Читать книгу: «Lippincott's Magazine of Popular Literature and Science, Volume 15, No. 87, March, 1875», страница 7
SONNET
If thou didst love me for imagined fame,
Or for some reason bred within thy mind
By teeming Fancy, till thy sense grew blind,
And wish and its possession seemed the same,
Was it my fault that I was not endowed
With all the virtues of thy paragon—
That clearer light did shine my flaws upon,
And showed the actual presence free from cloud?
Ah, no! the fault, if blame there be, was thine.
If thou hadst loved me for myself alone,
Thy love had lent its graces unto mine,
Until my frailties had to merits grown—
Till light, reflected from thy soul divine,
Had so transfused me that I too had shone.
>F.A. HILLARD.
THREE FEATHERS
BY WILLIAM BLACK, AUTHOR OF "A PRINCESS OF THULE."
CHAPTER XXVI. A PERILOUS TRUCE
The very stars in their courses seemed to fight for this young man.
No sooner had Wenna Rosewarne fled to her own room, there to think over in a wild and bewildered way all that had just happened, than her heart smote her sorely. She had not acted prudently; she had forgotten her self-respect; she ought to have forbidden him to come near her again—at least until such time as this foolish fancy of his should have passed away and been forgotten.
How could she have parted with him so calmly, and led him to suppose that their former relations were unaltered? She looked back on the forced quietude of her manner, and was herself astonished. Now her heart was beating rapidly; her trembling fingers were unconsciously twisting and untwisting a bit of ribbon; her head seemed giddy with the recollection of that brief and strange interview, Then, somehow, she thought of the look on his face when she told him that henceforth they must be strangers to each other. It seemed hard that he should be badly used for what was perhaps no intentional fault. If anybody had been in fault, it was herself in being blind to a possibility to which even her own sister had drawn her attention; and so the punishment ought to fall on her.
She would humble herself before Mr. Roscorla. She would force herself to be affectionate toward him in her letters. She would even write to Mabyn, and beg of her to take no notice of that angry remonstrance.
Then Wenna thought of her mother, and how she ought to tell her of all these things. But how could she? During the past day or two Mrs. Rosewarne had been at times singularly fretful and anxious. No letter had come from her husband. In vain did Wenna remind her that men were more careless of such small matters than women, and that it was too soon to expect her father to sit down and write. Mrs. Rosewarne sat brooding over her husband's silence; then she would get up in an excited fashion and declare her intention of going straight back to Eglosilyan; and these fitful moods prayed on the health of the invalid. Ought Wenna to risk increasing her anxiety by telling her this strange tale? She would doubtless misunderstand it. She might be angry with Harry Trelyon. She would certainly be surprised that Wenna had given him permission to see her again—not knowing that the girl, in her forced composure, had been talking to him as if this avowal of his were of no great moment.
All the same, Wenna had a secret fear that she had been imprudent in giving him this permission; and the most she could do now was to make his visits as few, short and ceremonious as possible. She would avoid him by every means in her power; and the first thing was to make sure that he should not call on them again while they remained in Penzance.
So she went down to the small parlor in a much more equable frame of mind, though her heart was still throbbing in an unusual way. The moment she entered the room she saw that something had occurred to disturb her mother. Mrs. Rosewarne turned from the window, and there was an excited look in her eyes. "Wenna," she said hurriedly, "did you see that carriage? Did you see that woman? Who was with her? Did you see who was with her? I know it was she: not if I live a hundred years could I forget that—that devil in human shape!"
"Mother, I don't know what you mean," Wenna said, wholly aghast.
Her mother had gone to the window again, and she was saying to herself, hurriedly and in a low voice, "No, you don't know—you don't know: why should you know? That shameless creature! And to drive by here! She must have known I was here. Oh, the shamelessness of the woman!"
She turned to Wenna again: "Wenna, I thought Mr. Trelyon was here. How long has he gone? I want to see him most particularly—most particularly, and only for a moment. He is sure to know all the strangers at his hotel, is he not? I want to ask him some questions. Wenna, will you go at once and bid him come to see me for a moment?"
