Tory, in her high drawling voice, “my lady says you think that Amethyst has secrets with Tony. So she has; she gave him a present from us. We bought him a purse with our own money. It was all quite correct, I assure you.”
“Is that true?” said Lucian, abruptly. Amethyst had started up, and he saw the startled horror in her eyes.—“Madam,” he said to Lady Haredale, while his young eyes flashed fire, “that is the story which was to be made up. I will leave you to improve upon it,” and he lifted his hat, and dashed away almost more rapidly than he had come.
Amethyst stood for a moment motionless; then she turned to her mother, and caught both her hands.
“Mother,” she cried, “your are ruining my life. I will never, never marry Lucian, while I am pledged to deceive him.—Never, not if he would marry me!”
Lady Haredale’s shallow sentimental nature fairly quailed before the passion in the girl’s eyes and voice, but she held to her point.
“Oh, nonsense, my dear, you are far too scrupulous. It’s not your secret; we must make it right somehow. Why, there were thousands of things I had to keep secret whenIwas married!”
“Yes, mother, I dare say there were,” said Amethyst, dropping her hands, and walking away across the grass.
Lucian’s angry eyes had pierced her heart, but the unveiling of her sweet mother’s real nature seemed to have laid it waste. Half an hour later, as she sat in her room, crushed and stupefied, not one dear thought able to lift itself up under the frightful weight, hot, eager hands caught hers, and Una’s voice sobbed out—
“Oh, Amethyst, my darling Amethyst, I’ve ruined you; it’s all my fault, I did it! Tory says so, and it’s true, but if I don’t deny it and deny it, it will ruinhim; Miss Verrequers will give him up. Oh, I can’t spoil his prospects. Oh, what shall I do?” Amethyst started up. There stood Una, with a very white face and black-ringed eyes, looking, in her ordinary striped frock and long hanging hair, as unlike her sister as could well be.
“You!” exclaimed Amethyst. “What do you mean? What can you mean, Una?”
“I mean, he kissed me. It was good-bye for ever and ever—and ever—there in the ante-room; Mrs Leigh must have seen me. Tory guessed directly, and of course she’ll tell. But, if I won’t own to it, they can’t bring it home to him. But you—oh, my darling! Oh, what shall I do?”
That the children should be mixed up in the miserable story seemed the last drop in Amethyst’s cup. But the sense that, helpless as she was, she was less helpless than Una, did rouse her to some power of consideration.
“I don’t think they could mistake you for me,” she said vaguely.
“I was all white, and my frock was long. Some one did think I was Miss Haredale. Amethyst, I think I could do it this way. If they think he had an affair with you, that would be worse still for him. We’ll go all three of us to Mrs Leigh, and say, we’re very sorry there’s been a mistake, but Major Fowler always played with us, as my lady said, and that he just gave me a kiss for fun, to tease me, as I was dressed like a grown-up girl. She’ll think we’re forward little minxes, but she’ll never think more of a child like me. I candothe child well enough, if I like,” concluded Una with melancholy shrewdness.
“I wouldn’t have you do such a thing for the world!” exclaimed Amethyst, horrified. “Besides, Mrs Leigh wouldn’t believe you; and that is not all.”
“Oh no, I know there’s some awful scrape of my lady’s. But won’t she believe about the purse either?” said Una, to whom the scheme of exciting magnanimous confession had a certain miserable attraction.
“Una!” said Amethyst, “I’d rather never see Lucian again, than have you and Tory tell lies for my sake. Oh, it is all horrible—better a thousand times lose him, than know I was deceiving him!”
“Is that true?” said Una, in a tone of intense surprise, and, as she spoke, an awful wave of self-knowledge flooded Amethyst’s mind; and the nature within her, akin to the mother whom she had found out, akin to the very girl whose proposal was so shocking to her, rose up in all its strength of self-pleasing passion. Was it true? She, felt as if her own soul, and the soul of her young sister,—nay, Lucian’s soul too, might depend on her answer.
“Oh, God help me! God help me!” she cried. “It shall be true! I’ll join in no cheating—nor let you do things worse than you understand, for my sake. But oh, it’s a dreadful world! Oh, mother, mother!” and floods of tears and choking sobs overwhelmed her.
Una twined her arms round her, kissing her, and calling her by every tender name. For a moment Amethyst held back, half shrinking from her, half feeling how unfit it was for such a child to witness her despair. But she was little more than a child herself, in extreme need of love and sympathy. She put up her cheek to Una’s, and the two poor girls, victims of the sins and follies of others, clung to each other for the comfort there was no one else on earth to give them.