What had he been about to say? Mary decided that this young man, who was so grateful for her father's kindness, and so delighted with everything, including herself, was the Oxford recluse in person, who is to be heard of now and then – that grave young owl, whose perch among the cloisters has kept him unacquainted with ordinary mortals and affairs. And there was a certain truth in this supposition. Abel, even in places where he was at ease, never had the ease common to his generation. He was constantly conscious that there was no real affinity between him and those about him; and though he might perhaps hardly have recognised his family had he seen them, they were perpetually apparent to him when he was in "society," pursuing him with thoughts of the effect which would be produced by their sudden appearance anywhere. He had a kind of inkling all the time that, if he had the courage to acknowledge and speak of them, this painful consciousness would disappear; but he knew he had not the courage. He talked to Mary all the time of luncheon in the same exalted tone, she replying little, but by degrees finding that air of deference not disagreeable. Miss Ridley was not clever, and her betrothed husband was aware of the fact, and did not perhaps conceal it so carefully as he might have done. But there is nobody who is not pleased, in the long run, by having great qualities imputed to him. It is the finest form of flattery. Abel took it for granted that this country lady in her remote corner of the world knew everything that was moving the general mind of the country, and spoke to her of books, and pictures, and society, and politics. A member of a special society, even if he is less distinguished than Abel was, has means of glimpsing general society of a much higher order than his own. He had met all kinds of people, whose names are spread to all the winds. Miss Ridley felt as if she had made an excursion into the world, while she sat at the head of the table and ate her chicken. It pleased her to hear of statesmen and poets, and so many notable persons. She asked about their looks, and their ways of living; and she thought Mr Murray very interesting, though his manners were perhaps, a little, those of the old world.
After lunch the squire himself exhibited the chapel, which was falling somewhat out of repair and the younger people went out to see that part of the Castle that was in ruins. The ruined front included a tower, which Abel remembered well it had been one of the feats of his boyhood to climb. But the Ridleys shook their heads when he asked if they could go up.
"Not for the world," said Mary, turning pale; but though Roger agreed with her at first, he changed his mind the next moment.
"I don't see why we should not," he said. "All the little ragamuffins in the neighbourhood used to do it when I was a boy. Have you a steady head, Murray? Are you used to climbing?"
"Don't, Roger!" said his sister; "papa will not like it. Oh, don't!"
"Why shouldn't I? Charley can stay and take care of you."
"That I will," said young Landale; "while you break your necks we will run on to the village, and see that the doctor is handy. That will be the most friendly thing to do."
"Mr Murray, pray don't go," said Mary. "I am so much afraid it is dangerous; and Roger is so venturesome."
"Be sure you groan as loud as ever you can," said flippant Charley, "so that we may know where to find you when you fall."
"Come along," said Roger. As for Abel, he had no sort of nervous feeling; he knew exactly how to climb, and which were the dangerous places. When they came to one of these, Roger, who preceded him, called him to follow upon an arch of crumbling masonry, which looked sure enough from below. "When we get over this we are in safety," he said; "so take care, cross it gingerly, as I am responsible for you."
"Not that way," cried Abel. "Stop, stop, not there! That will not bear your weight. Ridley!" he shouted in growing excitement, "stop! I tell you this is the way."
"Come on!" cried Roger, gaily. Then there was a sound of sliding, and a cloud of dust and a cry. The cry was from Mary outside, looking on with fear and trembling, and seeing her brother disappear. She gave a wild shriek, such as half enervated and half inspired Abel, who had sprung with the instinct of the moment to the spot which he knew to be trustworthy, and standing there, supported by an angle of the wall, had already caught Roger before he could fall far. But the crushing impetus with which Roger fell against him, and the fright and the excitement together, were too much for Abel, already suffering from the long strain of suppressed feeling. He laughed loud and wildly, – a laugh that seemed to the terrified spectators below to have the scream of madness in it. "I told you this was the way," he cried, laughing, but panting for breath.
Mary Ridley ran screaming towards the house, then came back again as John and the other servants rushed out. She ran back to the half-ruined staircase by which the path began, wringing her hands in despair. Abel's laughter was still pealing out unrestrained, making the whole incident horrible.
