Caught in a Trap Part 40

Markworth was seated in a corner of the private room in which they were speaking (Mr Abednego charged a guinea a day for the accommodation of the same), and his att.i.tude betokened intense misery and hopelessness.

It was not so much the words of his adversary, but the thought that she, too, was against him, like all the rest of the world. He was quite broken down, now.

"Do your worst," he replied, "only go away. I can't bear this any longer."

"I will do my worst, never fear," she said, as she moved towards the door. She was satisfied to see that her enemy was at length abased, and to think that she had brought down his pride.

She was now at the door; her mission had been accomplished, and, as she glanced back, the bright summer sun, streaming through the open window with its iron bars, on his bent figure, discovered the streaks of silver in his dark hair, painted by time and trouble, not forgetting the thinness of the long, sinewy hands that hid his face from her view.

A pang of compunction smote her, and stirred her heart for a moment with the thoughts of days gone by, and she seemed to hesitate before she left him, although no intention of relinquishing her purpose crossed her mind.

"Go! go!" he murmured, in a broken voice, "leave me in peace."

And she went out, and left him alone with his misery.

Volume 3, Chapter XI.

THE AGE OF MIRACLES.

"I sat by his mother one midsummer day, And she looked me through and through As I spoke of her lad who was far away, For she guessed that I loved him too!"

Maggie's Secret.

"Lizzie, pull that pillow more under my head, will you, dear? I think, too, my feet are getting cold; I wish you would throw that shawl over me."

The speaker was our old acquaintance the dowager; but wonderfully changed both in appearance and voice since we last saw and heard her; and the young lady addressed in that affectionate and trusting manner was our own little Lizzie, the young inc.u.mbent's sister, the beloved of Master Tom.

Fancy her being now on such terms of intimacy with Tom's mother! But it is a fact. _Tempora mutantur et nos mutamur in illis_: this is the age of miracles, and we must not be surprised at anything that happens in our daily life when so many startling changes in science and art are worked out every day in the world around us.

I don't know how the first advance was made from the parsonage to The Poplars, but the worthy old doctor managed it all. That man, I venture to say, sir, or madam, who may be reading these lines, was most unhesitatingly one whom we used to term in schoolboy phraseology, a trump. He was a trump most certainly, even although all the other suits at cards be of fair and equable measure! A trump of trumps, a _rara avis_, even amongst a horde of good fellows, and I affectionate him much, as our foreign friends put it.

The doctor had already told Miss Lizzie that he would be glad to make use of her services as soon as the old lady was a little more sensible, and Lizzie had gladly consented to be made use of when the proper time should arrive.

Doctor Jolly, from the experiences of the past, when he had so satisfactorily played the go-between in Tom and Lizzie's young loves, was pretty well aware of the state of things between those two young persons. His own nature being an ardent one, and having often--to Deb's intense misgivings and alarm--cultivated the tender pa.s.sion himself, he was quite competent to sympathise with all lovers whose course of true love might not, through the stern opposition of unfeeling parents and worldly relations, run smooth. He could do this quite apart from his good nature, which would have forced him to befriend any one in trouble.

But when he naturally liked a sighing lover like Master Tom, and had such a paternal interest in him, and when Miss Lizzie--the object beloved--was one of his own especial pets, one cannot wonder that the doctor threw himself into the breach with all the ardour of his ardent nature and good nature combined. He determined that he would befriend this young couple to the best of his ability. Although Fate had unkindly nipped all his little _affaires du coeur_ in the bud, and destroyed all his tender Platonisms, he would have the satisfaction, at least, of seeing others happy.

Accordingly, our friend Aesculapius having played go-between, subsequently became the trusted confidant to both the lovers. Tom, before his departure for the land of the Queen of Sheba's descendants, had breathed out his heartburnings, his rage, his morbid determination, sighing furiously all the while, like Shakespeare's typical furnace; and after Tom's Hegira, Lizzie, with many little tender protestations and pearly sacrifices, had also unfolded her troubles to him. It was not for a long time, however, that Lizzie did this--not until the little heart had been wrung by keeping its trouble to itself for a very long, long time; but she need not have held back her confidence from the doctor--he knew all about it, and even if Tom had not told him of the ruthless separation which Fate had brought about, he could have easily guessed it from Andromeda's martyr-like face.