"Mother!" Wenna said. How could she go to the hotel with such a message?
"Well, send a note to him, Wenna—send him a note by the girl down stairs. What harm is there in that?"
"Lie down, then, mother," said the girl calmly, "and I will send a message to Mr. Trelyon."
She drew her chair to the table, and her cheeks crimsoned to think of what he might imagine this letter to mean when he got the envelope in his hands. Her fingers trembled as she wrote the date at the head of the note. Then she came to the word "Dear," and it seemed to her that if shame were a punishment, she was doing sufficient penance for her indiscretion of that morning. Yet the note was not a compromising one. It merely said—
"DEAR MR. TRELYON: If you have a moment to spare, my mother would be most obliged to you if you would call on her. I hope you will forgive the trouble.
"Yours sincerely,WENNA ROSEWARNE."
When the young man got that note—he was just entering the hotel when the servant arrived—he stared with surprise. He told the girl he would call on Mrs. Rosewarne directly. Then he followed her.
He never for a moment doubted that this note had reference to his own affairs. Wenna had told her mother what had happened. The mother wished to see him to ask him to cease visiting them. Well, he was prepared for that. He would ask Wenna to leave the room. He would attack the mother boldly, and tell her what he thought of Mr. Roscorla. He would appeal to her to save her daughter from the impending marriage. He would win her over to be his secret ally and friend; and while nothing should be done precipitately to alarm Wenna or arouse her suspicions, might not these two carry the citadel of her heart in time, and hand over the keys to the rightful lord? It was a pleasant speculation: it was at least marked by that audacity that never wholly forsook Master Harry Trelyon. Of course he was the rightful lord, ready to bid all false claimants, rivals and pretenders Beware!
And yet, as he walked up to the house, some little tremor of anxiety crept into his heart. It was no mere game of brag in which he was engaged. As he went into the parlor Wenna stepped quietly by him, her eyes downcast, and he knew that all he cared to look forward to in the world depended on the decision of that quiet little person with the sensitive mouth and the earnest eyes. Fighting was not of much use there.
"Well, Mrs. Rosewarne," said he, rather shamefacedly, "I suppose you mean to scold me?"
Her answer surprised him. She took no heed of his remark, but in a vehement, excited way began to ask him questions about a woman whom she described.
He stared at her. "I hope you don't know anything about that elegant creature?" he said.
She did not wholly tell him the story, but left him to guess at some portions of it; and then she demanded to know all about the woman and her companion, and how long they had been in Penzance, and where they were going. Master Harry was by chance able to reply to certain of her questions. The answers comforted her greatly. Was he quite sure that she was married? What was her husband's name? She was no longer Mrs. Shirley? Would he find out all he could? Would he forgive her asking him to take all this trouble? and would he promise to say no word about it to Wenna?
When all this had been said and done the young man felt himself considerably embarrassed. Was there to be no mention of his own affairs? So far from remonstrating with him and forbidding him the house, Mrs. Rosewarne was almost effusively grateful to him, and could only beg him a thousand times not to mention the subject to her daughter.
"Oh, of course not," said he, rather bewildered. "But—but I thought from the way in which she left the room that—that perhaps I had offended her."
"Oh no, I am sure that is not the case," said Mrs. Rosewarne; and she immediately went and called Wenna, who came into the room with rather an anxious look on her face. She immediately perceived the change in her mother's mood. The demon of suspicion and jealousy had been as suddenly exorcised as it had been summoned. Mrs. Rosewarne's fine eyes were lit by quite a new brightness and gayety of spirits. She bade Wenna declare what fearful cause of offence Mr. Trelyon had given, and laughed when the young man, blushing somewhat, hastily assured both of them that it was all a stupid mistake of his own.
"Oh yes," Wenna said rather nervously, "it is a mistake. I am sure you have given me no offence at all, Mr. Trelyon."