"Oh, make him stop! make him stop!" she cried, putting her hands to her ears. "Roger is killed, and the other has gone mad! Oh, make him stop, make him stop!"
CHAPTER V
"What is the matter?" said calmly a smooth and even voice. Mary was almost beside herself. The servants had all gone into the ruins with Charley Landale at their head to help, and she stood outside in an anguish of despair and horror, calling out unconsciously to stop him, to stop him! It seemed almost a secondary thing to her that Roger was killed – if there could be but silence again, if they could but be free of that horrible laugh. The voice which now addressed her ought to have been the dearest voice in the world to Mary, but its calm and even tone seemed, on the contrary, an aggravation, only a little less horrible than the sound of that laughter, which she could neither bear nor tolerate. What was the matter? She clasped her hands wildly together and pointed to the ruins. She could not say anything. Could not he have seen, if he had felt for her as he ought – if he had cared about her and her surroundings – could not he have seen at once without asking what was the matter? She had no leisure to look at, or speak to, Featherstonhaugh. Presently the mangled body of her only brother would be carried out in her sight; but, oh! if that horrible laugh could but be made an end of – that was the worst to bear.
"Some one must have gone mad, surely," said Sir Richard. "Had you not better go in, Mary? This cannot be a scene for you. Go in, and I will come and tell you what has happened. Hallo! is this Roger? Then what is the matter?" he said in his surprise. Mary shut her eyes with a sinking of horror not to see the terrible sight she looked for, but at the same moment felt a sudden lull and ease steal over her – the scream of wild laughter had ceased.
"Roger, what have you been about? Are you hurt?" Sir Richard said.
Hurt! was that all? She ventured to open her eyes, and saw Roger limping towards them, covered with dust and lime, but smiling through the incrustation. She rushed forward and took hold of his arm with both her hands.
"Roger! Then nothing has happened?"
"I am not a ghost," he said, half laughing, "and I'll give you my word if you like never to try that confounded place again. You must speak to Murray – he is more shaken than I am. Didn't you think he was mad, with that horrible laugh?"
"What were you doing?" said Sir Richard. "Surely not the incredible folly of climbing that wall! What good could it do you? I don't wonder Mary is upset. Pray go in now; pray go in. You see he is not hurt."
"But Mr Murray! Oh, Roger, how did it all happen? How did you escape? What made him laugh so?" said Miss Ridley, shuddering. "I thought you were killed, and that he had lost his senses. Oh, Roger, what a laugh!"
"Pooh! Some fellows have that fiendish way of laughing, and he got nervous. Don't you see it's all right now? You'll have to thank him, though," Roger added, hastily; "but for him I should have been carried down feet foremost, as the people say. I don't know what we can say to him – he has saved my life!"
"Oh, God bless him! God bless him!" cried Mary. She made a step forward, then turned again, with a visible tremor.
"But are you sure he is – quite – quite – Mr Murray," she added, growing very pale, and putting out her hands to him as he approached from under the old doorway, "oh, how can I thank you? You have saved Roger's life!"
Abel was paler than she was, and his face looked like that of a man absolutely worn out and exhausted. "It was nothing," he said. "I knew one way was safe, but not the other. The upper arch always crumbled at a touch – but I frightened you, I know I must have frightened you. It is a foolish weakness I have. I laugh when I am agitated."
"Oh, never mind that. You limp, too; we are a nice pair of cripples. Come along," said Roger, "let us lean upon each other. I must have come down upon you with all my weight."