The dowager's illness now enabled Doctor Jolly to befriend Lizzie, and consequently Tom also, much more efficiently than he might otherwise have been able to do.

Putting aside the necessity which he thought existed for establishing the _entente cordiale_ between Lizzie and the mother of her adored, the good doctor was full of sympathy--in which he forgot all her former bad temper and malevolence towards him--for the poor old woman was lying grievously ill--sick unto death nearly, at 1 The Poplars. She was so ill, so changed, so friendless and deserted, only tended by strangers and hired servants, that Doctor Jolly thought that the best thing for her in common charity was to get some one to come and see her, and minister, who would be actuated in so doing by a higher and more of a brotherly-kindness principle than that of mere wage. With this idea revolving strongly in his head, the doctor could think of no one better suited for the post than Lizzie. By employing her, he would be able to achieve two purposes at once--kill two birds with one stone. Tom's lady-love was willing and happy enough at the thought; the only thing that remained was to gain the old dowager's consent for the arrangement, and this Doctor Jolly found much more easily done than he had thought possible.

For a long time the old lady had remained speechless, and of course nothing could be done about it then. She was in such a state that the mere sight of a new face might have affected her fatally, much less the sight of a face which could be connected in her mind, if she could think, with former times and her quarrel with her son. But, by-and-bye, as the dowager became more sensible and was able to express her wishes by writing on a slate, and afterwards to speak when she got back her voice--what a changed voice it was!--the doctor mooted the matter.

He suggested that she should have some one to sit and read with her for company's sake, as he told her: it was bad for her to be alone with only a servant, and it would delay her recovery if she were not roused out of herself.

She had at first given a vehement veto against the suggestion. She thought the doctor was going to prepare Miss Kingscott's society for her, remembering Aesculapius's old partiality in that quarter. But when he indignantly denied this, and told her he would not propose her company for any decent person--the doctor had learnt the governess's treachery from Mr Trump--the old lady accepted very agreeably the offer of Lizzie Pringle's society. She thought it quite a satisfactory subst.i.tute for the old lady whom she had dreaded the doctor was going to invite to wait on her.

Doctor Jolly took Mrs Hartshorne at her word, and sent Lizzie up the very same afternoon that he got permission, for fear that the dowager might withdraw the same. He did not doubt that the moment the old lady knew Lizzie she would take to her, and then the rest lay in Lizzie's own hands.

Aesculapius was right. Within a week, the tender graces, and kindness, and soft ways of the young girl, had made way in the heart of the old woman which you would have never suspected, and she afterwards could hardly bear her out of her sight.

Lizzie and the dowager were on the most affectionate footing. She, winning, ministering like an angel of mercy: the old lady accepting all her kindness, not saying much in words, but feeling in her heart an unknown love towards this little girl, who was winding herself into her affections in spite of herself.

And Lizzie, you may be sure, was happy--happy at doing good--happy at ministering to affliction; above all, happy at helping Tom's mother.

Thus did Andromeda's grief lessen: thus was she able to bear all the snapping and snarling of the old campaigner at home. This was her source of balm, which you might never have suspected.

It was a strange a.s.sociation between the two: between the dowager of former days, with her harsh voice and querulous temper, and the gentle little girl who had won Tom's love. There never would have been, one would think, any sympathy or companionship; but the dowager was very much altered now.

"Wonders will never cease," says the proverb; and Solomon adds, that "there is nothing new under the sun." Consequently putting that and that together, as the old folks say, we ought not to be surprised at this unexpected _rapport_ between Tom's mother and Lizzie.

Far more wonderful than that wonderful recovery of reason poor Susan Hartshorne, under Markworth's superintending care, was this change in the dowager, and the amelioration in her temper. But sickness and mental anxiety work strange changes! She _was_ changed!