It was an embarrassing moment for two, at least, out of these three persons; and Mrs. Rosewarne, in her abundant good-nature, could not understand their awkward silence. Wenna was apparently looking out of the window at the bright blue bay and the boats, and yet the girl was not ordinarily so occupied when Mr. Trelyon was present. As for him, he had got his hat in his hands; he seemed to be much concerned about it or about his boots; one did not often find Master Harry actually showing shyness.
At last he said, desperately, "Mrs. Rosewarne, perhaps you would go out for a sail in the afternoon? I could get you a nice little yacht and some rods and lines. Won't you?"
Mrs. Rosewarne was in a kindly humor. She said she would be very glad to go, for Wenna was growing tired of always sitting by the window. This would be some little variety for her.
"I hope you won't consider me, mother," said the young lady quickly lady and with some asperity. "I am quite pleased to sit by the window: I could do so always. And it is very wrong of us to take up so much of Mr. Trelyon's time."
"Because Mr. Trelyon's time is of so much use to him!" said that young man with a laugh; and then he told them when to expect him in the afternoon, and went his way.
He was in much better spirits when he went out. He whistled as he went. The plash of the blue sea all along the shingle seemed to have a sort of laugh in it: he was in love with Penzance and all its beautiful neighborhood. Once again, he was saying to himself, he would spend a quiet and delightful afternoon with Wenna Rosewarne, even if that were to be the last. He would surrender himself to the gentle intoxication of her presence. He would get a glimpse, from time to time, of her dark eyes when she was looking wistfully and absently over the sea. It was no breach of the implied contract with her that he should have seized this occasion. He had been sent for. And if it was necessary that he should abstain from seeing her for any great length of time, why this single afternoon would not make much difference. Afterward he would obey her wishes in any manner she pleased.
He walked into the hotel. There was a gentleman standing in the hall whose acquaintance Master Harry had condescended to make. He was a person of much money, uncertain grammar and oppressive generosity: he wore a frilled shirt and diamond studs, and he had such a vast admiration for this handsome, careless and somewhat rude young man that he would have been very glad had Mr. Trelyon dined with him every evening, and taken the trouble to win any reasonable amount of money of him at billiards afterward. Mr. Trelyon had not as yet graced his table.
"Oh, Grainger," said the young man, "I want to speak to you. Will you dine with me to-night at eight?"
"No, no, no," said Mr. Grainger, shaking his head in humble protest, "that isn't fair. You dine with me. It ain't the first or the second time of asking, either."
"But look here," said Trelyon, "I've got lots more to ask of you. I want you to lend me that little cutter of yours for the afternoon: will you? You send your man on board to see she's all right, and I'll pull out to her in about half an hour's time. You'll do that, won't you, like a good fellow?"
Mr. Grainger was not only willing to lend the yacht, but also his own services to see that she properly received so distinguished a guest; whereupon Trelyon had to explain that he wanted the small craft merely to give a couple of ladies a sail for an hour or so. Then Mr. Grainger would have his man instructed to let the ladies have some tea on board; and he would give Master Harry the key of certain receptacles in which he would find cans of preserved meat, fancy biscuits, jam, and even a few bottles of dry sillery; finally, he would immediately hurry off to see about fishing-rods. Trelyon had to acknowledge to himself that this worthy person deserved the best dinner that the hotel could produce.
In the afternoon he walked along to fetch Mrs. Rosewarne and her daughter, his face bright with expectation. Mrs. Rosewarne was dressed and ready when he went in, but she said, "I am afraid I can't go, Mr. Trelyon. Wenna says she is a little tired, and would rather stay at home."
"Wenna, that isn't fair," he said, obviously hurt. "You ought to make some little effort when you know it will do your mother good. And it will do you good too, if only you make up your mind to go."
She hesitated for a moment: she saw that her mother was disappointed. Then, without a word, she went and put on her hat and shawl.
"Well," he said approvingly, "you are very reasonable and very obedient. But we can't have you go with us with such a face as that. People would say we were going to a funeral."
