The Old Helmet Volume I Part 43

"Why, are you better, Eleanor?" Julia asked in surprise.

"No--but I must go down stairs. Bring me my blue dress, Julia;--and go and get me some geranium leaves--some strong-scented ones. Here--go down the back way."

No matter for head-splitting. Eleanor dressed in haste, but with delicate care; in a dress that Mr. Carlisle liked. Its colour suited her, and its simple make shewed her beauty; better than a more furbelowed one. The aromatic geranium leaves were for her head--but with them Julia had brought some of the brilliant red flowers; and fastened on her breast where Eleanor could feel their sweetness, they at the same time made a bright touch of adornment to her figure. She was obliged to sit down then and rest; but as soon as she could she went to the drawing-room.

There were as usual several people there besides the family; Dr.

Cairnes and Miss Broadus and her sister making part. Entering with a slow quiet movement, most unlike the real hurry of her spirits, Eleanor had time to observe how different persons were placed and to choose her own plan of action. It was to slip silently into a large chair which stood empty at Mr. Carlisle's side, and which favoured her by presenting itself as the nearest attackable point of the circle. It was done with such graceful noiselessness that many did not at the moment notice her; but two persons were quick of vision where she was concerned. Mr. Carlisle bent over her with delight, and though Mrs.

Powle's fair curls were not disturbed by any sudden motion of her head, her grey eyes dilated with wonder and curiosity as she listened to a story of Miss Broadus which was fitted to excite neither. Eleanor was beyond her, but she concluded that Mr. Carlisle held the key of this extraordinary docility.

Eleanor sat very quiet in her chair, looking lovely, and by degrees using up her geranium leaves; with which she went through a variety of manipulations. They were picked to pieces and rubbed to pieces and their aromatic essence crushed out of them with every kind of formality. Mr. Carlisle finding that she had a headache did not trouble her to talk, and relieved her from attention; any further than his arm or hand mounting guard on her chair constantly gave. For it gathered the broken geranium leaves out of her way and picked them up from her feet. At last his hand came after hers and made it a prisoner.

"You have a mood of destructiveness upon you," said he. "See there--you have done to death all the green of your bouquet."

"The geranium leaves are good to my head," said Eleanor. "I want some more. Will you go with me to get them?"

It gave her heart a shiver, the hold in which her hand lay. Though taken in play, the hold was so very cool and firm. Her hand lay there still, for Mr. Carlisle sat a moment after she spoke, looking at her.

"I will go with you--wherever you please," he said; and putting Eleanor's hand on his arm they walked off towards the conservatory.

This was at some distance, and opened out of the breakfast room. It was no great matter of a conservatory, only pretty and sweet. Eleanor began slowly to pull geranium leaves.

"You are suffering, Eleanor,"--said Mr. Carlisle.

"I do not think of it--you need not. Macintosh, I want to ask a favour of you."

She turned to him, without raising her eyes, but made the appeal of her whole pretty presence. He drew his arm round her and suspended the business of geranium leaves.

"What is it, my darling?"

"You know," said Eleanor, "that when the twenty-first of December was fixed upon--for what you wished--it was a more hurried day than I would have chosen, if the choice had been left to me. I wanted more time--but you and my mother said that day, and I agreed to it. Now, my mother has taken a notion to make it still earlier--she wants to cut off a whole week from me--she wants to make it next Monday. Don't join with her!

Let me have all the time that was promised me!"

Eleanor could not raise her eyes; she enforced her appeal by laying her hand on Mr. Carlisle's arm. He drew her close up to him, held her fast, stooped his head to hers.

"What for, Eleanor? Laces and plums can be ready as well Monday as Monday s'ennight."

"For myself, Macintosh."

"Don't you think of me?"

"No!" said Eleanor, "I do not. It is quite enough that you should have your wish after Monday s'ennight--I ought to have it before."

He laughed and kissed her. He always liked any shew of spirit in Eleanor.

"My darling, what difference does a week make?"

"Just the difference of a week; and more than that in my mind. I want it. Grant me this favour, Mackintosh! I ask it of you."

Mr. Carlisle seemed to find it amazingly pleasant to have Eleanor sueing to him for favours; for he answered her as much with caresses as with words; both very satisfied.

"You try me beyond my strength, Eleanor. Your mother offers to give you to me Monday--Do you think I care so little about this possession that I will not take it a week earlier than I had hoped to have it?"

"But the week is mine--it is due to me, Macintosh. No one has a right to take it from me. You may have the power; and I ask you not to use it."

"Eleanor, you break my heart. My love, do you know that I have business calling for me in London?--it is calling for me now, urgently. I must carry you up to London at once; and this week that you plead for, I do not know how to give. If I can go the fifteenth instead of the twenty-second, I must. Do you see, Nellie?" he asked very tenderly.

Eleanor hardly saw anything; the world and all in it seemed to be in a swimming state before her eyes. Only Mr. Carlisle's "can's" and "must's" obeyed him, she felt sure, as well as everything else. She felt stunned. Holding her on one arm, Mr. Carlisle began to pluck flowers and myrtle sprays and to adorn her hair with them. It was a labour of love; he liked the business and played with it. The beautiful brown ma.s.ses of hair invited and rewarded attention.

"Then my mother has spoken to you?" she said at length.

"Yes,"--he said, arranging a spray of heath with white blossoms. "Do you blame me?" Eleanor sought to withdraw herself from his arm, but he detained her.

"Where are you going?"

"Up stairs--to my room."

"Do you forgive me, Eleanor?" he said, looking down at her.

"No,--I think I do not."

He laughed a little, kissing her downcast face.

"I will make you my wife, Monday, Eleanor; and after that I will make you forgive me; and then--my wife shall ask me nothing that she shall not have."

Keeping her on his arm, he led her slowly from the conservatory, through the rooms, and up the staircase, to the door of her own apartment.

Eleanor tore out the flowers as soon as she was alone, locked her door, meaning at least not to see her mother that night; took off her dress and lay down. Refuge failed her. She was in despair. What could she arrange between Tuesday night and Monday?--short of taking poison, or absconding privately from the house, and so disgracing both herself and her family. Yet Eleanor was in such desperation of feeling that both those expedients occurred to her in the course of the night, although only to be rejected. Worn-out nature must have some rest however; and towards morning she slept.

It was late when she opened her eyes. They fell first upon Julia, standing at her bedside.

"Are you awake, Eleanor?"

"Yes. I wish I could sleep on."

"There's news."

"News! What sort of news?" said Eleanor, feeling that none concerned her.

"It's bad news--and yet--for you--it is good news."

"What is it, child? Speak."

"Lady Rythdale--she is dead."

Eleanor raised herself on her elbow and stared at Julia. "How do you know? how do you know?" she said.

"A messenger came to tell us--she died last night. The man came a good while ago, but--"

She never finished her sentence; for Eleanor threw herself out of bed, exclaiming, "I am saved! I am saved!"--and went down on her knees by the bedside. It was hardly to pray, for Eleanor scarce knew how to pray; yet that position seemed an embodiment of thanks she could not speak. She kept it a good while, still as death. Julia stood motionless, looking on.