Hopes and Fears Part 93

Miss Fennimore had been, like Helvetius and the better cla.s.s of encyclopaedists, enamoured of the moral virtues, but unable to perceive that they could not be separated from the Christian faith, and she learnt like them that, when doctrine ceased to be prominent, practice went after it. Bertha was her Jacobin--and seemed doubly so the next morning, when an interview took place, in which the young lady gave her to understand that she, like Phoebe, was devoid of the experience that would enable them to comprehend the sacred mutual duty of souls that once had spoken.

Woman was no longer the captive of the seraglio, nor the chronicler of small beer. Intellectual training conferred rights of choice superior to conventional ties; and, as to the infallible discernment of that fifteen year old judgment, had not she the sole premises to go upon, she who alone had been admitted to the innermost of that manly existence?

'I always knew Jack to be a clever dog,' said Mervyn, when this was reported to him, 'but his soft sawder to a priggish metaphysical baby must have been the best fun in the world?'

Mervyn's great desire was to keep Bertha's folly as great a secret as possible; and, by his decision, she was told that grace should be granted her till Mr. Crabbe's arrival, when, unless she had renounced what he called her silly child's fancy, stringent measures would be taken, and she would be exposed to the family censure.

'So,' said Bertha, 'you expect to destroy the attraction of souls by physical force!'

And Phoebe wrote to Robert a sorrowful letter, chiefly consisting of the utmost pleadings for Mervyn and Bertha that her loving heart could frame.

She was happier when she had poured out her troubles, but grieved when no answer came by the next post. Robert's displeasure must be great--and indeed but too justly so--since all this mischief was the consequence of the disregard of his wishes. Yet justice was hard between brothers and sisters, especially when Mervyn was in such a suffering state, threatened constantly by attacks of his complaint, which were only warded off by severe and weakening treatment. Phoebe was so necessary to his comfort in waiting on him, and trying to while away his tedious hours of inaction and oppression, that she had little time to bestow upon Bertha, nor, indeed, was talking of any use, as it only gave the young lady an occasion for pouring forth magniloquent sentiments, utterly heedless of the answers. Sad, lonely, and helpless were Phoebe's feelings, but she was patient, and still went on step by step through the strange tangle, attending to Mervyn hour by hour, always with a gentle cheerful word and smile, and never trusting herself, even when alone, to think of the turmoil and break up that must ensue on her guardian's arrival.

All was darkness and perplexity before her, but submission and trust were her refuge, and each day of waiting before the crisis was to her feelings a gain.

CHAPTER XXI

O fy gar ride and fy gar rin And haste ye to find these traitors agen, For shees be burnt and hees been slein, The wearifu gaberlunzie man.

Some rade upon horse, some ran afit, The wife was wud and out of her wit, She couldna gang, nor yet could she sit, But aye did curse and ban.--KING JAMES V

Mervyn and Phoebe were playing at billiards, as a means of inducing him to take exercise enough to make him sleep. The governess and the two girls were gone to the dentist's at Elverslope. The winter's day was closing in, when there was a knock at the door, and they beheld Miss Fennimore, deadly white, and Maria, who flew up to Phoebe, crying--'Bertha's gone, Phoebe!'

'The next up-train stops at Elverslope at 8.30,' said the governess, staring in Mervyn's face, as though repeating a lesson. 'A carriage will be here by seven. I will bring her home, or never return.'

'Gone!'

'It was inexcusable in me, sir,' said Miss Fennimore, resting a hand on the table to support herself. 'I thought it needlessly galling to let her feel herself watched; and at her request, let her remain in the waiting-room while her sister was in the dentist's hands. When, after an hour, Maria was released, she was gone.'

'Alone?' cried Phoebe.

'Alone, I hope. I went to the station; the train had been ten minutes gone; but a young lady, alone, in mourning, and with no luggage but a little bag, had got in there for London. Happily, they did not know her; and it was the parliamentary train, which is five hours on the road. I telegraphed at once to your brother to meet her at the terminus.'

'I have no hope,' said Mervyn, doggedly, seating himself on the table, his feet dangling. 'He will be in the lowest gutter of Whittingtonia, where no one can find him. The fellow will meet that miserable child, go off to Ostend this very night, marry her before to-morrow morning.

There's an end of it!'

'Where does Mr. Hastings lodge, sir?'

'Nowhere that I know of. There will be no end of time lost in tracing him! No train before 8.30! I'll go in at once, and have a special.'

'They cannot put on one before nine, because of the excursion trains for the cattle-show. I should not have been in time had I driven to catch the express at W.,' said Miss Fennimore, in her clear voice of desperation. 'The 8.30 reaches town at 11.23. Will you give me the addresses where I may inquire, sir?'

'You! I am going myself. You would be of no use,' said Mervyn, in a stunned, mechanical way; and looking at his watch, he went to give orders.

'He should not go, Phoebe. In his state the mere journey is a fearful risk.'

'It can't be helped,' said Phoebe. 'I shall go with him. You stay to take care of Maria. There will be Robert to help us;' and as the governess would have spoken farther, she held up her hands in entreaty--'O pray don't say anything! I can't go on if I do anything but act.'