A shy smile came over the gentle features, and she turned aside.
"And we can't have you pretend that we forced you to go. If we go at all, you must lead the way."
"You would tease the life out of a saint," she said with a vexed and embarrassed laugh; and then she marched out before them, very glad to be able to conceal her heightened color.
But much of her reserve vanished when they had set sail; and when the small cutter was beginning to make way through the light and plashing waves Wenna's face brightened. She no longer let her two companions talk exclusively to each other. She began to show a great curiosity about the little yacht; she grew anxious to have the lines flung out; no words of hers could express her admiration for the beauty of the afternoon and of the scene around her.
"Now, are you glad you came out?" he said to her.
"Yes," she answered shyly. "And you'll take my advice another time?"
"Do you ever take any one's advice?" she said, venturing to look up.
"Yes, certainly," he answered, "when it agrees with my own inclination. Who ever does any more than that?"
They had now got a good bit away from land.
"Skipper," said Trelyon to Mr. Grainger's man, "we'll put her about now and let her drift. Here is a cigar for you: you can take it up to the bow and smoke it, and keep a good lookout for the sea-serpent."
By this arrangement they obtained, as they sat and idly talked, an excellent view of all the land around the bay, and of the pale, clear sunset shining in the western skies. They lay almost motionless in the lapping water: the light breeze scarcely stirred the loose canvas. From time to time they could hear a sound of calling or laughing from the distant fishing-boats; and that only seemed to increase the silence around them.
It was an evening that invited to repose and reverie: there were not even the usual fiery colors of the sunset to arouse and fix attention by their rapidly-changing and glowing hues. The town itself, lying darkly all around the sweep of the bay, was dusky and distant: elsewhere all the world seemed to be flooded with the silver light coming over from behind the western hills. The sky was of the palest blue; the long mackerel clouds that stretched across were of the faintest yellow and lightest gray; and into that shining gray rose the black stems of the trees that were just over the outline of these low heights. St. Michael's-Mount had its summit touched by the pale glow: the rest of the giant rock and the far stretches of sea around it were gray with mist. But close by the boat there was a sharper light on the lapping waves and on the tall spars, while it was warm enough to heighten the color on Wenna's face as she sat and looked silently at the great and open world around her.
They were drifting in more ways than one. Wenna almost forgot what had occurred in the morning. She was so pleased to see her mother pleased that she conversed quite unreservedly with the young man who had wrought the change, was ready to believe all that Mrs. Rosewarne said in private about his being so delightful and cheerful a companion. As for him, he was determined to profit by this last opportunity. If the Strict rules of honor demanded that Mr. Roscorla should have fair play, or if Wenna wished him to absent himself—which was of more consequence than Mr. Roscorla's interest—he would make his visits few and formal, but in the mean time, at least, they would have this one pleasant afternoon together. Sometimes, it is true, he rebelled against the uncertain pledge he had given her. Why should he not seek to win her? What had the strict rules of honor to do with the prospect of a young girl allowing herself to be sacrificed, while here he was, able and willing to snatch her away from her fate?
"How fond you are of the sea and of boats!" he said to her. "Sometimes I think I shall have a big schooner yacht built for myself, and take her to the Mediterranean, going from place to place just as I have the fancy. But it would be very dull by one's self, wouldn't it, even if one had a dozen men on What one wants is to have a small party all very friendly with each other, and at night they would sit up on deck and sing songs. And I think they would admire those old-fashioned songs that you sing, Miss Wenna, all the better for hearing them so far away from home—at least, I should, but then I'm an outer barbarian. I think you, now, would be delighted with the grand music abroad—with the operas, you know, and all that. I have had to knock about these places with people, but I don't care about it. I would rather hear 'Norah, the Pride of Kildare,' or 'The Maid of Llangollen,' because, I suppose, those young women are more in my line. You see, I shouldn't care to make the acquaintance of a gorgeous creature with black hair and a train of yellow satin half a mile long, who tosses up a gilt goblet when she sings a drinking-song, and then gets into a frightful passion about what one doesn't understand. Wouldn't you rather meet the 'Maid of Llangollen' coming along a country road—coming in by Marazion over there, for example—with a bright print dress all smelling of lavender, and a basket of fresh eggs over her arm? Well—What was I saying? Oh yes!, Don't you think if you were away in the Adriatic, and sitting up on deck at night, you would make the people have a quiet cry when you sang 'Home, Sweet Home'? The words are rather silly, aren't they? But they make you think such a lot if you hear them abroad."
