Hopes and Fears Part 103

She bowed, and he bowed. That was all, and they were in their several apartments. Phoebe had never felt in such a fever. She could discern character, but love was but an external experience to her, and she could not read the riddle of Mervyn's repudiation of intercourse with their fellow-inmates, and his restlessness through the evening, checking Bertha for boring about her friend, and then encouraging her to go on with what she had been saying. At last, however, Bertha voluntarily ceased her communications and could be drawn out no farther; and when the candle was put out at night, she electrified Phoebe with the remark, 'It is Mervyn, and you know it; so you may as well tell me all about it.'

Phoebe had no choice but compliance; advising Bertha not to betray her knowledge, and anxious to know the conclusions which this acute young woman would draw from the present conjuncture. But Bertha was too fond of both parties not to be full of unmitigated hope. 'Oh, Phoebe!' she said, 'with Cecily there, I shall not mind going home, I shall not mind anything.'

'If only she will be there.'

'Stuff, Phoebe! The more Mervyn sulks, the more it shows that he cares for her; and if she cares for him, of course it will come right.'

'Do you remember what she said about the two wills contending?'

'Well, if she ever _did_ think Mervyn the genie, she has crossed him once, twice, thrice, till she may turn him from Urgan into Ethert Brand.'

'She thinks it her duty not to hear that she has.'

'Oh, oh! from you who know all about it; but didn't I tell her plenty about Mervyn's kindness to me? Yes, indeed I did. I couldn't help it, you know. It did not seem true to let anybody begin to be my friend unless she knew--_all that_. So I told her--and oh! Phoebe, she was so dear and nice, better than ever after that,' continued Bertha, with what sounded like sobs; 'and then you know she could not help hearing how good and patient he was with me--only growing kinder and kinder the more tiresome I was. She must feel that, Phoebe, must not she? And then she asked about Robert, and I told her how Mervyn has let him get a chaplain to look after the distillery people, and the Inst.i.tute that that old gin-palace is to be made into.'

'Those were just the things I was longing to tell her.'

'She could not stop _me_, you know, because I knew nothing,' cried Bertha, triumphantly. 'Are not you satisfied, Phoebe?'

'I ought to be, if I were sure of his feelings. Don't plunge about so, Bertha,--and I am not sure either that she will believe him yet to be a religious man.'

'Don't say that, Phoebe. I was just going to begin to like religion, and think it the only true key to metaphysics and explanation of existence, but if it sticks between those two, I shall only see it as a weak, rigid superst.i.tion, parting those who were meant for one another.'

Phoebe was strongly tempted to answer, but the little travelling clock struck, and thus acted as a warning that to let Bertha pursue an exciting discussion at this time of night would be ruinous to her nerves the next day. So with a good-night, the elder sister closed her ears, and lay pondering on the newly disclosed stage in Bertha's mind, which touched her almost as closely as the fate of her brother's attachment.

The ensuing were days of suppressed excitement, chiefly manifested by the yawning fits that seized on Bertha whenever no scene in the drama was pa.s.sing before her. In fact, the scenes presented little. Cecily was not allowed to shut herself up, and did nothing remarkable, though avoiding the walks that she would otherwise have taken with the Fulmort party; and when she found that Bertha was aware of her position, firmly making silence on that head the condition of their interviews. Mervyn let her alone, and might have seemed absolutely indifferent, but for the cessation of all complaints of Hyeres, and for the noteworthy brightness, obligingness, and good humour of his manners. Even in her absence, though often restless and strangely watchful, he was always placable and good-tempered, never even scolding Phoebe; and in her presence, though he might not exchange three words, or offer the smallest service, there was a repose and content on his countenance that gave his whole expression a new reading. He was looking particularly well, fined down into alertness by his disciplined life and hill climbing, his complexion cleared and tanned by mountain air, and the habits and society of the last year leaving an unconscious impress unlike that which he used to bring from his former haunts. Phoebe wondered if Cecily remarked it. She was not aware that Cecily did not know him without that restful look.

Phoebe came to the conclusion that Cecily was persuaded of the cessation of his attachment, and was endeavouring to be thankful, and to accustom herself to it. After the first, she did not hide herself to any marked degree; and, probably to silence her aunt, allowed that lady to take her on one of the grand Monday expeditions, when all the tolerably sound visiting population of Hyeres were wont to meet, to the number of thirty or forty, and explore the scenery. Exquisite as were the views, these were not romantic excursions, the numbers conducing to gossip and chatter, but there were some who enjoyed them the more in consequence; and Mervyn, who had been loudest in vituperation of his first, found the present perfectly delightful, although the chief of his time was spent in preventing Mrs. Holmby's cross-grained donkey from lying down to roll, and administering to the lady the chocolate drops that he carried for Bertha's sustenance; Cecily, meantime, being far before with his sisters, where Mrs. Holmby would gladly have sent him if bodily terror would have permitted her to dismiss her cavalier.

Miss Charlecote and Phoebe, being among the best and briskest of the female walkers, were the first to enter the town, and there, in the _Place des Palmiers_, looking about him as if he were greatly amazed at himself, they beheld no other than the well-known figure of Sir John Raymond, standing beside the Major, who was sunning himself under the palm-trees.

'Miss Charlecote, how are you? How d'ye do, Miss Fulmort? Is your sister quite well again? Where's my little niece?'

'Only a little way behind with Bertha.'

'Well, we never thought to meet in such a place, did we? What a country of stones I have come over to-day, enough to break the heart of a farmer; and the very sheep are no better than goats! Vineyards? What they call vineyards are old black stumps that ought to be grubbed up for firewood!'