"I knew that arch would go. I was prepared for it. I am only limping out of sympathy," said Murray, with again a harsh, though momentary, laugh. Mary ran in before them, still with a little shiver, and met the squire coming out, dignified, to know what was the matter? "I don't know who was laughing like that, but it was very vulgar and very objectionable," he said. A few hurried words, however, allayed Mr Ridley's displeasure. "God bless me!" he said, devoutly, and hurried out to thank the stranger who had saved his son's life. "Though Roger ought to have known better than to have run such a risk," he said, seriously, as the agitated group came back to the house. All were in commotion, the servants fluttering to and fro, the very cook, her hands covered with flour, coming out to gaze. "I'll bet that gentleman's been here before," John said, privately. "Bless you, he knows all the ways of th' ould place as well as I do that was born and bred on the Waterside;" and Sir Richard, the only spectator who was quite unmoved, recollected, and had observed as none of the rest did, what Murray said. They made much of him when they got indoors, paying a great deal more attention to his nerves than to Roger's foot, which was bruised though not seriously hurt. Roger, however, declared himself quite able to walk as far as the village with them, when at last the young men took their leave. They all set out together – Sir Richard going the same way as the others as far as the head of the lake. Roger was jealously on the watch as they passed through the village, lest by any chance they should meet Lily; but they had got past all danger, as he thought, and were once more on the open road by the waterside, when, with a sudden leap of his jealous heart, he saw her approaching. They all perceived her at the same moment. It is not necessary, in those simple regions, that a young woman should put on a hat or bonnet every time she goes out. Lily's beautiful head was uncovered. The wind playing with the locks about her forehead brought out tiny curls from the neatly braided hair, and freshened the colour in her cheeks. She was not made of roses and lilies, like Miss Ridley, but her dark hair had gleams of colour in it, and her eyes were like the dark brown mountain streams, dancing, glancing, yet profound as the depths into which they plunged. Lily was not at all unaware of the admiration with which she was regarded, and she felt before she came near them the little thrill of interest that ran through the group of young men whom she approached. She did not at first perceive that Roger was among them, but his absence did not make her indifferent to the other spectators. She came with a little stumble of embarrassment, more apparent to herself than the lookers-on, feeling their scrutiny, and feeling, as is common enough, her ankles twisting, her dress blown about. Much abashed was Lily, but yet she had no particular wish to escape from the eager lookers-on, who were watching for her as if she had been the queen. This was how the foolish girl felt it – as if she had been the queen! just as she herself would advance, her eyes as wide open as ever they could be, to watch the queen passing, and devour every look of her and every line of her dress. This was just how the silly young men would stare at herself. "Gooses!" thought Lily. She had never learnt grammar, but she understood the minds of men.
"This is the girl who is said to be the prettiest girl in the whole dale, up the water and down the water," said Featherstonhaugh, with a little conscious impropriety, feeling that the interest he felt in her was excessive. As for Murray, his heart began to beat again wildly in his ears. This time he must confront his sister face to face. Would she, could she, recognise him? The idea was enough to set all the blood astir in his veins. And Roger awaited her coming with a tumult in his, that could scarcely be kept from making itself visible: his heart began to thump against his breast, his throat grew dry, his colour went and came. She was his Lily, whatever happened. No one had any right so much as to look at her but he; and yet they were all staring, and he could say nothing. A wild fury seemed to glide like fire through his blood, kindling him as it ran along – fury that would burst out uncontrollable, like fire, if any door should be opened for it, any occasion given. Charley Landale was the only innocent person of all the four, who had no further thought than to take "a good look" at her, and make up his mind whether she were really as pretty as every one said.
Thus she came on, feeling awkward under their gaze, yet not particularly desirous of avoiding their gaze, with, indeed, a kind of pleased consciousness of it, which added to the blush that wavered upon her face. Her lips were parted with a half smile. She took them all in with her eyes, which looked steadily in front of her without dwelling on any one. As she came nearer she distinguished Sir Richard, that great potentate, who was in the front; but, notwithstanding that he was much in her thoughts, she did not distinguish Roger. It was almost like acting the spy upon her to see her advance thus in her soft vanity, with the smile on her lips, not knowing he was there. "Good evening to you," she said, as rural politeness made proper, and passed on, as it was right for a girl to do. The sound of her voice startled two of them, as if a gun had been fired by their ears. Murray could not tell what revelation might follow – and Roger grew sick and faint to see her go by him without so much as a suspicion that he was there. He would have felt her vicinity, he thought, if she had passed him in the dark.
