The Bramleighs of Bishop's Folly Part 88

"You must do without me, Julia. I have only just discovered a letter in my pocket, with the seal unbroken, that I ought to have answered at least a fortnight ago. It is from Sir Marcus Cluff," said he, in a whisper, "making me an offer of the vicarage at Hoxton."

"What a kind fellow!"

"Who's a kind fellow?" asked Jack.

"A certain gentleman, who made me the flattering proposal to become his wife and nurse, and who now offers to make George his chaplain."

"It rains good luck here," said Jack, with a half bitter smile. "Why won't it drift a little in _my_ direction? By the way, Nelly, what about the letter I asked you to write to Marion?"

"It is written. I only want to fill in the name of the person. You told me to keep a blank for it."

"I 'll go and fetch my pocket-book," said he, and broke away at once, and hastened towards the house.

"I'm delighted at your good news, Julia," said Nelly; "though it almost breaks my heart to think how desolate we shall soon be here."

"Never antic.i.p.ate evil fortune. We are still together; and let us not mar the present by glancing at a possible future."

"And poor Jack," began Nelly; but unable to finish, she turned away her head to hide the emotion she felt.

"He shall--he must stay," cried Julia.

"You know the price, dearest," said Nelly, throwing herself into her arms.

"Well, who says I am not ready to pay it? There, that 's enough of folly. Let us now think of something useful."

CHAPTER LIX. A VERY BRIEF DREAM.

Julia was seldom happier than when engaged in preparing for a coming guest. There was a blended romance and fuss about it all that she liked.

She liked to employ her fancy in devising innumerable little details, she liked the active occupation itself, and she liked best of all that storied web of thought in which she connected the expected one with all that was to greet him. How he would be pleased with this; what he would think of that? Would he leave that chair or that table where she had placed it? Would he like that seat in the window, and the view down the glen, as she hoped he might? Would the new-comer, in fact, fall into the same train of thought and mind as she had who herself planned and executed all around him?

Thus thinking was it that, with the aid of a stout Dalmatian peasant-girl, she busied herself with preparations for Augustus Bramleigh's arrival. She knew all his caprices about the room he liked to occupy. How he hated much furniture, and loved s.p.a.ce and freedom; how he liked a soft and tempered light, and that the view from his window should range over some quiet, secluded bit of landscape, rather than take in what recalled life and movement and the haunts of men.

She was almost proud of the way she saw into people's natures by the small dropping preferences they evinced for this or that, and had an intense pleasure in meeting the coming fancy. At the present moment, too, she was glad to busy herself in any mode rather than dwell on the thoughts that the first interval of rest would be sure to bring before her. She saw that Jack Bramleigh was displeased with her, and, though not without some misgivings, she was vexed that he alone of all should resent the capricious moods of a temper resolutely determined to take the sunniest path in existence, and make the smaller worries of life but matter for banter.

"He mistakes me altogether," said she, aloud, but speaking to herself, "if he imagines that I 'm in love with poverty and all its straits; but I 'm not going to cry over them for all that. They may change me in many ways. I can't help that. Want is an ugly old hag, and one cannot sit opposite her without catching a look of her features; but she 'll not subdue my courage, nor make me afraid to meet her eye. Here, Gretchen, help me with this great chest of drawers. We must get rid of it out of this, wherever it goes." It was a long and weary task, and tried their strength to the last limit; and Julia threw herself into a deep-cushioned chair when it was over, and sighed heavily. "Have you a sweetheart, Gretchen?" she asked, just to lead the girl to talk, and relieve the oppression that she felt would steal over her. Yes, Gretchen had a sweetheart, and he was a fisherman, and he had a fourth share in a "bragotza;" and when he had saved enough to buy out two of his comrades he was to marry her; and Gretchen was very fond, and very hopeful, and very proud of her lover, and altogether took a very pleasant view of life, though it was all of it in expectancy. Then Gretchen asked if the signorina had not a sweetheart, and Julia, after a pause,--and it was a pause in which her color came and went,--said, "No!" And Gretchen drew nigh, and stared at her with her great hazel eyes, and read in her now pale face that the "No" she had uttered had its own deep meaning; for Gretchen, though a mere peasant, humble and illiterate, was a woman, and had a woman's sensibility under all that outward ruggedness.

"Why do you look at me so, Gretchen?" asked Julia.

"Ah, signorina," sighed she, "I am sorry--I am very sorry! It is a sad thing not to be loved."