"And when are you going away?—this year, Mr. Trelyon?" Wenna said, looking down.
"Oh, I don't know," he said cheerfully: he would have no question of his going away interfere with the happiness of the present moment.
At length, however, they had to bethink themselves of getting back, for the western skies were deepening in color and the evening air was growing chill. They ran the small cutter back to her moorings: then they put off in the small boat for the shore. It was a beautiful, quiet evening. Wenna, who had taken off her glove and was allowing her bare hand to drag through the rippling water, seemed to be lost in distant and idle fancies not altogether of a melancholy nature.
"Wenna," her mother said, "you will get your hand perfectly chilled."
The girl drew back her hand and shook the water off her dripping fingers. Then she uttered a slight cry. "My ring!" she said, looking with absolute fright at her hand and then at the sea.
Of course they stopped the boat instantly, but all they could do was to stare at the clear, dark water. The distress of the girl was beyond expression. This was no ordinary trinket that had been lost: it was a gage of plighted affection given her by one now far away, and in his absence she had carelessly flung it into the sea. She had no fear of omens, as her sister had, but surely, of all things in the world, she ought to have treasured up this ring. In spite of herself, tears sprang to her eyes. Her mother in vain attempted to make light of the loss.
And then at last Harry Trelyon, driven almost beside himself by seeing the girl so plunged in grief, hit upon a wild fashion of consoling her. "Wenna," he said, "don't disturb yourself. Why, we can easily get you the ring. Look at the rocks there: a long bank of smooth sand slopes out from them, and your ring is quietly lying on the sand. There is nothing easier than to get it up with a dredging machine: I will undertake to let you have it by to-morrow afternoon."
Mrs. Rosewarne thought he was joking, but he effectually persuaded Wenna, at all events, that she should have her ring next day. Then he discovered that he would be just in time to catch the half-past six train to Plymouth, where he would get the proper apparatus, and return in the morning.
"It was a pretty ring," said he. "There were six stones in it, weren't there?"
"Five," she said. So much she knew, though it must be confessed she had not studied that token of Mr. Roscorla's affection with the earnest solicitude which most young ladies bestow on the first gift of their lovers.
Trelyon jumped into a fly and drove off to the station, where he sent back an apology to Mr. Grainger. Wenna went home more perturbed than she had been for many a day, and that not solely on account of the lost ring.
Everything seemed to conspire against her and keep her from carrying out her honorable resolutions. That sail in the afternoon she could not well have avoided, but she had determined to take some; opportunity of begging Mr. Trelyon not to visit them again while they remained in Penzance. Now, however, he was coming next day, and whether or not he was successful in his quest after the missing ring, would she not have to show herself abundantly grateful for all his kindness?
In putting away her gloves she came upon the letter of Mr. Roscorla, which she had not yet answered. She shivered slightly: the handwriting on the envelope seemed to reproach her. And yet something of a rebellious spirit rose in her against this imaginary accusation; and she grew angry that she was called upon to serve this harsh and inconsiderate task-master, and give him explanations which humiliated her. He had no right to ask questions about Mr. Trelyon. He ought not to have listened to idle gossip. He should have had sufficient faith in her promised word; and if he only knew the torture of doubt and anxiety she was suffering on his behalf—She did not pursue these speculations farther, but it was well with Mr. Roscorla that she did not at that moment sit down and answer his letter.