When the old lady's recollection came back, she grieved very much over the death of her daughter, and seemed to accuse herself on that account.

She told Lizzie that if she had not been so harsh and unlike a mother to Susan, all the past might never have happened. Lizzie tried to soothe her self-reproaches somewhat ineffectually, but when Dr Jolly combatted the old lady's arguments, and had a long explanation with her, the dowager seemed much relieved, although she would express fervent hopes of seeing her daughter again--in heaven, and she did not any longer fret so much about Susan as she had done.

The old lady's thoughts and conversation after this turned on her dear Tom princ.i.p.ally.

Mrs Hartshorne was a very shrewd old lady, and as she got better her old shrewdness returned.

She had not by any means forgotten the name of Miss Lizzie Pringle. She remembered very well Tom's explanation with reference to that young lady and his crude ideas of wishing to get married; after a time she startled Lizzie nearly out of her seven little senses, by abruptly mentioning the subject, asking her what arrangement she had come to with Tom, and if they were still engaged.

Lizzie told her "no," indignantly: she would enter into no engagement with anyone whose family objected to her.

The dowager was very much pleased at her pride in not holding Tom to his word when she had related the affair, and she probed Lizzie's heart further by enquiring whether she loved Tom still.

She did not care for him, if it would harm his prospects that is, and-- and--The dowager looked very kind and cheerful and not stern at all, and all Lizzie's love for the graceless Tom who had abandoned her in his senseless anger for her strict regard for duty, was poured out again into very sympathising ears, the dowager told her to cheer up--and "all would yet be well."

After this many were the dialogues between the old lady and the young girl about the absent warrior, and suggestions made about the probable time of his return, and surmises--on the older lady's part--the junior only blushed and said nothing--as to what would happen when Tom did come back.

The young man's letters home to his mother were read out by Miss Lizzie.

She took no interest in them at all, of course; but the old lady's sight being somewhat defective and Tom's calligraphy none of the clearest, it was absolutely necessary that the old lady's companion should read them out for her. You may be quite certain that Lizzie did not peruse them afterwards quietly to herself, and enter with deep interest into all the young man's deeds and doings. How the army was getting on satisfactorily towards Magdala: how splendid the scenery was: how he had had a monkey hunt, and had not caught one; and what fine figures the Abyssinian girls had. Of course Miss Lizzie did not toss her head at this, and say "Well, to be sure, sir; I wonder what next!"

Whether she did or did not, Master Tom's doings seemed to have great interest for the two. When they were talking about him, the old lady would recount with a maternal pride, which from a former knowledge of her character you might never have dreamt she possessed, incidents connected with the childhood of the warrior, to which Lizzie would listen with spell-bound attention.

The dowager would relate how gentle Tom was when teething; how wonderfully he had borne that infantile malady, the measles; what marvellous escape he had had from breaking his neck when he tumbled down the back staircase. And then she would glide on to later experiences, and tell how well Tom got on at school; and how the old colonel of his regiment liked him, as indeed all did with whom the Saxon youngster came in contact.

Lizzie would drink in all this with greedy ears; and never tire of hearing of the deeds and doings of this most extraordinary young man.

So the time pa.s.sed on, and Lizzie became even more domesticated at The Poplars than she was at the parsonage.

Tom's mother got to love her; and the young inc.u.mbent's sister, much as she loved her brother, took a deeper interest in the big house and its belongings than she did in Herbert Pringle's mansion.

Thus while the latter was being pecked _ad libitum_ by the campaigner, Lizzie generally "made herself scarce," and went up to The Poplars to talk about Tom--the never wearisome subject--with the old dowager.

The campaigner's rule might be rigid enough, but Lizzie laughed it to scorn. Instead of bandying words with the veteran, our little friend abandoned the field to her completely, and left her "alone in her glory."

She was unhappy no longer. There was balm in Gilead. Jupiter _tonans_ was propitious: the doctor's plans successful: the dowager gained over to Lizzie's cause: the field fought: the battle won.

Who would have thought of the "Fiddle-de-dee"-a.s.serting-dowager ever being in Lizzie's favour?