After all, it was not much to excite them so: for they were all excited, except placid Charley; a country lass, bashful, yet with a pretty vanity, smiling and walking past a group of young men who admired her, but whom, except the one whom she did not perceive, she did not know. There was not much in this for such expenditure of feeling. And they said nothing when she had passed: even Charley, with a "By Jove!" of admiration on his lips, saw that it was more expedient to say nothing. He did not understand the paleness and quick breathing of Ridley by his side, nor the silence of the two before them. They had all made a kind of pause when Lily passed. They went on with quickened paces after, and soon they came to the point where their paths separated, and Roger turned back. All the glare of sunset was upon the lake as they parted near the waterside.
"I don't pretend to be a talker," said Ridley, grasping Abel's hand, "but I shall never forget that I owed my life to you to-day."
"It was nothing," said Abel, off his guard. "I should have stopped sooner than I did. I knew your way was insecure."
"However it was, I owe you my life, and I shan't forget it," said Roger. "If ever you want a good turn that I can do – "
"Good night; you must not think it was anything," Murray said returning the pressure of his hand. He, too, was agitated by all that had happened, and by the last incident as much as any. He watched Ridley making his way backward, still slightly lame, with all the benevolence a man feels for one whom he has served. "Mrs Landale said well he was friendly. It is the best name for him," he said.
"He has occasion to be friendly to you, and so has all his family," said Featherstonhaugh. "But – you knew the old tower before?"
"I!" The blood rushed to Abel's face. "What makes you think so? I – have had no opportunity of knowing it before."
"I thought you were quite familiar with the place. You said something – I beg your pardon – perhaps I misunderstood."
"I said I knew his way was unsafe; any one could have seen that at a glance."
The eyes of the two met. Murray thought there was suspicion in the looks of Featherstonhaugh, and this not only filled him with alarm, but with irritation too. Sir Richard, however, repeated his excuse. "I misunderstood you. I thought you spoke of it with previous knowledge. You will bring Mr Murray to Featherstonhaugh, Charley, to see me. I fear there is nothing to show him much worth the trouble. A few pictures – that is all."
"Only the best collection in the north country," said Landale; and with a slight complacent smile and nod, half acquiescent, half deprecating, Featherstonhaugh went on upon his separate way. "He is a prig," said Charley, when he was out of hearing; "but all the same, he has some fine pictures, and understands them too."
"Being a prig does not prevent a man from having fine pictures, nor, unfortunately, even from understanding them," said Murray, with a sigh. "There are no such compensations as one used to believe in. The poor man is not always the cleverest, nor the lord of many acres always a fool."
"I should hope not," said Charley, roused; for though his acres were limited in extent, it was his class which was thus by implication attacked. "And what did you think of the little dressmaker?" said the unsuspecting youth. "I say, both those fellows are in for it. Ridley, you know, we saw with her; and as for Featherstonhaugh, did you see how he stared at her? I admire a pretty girl, but I would not look as if I could eat her up. It's to be hoped there will be no mischief between those two."
"I thought Sir Richard was engaged to Miss Ridley?"
"And so he is; but that does not make it better, but worse," said Charley, with much discrimination. "And they are two determined fellows. If it came to a scrimmage I should like to be there."
"I don't think, in such a case," said Abel, trying to subdue his own excitement, "that Sir Richard would have much chance."
"Oh, I should not like to say that. Featherstonhaugh's very quiet, but he's deep. I've observed," said Charley, producing his innocent aphorism with much gravity, "that the more quiet men are, the deeper they are. I don't know if you've noticed that."
Murray's mind was not sufficiently at ease to remark this simple wisdom. He said with a kind of bitterness, "What she feels on the subject has not much to do with it, I suppose."
"What, the girl? Oh, yes, if she happens to be of the sort that have a will of their own. A girl like that can make herself very disagreeable, I've heard. I suppose on the whole, anyhow, it can't mean much good to her," said Charley, taking a sudden thought. "It would be better for her on the whole if she wasn't so pretty. Don't you think so? Though Roger Ridley is as obstinate as a pony, and if he once took a thing into his head – but, after all, I don't suppose he could be quite such a fool," Charley said, with a pause of consideration. Abel looked at him keenly with a suppressed glare in his eyes.