"So it is, Gretty; but every day is not as nice and balmy and fresh as this, and yet we live on, and, taking one with the other, find life pretty enjoyable, after all!" The casuistry of her speech made no convert. How could it?--it had not any weight with herself.

The girl shook her head mournfully, and gazed at her with sad eyes, but not speaking a word. "I thought, signorina," said she, at last, "that the handsome prince--"

"Go to your dinner, Gretchen. You are late already," said Julia, sharply; and the girl withdrew, abashed and downcast. When thus alone, Julia sat still, wearied by her late exertions. She leaned her head on the arm of the chair, and fell fast asleep. The soft summer wind that came tempered through the window-blinds played with her hair and fanned her to heavy slumber--at first, dreamless slumber, the price of actual fatigue.

Jack Bramleigh, who had been wandering about alone, doing his best to think over himself and his future, but not making any remarkable progress in the act, had at length turned into the house, strolling from room to room, half unconsciously, half struck by the vastness and extent of the building. Chance at last led him along the corridor which ended in this chamber, and he entered, gazing carelessly around him, till suddenly he thought he heard the deep-drawn breathing of one in heavy sleep. He drew nigh, and saw it was Julia. The arm on which her head lay hung listlessly down, and her hand was half hid in the ma.s.ses of her luxuriant hair. Noiselessly, stealthily, Jack crept to her feet, and crouched down upon the floor, seeming to drink in her long breathings with an ecstasy of delight. Oh, what a moment was that! Through how many years of life was it to pa.s.s, the one bright thread of gold in the dark tissue of existence. As such he knew it; so he felt it; and to this end he treasured up every trait and every feature of the scene. "It is all that I shall soon have to look back upon," thought he; and yet to be thus near her seemed a bliss of perfect ecstasy.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 532]

More than an hour pa.s.sed over, and he was still there, not daring to move lest he should awake her. At last he thought her lips seemed to murmur something. He bent down, close--so close that he felt her breath on his face. Yes, she was dreaming--dreaming, too, of long ago; for he heard her mutter the names of places near where they had lived in Ireland. It was of some party of pleasure she was dreaming,--her dropping words indicated so much; and at last she said, "No, no; not Lisconnor. Jack does n't like Lisconnor." Oh, how he blessed her for the words; and bending over, he touched the heavy curl of her hair with his lips. Some pa.s.sing shock startled her, and she awoke with a start and a faint cry. "Where am I?" she cried; "what is this?" and she stared at him with her wide, full glance, while her features expressed terror and bewilderment.

"Don't be frightened, dearest. You are safe, and at home with those who love you."

"And how are you here? how came you here?" asked she, still terrified.

"I was strolling listlessly about, and chance led me here. I saw you asleep in that chair, and I lay down at your feet till you should awake."

"I know nothing of it at all," muttered she. "I suppose I was dreaming.

I fancied I was in Ireland, and we were about to go on some excursion, and I thought Marion was not pleased with me;--how stupid it is to try and disentangle a dream. You should n't have been here, Master Jack.

Except in fairy tales, young princes never take such liberties as this, and even then the princesses are under enchantment."

"It is _I_ that am under the spell, not _you_, Julia," said he, fondly.

"Then you are come to ask pardon for all your crossness, your savagery of this morning?"

"Yes, if you desire it."

"No, sir; I desire nothing of the kind; it must be spontaneous humility.

You must feel you have behaved very ill, and be very, very sorry for it."

"I have behaved very ill, and am very, very sorry for it," repeated he, softly, after her.

"And this is said seriously?"

"Seriously."

"And on honor?"

"On honor!"

"And why is it said--is it because I have asked you to say it?"

"Partly; that is, you have in asking given me courage to say it."

"Courage to ask pardon! what do you mean by that?"

"No; but courage to make me hope you care to hear it. Oh, Julia, for once listen to me seriously, and let me tell you how I love you; how I have always loved you; how you are to me all that is worth living for."

"It would be very nice to be told such pretty things, all the more being bound to believe them."

"And do you doubt?"

"I 'll tell you what there is not, nor can be any doubt about, Jack; that we are both very poor, and though I, woman-like, may feel it a very comforting and sustaining thought, through my poverty, that one honest heart beats affectionately for me, yet I 'm far from sure that it would be the same good influence over _your_ life; in fact, our bargain would be unequal, and I should have all the best of it."