'Nay, I was struck by the wonderful cultivation of every available inch of ground. It speaks well for the Provencals, if we judge by the proverb, "_Autant vaut l'homme que vaut sa terre_."'

'Ah! there she comes;' and he hastened to join Cecily, while the deserted Bertha, coming up to her sister, muttered, 'Wretched girl! I hear she had written to him to fetch her home. That was what made her stay so quietly, was it?'

No one could accuse Mervyn of indifference who saw the blank look that overspread his face on hearing of Sir John's arrival, but he said not a word, only hurried away to dress for the _table d'hote_. The first notice the anxious ladies had that the tedious dinner was broken up, was a knock at their door, and Cecily's entrance, looking exceedingly white, and speaking very low. 'I am come to wish you good-bye,' she said.

'Uncle John has been so kind as to come for me, and I believe we shall set out to-morrow.'

Maria alone could dare to shriek out, 'Oh! but you promised to show me how to make a crown of my pink heaths, and I have been out with Lieschen, and gathered such beauties!'

'If you will come with me to my room I will show you while I pack up,'

said Cecily, reducing Bertha to despair by this most effectual barrier to confidence; but she entreated leave to follow, since seeing Cecily playing with Maria was better than not seeing her at all.

After some time, Mervyn came in, flushed and breathless, and Honor kindly made an excuse for leaving him alone with Phoebe. After diligently tossing a book from one hand to the other for some minutes, he observed, _sotto voce_, 'That's a more decent old fellow than I gave him credit for.'

'Who, Sir John?'

'Aye.'

And that was the whole result of the _tete-a-tete_. He was in no mood for questions, and marched out of the room for a moonlight cigar. Phoebe only remained with the conviction that something had happened.

Miss Charlecote was more fortunate. She had met the Baronet in the pa.s.sage, and was accosted by him with, 'Do you ever do such a thing as take a turn on that terrace?'

It was a welcome invitation, and in no more time than it took to fetch a shawl, the two old friends were pacing the paved terrace together.

'Well, what do you think of him?' began Sir John. 'There must be more good in him than I thought.'

'Much more than I thought.'

'He has been speaking to me, and I can't say but that I was sorry for him, though why it should have gone so hard with so sensible and good a girl as Cecily to give up such a scamp, I never could guess! I told George that seeing what I saw of him, and knowing what I knew, I could think it nothing better than a sacrifice to give her to him!'

'Exactly what I thought!'

'After the way he had used her, too--talking nonsense to her, and then playing fast and loose, trying his luck with half the young ladies in London, and then fancying she would be thankful to him as soon as he wanted a wife to keep house! Poor child, that would not have weighed with her a moment though--it puts me out of patience to know how fond she is of him--but for his scampishness, which made it a clear duty to refuse him. Very well she behaved, poor thing, but you see how she pined away--though her mother tells me that not a fretful word was ever heard from her, as active and patient and cheerful as ever. Then the Holmbys took her abroad, the only thing to save her health, but I never trusted the woman, and when by and by she writes to her father that Fulmort was coming, and her aunt would not take her away, "George," I said, "never mind; I'll go at once, and bring her home--she shall not be kept there to be torn to pieces between her feelings and her duty." And now I am come, I declare I don't know what to be at--I should think nothing of it if the lad only talked of reforming--but he looks so downcast, and owns so honestly that we were quite right, and then that excellent little sister of his is so fond of him, and you have stood his company this whole year--that I declare I think he must be good for something! Now you who have looked on all his life, just say what you think of him--such a way as he went on in last year, too--the crew that he got about him--'

'Phoebe thinks that was the consequence of his disappointment.'

'A man that could bring such a lot into the same house with that sister of his, had no business to think of Cecily.'

'He has suffered for it, and pretty severely, and I do think it has done him good. You must remember that he had great disadvantages.'

'Which didn't hinder his brother from turning out well.'

'Robert went to a public school--' and there she perceived she was saying something awkward, but Sir John half laughed, and a.s.sented.

'Quite right, Miss Charlecote; private pupils are a delusion? George never had one without a screw loose about him. Parish priests were never meant for tutors--and I've told my boy, Charlie, that the one thing I'll never consent to is his marrying on pupils--and doing two good things by halves. It has well nigh worried his uncle to death, and Cecily into the bargain.'

'Robert was younger, and the elders were all worse managed. Besides, Mervyn's position, as it was treated, made him discontented and uncomfortable; and this attachment, which he was too--too--I can find no word for it but contemptible--to avow, must have preyed on his temper and spirits all the time he was trying to shake it off. He was brought up to selfishness, and nothing but what he underwent last year could have shaken him out of it.'

'Then you think he is shaken out of it?'

'Where Bertha is concerned I see that he is--therefore I should hope it with his wife.'

'Well, well, I suppose what must be must be. Not that I have the least authority to say anything, but I could not help telling the poor fellow thus much--that if he went on steadily for a year or so, and continued in the same mind, I did not see why he should not ask my brother and Cecily to reconsider it. Then it will be for them to decide, you know.'

For them! As if Sir John were not in character as well as name the guiding head of the family.

'And now,' he added, 'you will let me come to your rooms this evening, for Mrs. Holmby is in such displeasure with me, that I shall get nothing but black looks. Besides, I want to see a little more of that nice girl, his sister.'

'Ah! Sir John, if ever you do consent, it will be more than half for love of Phoebe!'

'Well, for a girl like that to be so devoted to him--her brother though he be--shows there must be more in him than meets the eye. That's just the girl that I would not mind John's marrying.'