"Such a fool as to think of making the dressmaker his wife?"
"Oh, come!" cried Charley; "when you put it in words – and in cold blood – no one surely would be quite such a fool as that."
There was a singing in Abel's ears, a convulsive tremor ran through him. It was his sister of whom this innocent babbler was speaking; but who could suspect anything of the kind?
Roger strolled back by the waterside; but then he recollected that he had something to do, which made it necessary for him to pass again through the village – indeed, that he was compelled to go, though he did not wish it, by business, that infallible force which every one must obey. And when he had taken that turn he went on with more alacrity. Quite necessary! It was the blacksmith he thought he wanted to see, for servants never give your orders correctly. He went on – but not directly towards the blacksmith's. A green lane is more pleasant than a hard high-road. He would go that way for the sake of his foot, which certainly hurt him a good deal. He could not help wondering what that little flirt would say if she knew that this very afternoon he had been in danger of his life. Would she mind? Would it have made any difference to her one way or another if he had come down headlong from off that archway and broken his neck, and never spoken again? She would perhaps have met Featherstonhaugh in the lane, and heard all about it from him. Heaven and earth! Though Roger had not died, and had no intention of doing so, the idea of Featherstonhaugh reporting to Lily all the details of his dying, and making use of the incident as a means of approaching her, made him frantic.
He went very slowly through the lane. The light was beginning to wane, for it had been already late when they left the Castle. He looked up to the back window of Miss Prentice's house, and thought he saw some one there. Here was a chance at least of knowing whether she had got his letter. He made a gesture of appeal, beckoning to her, though he could not even be sure that it was Lily – a dangerous experiment. Of course, he said to himself, he had never thought of this when he came through the lane for the sake of his bad foot. Neither had Lily ever thought of it when she went by chance to the staircase window. But the result was that she did stroll out, and that he did meet her, at Miss Prentice's back-door.
"What is it?" she said. "Oh, I mustn't stay; you mustn't keep me. I only came because I was so frightened; she might see you making signs. I wish you wouldn't make signs like that. If any one saw you, oh, what would become of me?"
"It would not do you any harm," said Roger, "for I know what you would do, Lily. You would simply cast me off and pretend to know nothing about me. You know that is what you would do."
"Oh, but it would be quite true. What do I know about you? I know you are young Mr Ridley, a gentleman, far, oh, far above me. All the world knows that; and I don't know what I know more."
"You know I love you, Lily, which is what no one knows but you."
"Oh," she said, with a toss of her head, "I am not so sure about that. I know what you say; but what young men say and what they feel is very different."
"Who taught you that, Lily? Can you look at me, and then tell me that you think I don't feel what I say?"
"Oh, as for that – but every book you ever open says so, and all the old people say so; they ought to know. Never believe a lad, Miss Prentice says – and far more when it's a gentleman."
"Did you get my letter, Lily?"
"Oh, yes, I got your letter; I couldn't quite read it all. Did you ever learn to write, Mr Ridley? or is it taught in the grand schools? For a long time I couldn't tell who sent it," said Lily, telling her little fib with a steady look at him, and all the innocence in the world.
"Then I suppose heaps of other people write you letters like that?"
Lily laughed with malice and enjoyment of the fun. "Did you think that you were the only one that ever said he cared for me?" she said, with merry scorn. As for Roger, he was quite desperate, and did not know how to meet this levity, which broke his heart.
"You should not take it so easily," he said, "for Lily, but for – Providence – it would have been the last letter I ever wrote to you or any one. I was as nearly as possible killed to-day."
She gave a little cry, her face paled and reddened, and she clasped her hands together. This encouraged him to go on, which he did in that tearful solemn tone with which a man represents himself as an object of sympathy when he is very anxious to make a tender impression and very doubtful of his success.
"I was climbing the old tower to show a stranger the way, and put my foot by accident upon a bit of the wall that would not bear me; and there would have been an end of me, Lily, and of all my love and all our meetings. I don't think you would have minded a bit: you would have gone on with some one else, and thought nothing more of Roger Ridley. You would have – "
"Oh, never mind what I would have done!" she said, stamping her foot; "that's best known to me. What happened then? what happened then? that's what I want to know."