Yet in the endeavour to keep her brother quiet, and to husband his powers, Phoebe's movements and words had rather an additional gentleness and deliberation; and so free from bustle was her whole demeanour, that he never comprehended her intention of accompanying him till she stepped into the carriage beside him.

'What's this? You coming?'

'I will give you no trouble.'

'Well, you may help to manage the girl;' and he lay back, relieved to be off, but already spent by the hurry of the last two hours. Phoebe could sit and--no--not think, except that Robert was at the other end of the line.

The drive seemed to have lasted half the night ere the lamps of Elverslope made constellations in the valley, and the green and red lights of the station loomed out on the hill. They drove into the circle of gaslights, among the vaporous steeds of omnibuses and flies, and entered the station, Phoebe's veil down, and Mervyn shading his dazzled eyes from the glare. They were half an hour too soon; and while waiting, it occurred to Phoebe to inquire whether a telegram for Beauchamp had been received. Even so, and they must have crossed the express; but a duplicate was brought to them.

'Safe. We shall be at Elverslope at 10.20, P.M.'

a.s.suredly Phoebe did not faint, for she stood on her feet; and Mervyn never perceived the suspension of senses, which lasted till she found him for the second time asking whether she would go home or await the travellers at Elverslope.

'Home,' she said, instinctively, in her relief forgetting all the distress of what had taken place, so that her sensations were little short of felicity; and as she heard the 8.30 train roaring up, she shed tears of joy at having no concern therewith. The darkness and Mervyn's silence were comfortable, for she could wipe unseen her showers of tears at each gust of thankfulness that pa.s.sed over her; and it was long before she could command her voice even to ask her companion whether he were tired. 'No,' he said; but the tone was more than half-sullen; and at the thought of the meeting between the brothers, poor Phoebe's heart seemed to die within her. Against their dark looks and curt sayings to one another she had no courage.

When they reached home, she begged him to go at once to bed, hoping thus to defer the meeting; but he would not hear of doing so; and her only good augury was that his looks were pale, languid, and subdued, rather than flushed and excited. Miss Fennimore was in the hall, and he went towards her, saying, in a friendly tone, 'So, Miss Fennimore, you have heard that this unlucky child has given us a fright for nothing.'

The voice in which she a.s.sented was hoa.r.s.e and scarcely audible, and she looked as if twenty years had pa.s.sed over her head.

'It was all owing to your prompt.i.tude,' said Mervyn; 'a capital thought that telegram.'

'I am glad,' said Miss Fennimore; 'but I do not lose sight of my own negligence. It convinces me that I am utterly unfit for the charge I a.s.sumed. I shall leave your sisters as soon as new plans can be formed.'

'Why, I'll be bound none of your pupils ever played you such a trick before!'

Miss Fennimore only looked as if this convinced her the more; but it was no time for the argument, and Phoebe caressingly persuaded her to come into the library and drink coffee with them, judging rightly that she had tasted nothing since morning.

Afterwards Phoebe induced Mervyn to lie on the sofa, and having made every preparation for the travellers, she sat down to wait. She could not read, she could not work; she felt that tranquillity was needful for her brother, and had learnt already the soothing effect of absolute repose. Indeed, one of the first tokens by which Miss Fennimore had perceived character in Phoebe was her faculty of being still. Only that which has substance can be motionless. There she sat in the lamplight, her head drooping, her hands clasped on her knee, her eyes bent down, not drowsy, not abstracted, not rigid, but peaceful. Her brother lay in the shade, watching her with a half-fascinated gaze, as though a magnetic spell repressed all inclination to work himself into agitation.

The stillness became an effort at last, but it was resolutely preserved till the frost-bound gravel resounded with wheels. Phoebe rose, Mervyn started up, caught her hand and squeezed it hard. 'Do not let him be hard on me, Phoebe,' he said. 'I could not bear it.'

She had little expected this. Her answer was a mute caress, and she hurried out, but in a tumult of feeling, retreated behind the shelter of a pillar, and silently put her hand on Robert's arm as he stepped out of the carriage.

'Wait,' he whispered, holding her back. 'Hush! I have promised that she shall see no one.'

Bertha descended, una.s.sisted, her veil down, and neither turning to the right nor the left, crossed the hall and went upstairs. Robert took off his overcoat and hat, took a light and followed her, signing that Phoebe should remain behind. She found Mervyn at the library door, like herself rather appalled at the apparition that had swept past them. She put her hand into his, with a kind of common feeling that they were awaiting a strict judge.

Robert soon reappeared, and in a preoccupied way, kissed the one and shook hands with the other, saying, 'She has locked her door, and says she wants nothing. I will try again presently--not you, Phoebe; I could only get her home on condition she should see no one without her own consent. So you had my telegram?'

'We met it at the station. How did you find her?'

'Had the man been written to?' asked Robert.

'No,' said Mervyn; 'we thought it best to treat it as childish nonsense, not worth serious notice, or in fact--I was not equal to writing.'

The weary, dejected tone made Robert look up, contrary to the brothers'

usual habit of avoiding one another's eye, and he exclaimed, 'I did not know! You were not going to London to-night?'

'Worse staying at home,' murmured Mervyn, as, leaning on a corner of the mantelshelf, he rested his head on his hand.