"You see, I was saved! What with the other man, and what with throwing myself into the corner as I fell – "
(He had thrown himself upon Murray, whose arms were out to catch him: but he did not think it needful to inform her of that.)
"Who was the other man?" she asked, drawing her breath hurriedly.
"It was – a man who is on a visit to Landale – a man that you met this afternoon walking with – never mind the man. I was behind him, but you never saw me. You were willing to let them stare at you, though you never saw I was there."
"Could I stop them from staring at me? But I mind the man. He was a handsome gentleman. I will always look at him again when I see him. He must have a good courage, and a good heart of his own, too."
"Shall you look at him for my sake or for his? You might say at least that you are glad that I was saved."
She gave another toss of her pretty head, and laughed. She was not so simple as not to know the advantage of a question in suspense like this. "Everybody is glad when somebody else is not killed," she said; "but, good-night, I must run in. Oh, yes, I must run in. Miss Prentice will be looking out as she goes down, and if she should find me here – That is her step, I do believe!" And with extreme consistency Lily came out, quite outside the door of which she had been making a fortress, and closed it softly that she might not be seen from the house. Roger took this opportunity to seize her hand, but Lily was farouche, and shook herself free from the touch. She looked at him seriously as they stood there under the shadow of the wall. "Yes, I am glad that – nobody is killed," she said.
"Nobody – anybody! that it was I, don't matter much?"
"Perhaps," she said, with a laugh. This was not much comfort; but Roger, drawing as near as was permitted, looked at her tenderly, gratefully, thinking of what he should say next that would most thoroughly reveal his feelings. What could he say? She knew very well all that he meant, though she pretended to take everything so calmly. She stood with the most innocent air in the world, waiting till he should speak. Then, with some of the flippancy of her class, Lily cried, "And did you hurt your tongue, Mr Ridley, when you fell?"
"You are very cruel. You ought to pretend to be sorry at least; and you might give me an answer to my letter. Did you like what I sent you? I thought you – you might have something to say to a poor man who was nearly killed to-day – "
This pathetic speech, given with all the tender reproach possible, would have been too much for the gravity of any looker-on. And Lily burst out laughing, with seeming disregard for his feelings.
"You are not much the worse," she said.
"I shall be a great deal the worse if you laugh at me. Lily, why are you so unkind? You know there is nothing in the world I would not do – "
"Were you really with the other gentlemen?" she said. "I didn't see you. There was Sir Richard. Oh, I saw Sir Richard, and young Mr Landale, and a strange gentleman – but I have seen him before – I know I have seen him before; and you were there? I am glad I did not see you. I should have laughed or something. Perhaps I did not see you because I was looking at Sir Richard."
"Then you have seen him before?" said Roger, setting his teeth.
"Seen him before? Oh, hundreds and hundreds of times! I see him most days, going or coming, almost as often as I see you – "
"He is a villain, then!" cried Roger, hotly. "He is engaged to – a lady."
"I know; he is engaged to Miss Mary. What does that matter? I'm not keeping company with him," said Lily. "If you think I would take another girl's leavings – if she was a princess! – I would scorn it. And I don't think of the like of him. They come and they go, it don't matter to me. What have I got to do with the gentlemen? A nod or a smile out of civility, but no more."
"That is quite right, Lily," cried Roger, radiant. He came a step nearer and took her hand softly. "But you don't mean that for me?"
"Why shouldn't I mean it for you?" she cried, throwing off his hand. "But there's some one coming," she added, with a little shriek, and fled within the shelter of the door.
Roger, after lingering for a minute in hope of her return, was about to turn disconsolately away, when she suddenly appeared again, between the half-opened door and the wall, and pulling out with one finger a piece of velvet round her neck, showed him his little locket suspended to it. "There!" she cried, and suddenly shut in his face and bolted the garden door.
From which he limped home, tantalised yet happy, thinking of his possible rivals no more.