Cord and Creese Page 13

  CHAPTER XIII.

  THE BADINAGE OF OLD FRIENDS.

  The town of Holby is on the coast of Pembroke. It has a small harbour,with a light-house, and the town itself contains a few thousand people,most of them belonging to the poorer class. The chief house in the townstands on a rising ground a little outside, looking toward the water.Its size and situation render it the most conspicuous object in theneighborhood.

  This house, from its appearance, must have been built more than acentury before. It belonged to an old family which had become extinct,and now was occupied by a new owner, who had given it another name. Thisnew owner was William Thornton, Esq., solicitor, who had an office inHolby, and who, though very wealthy, still attended to his business withundiminished application. The house had been originally purchased by thefather of the present occupant, Henry Thornton, a well-known lawyer inthese parts, who had settled here originally a poor young man, but hadfinally grown gray and rich in his adopted home. He had bought the placewhen it was exposed for sale, with the intention of founding a new seatfor his own family, and had given it the name of Thornton Grange.

  Generations of care and tasteful culture had made Thornton Grange oneof the most beautiful places in the county. All around were wide parksdotted with ponds and clumps of trees. An avenue of elms led up to thedoor. A well-kept lawn was in front, and behind was an extensive grove.Every thing spoke of wealth and elegance.

  On an afternoon in February a gentleman in clerical dress walked up theavenue, rang at the door, and entering he gave his name to the servantas the Rev. Courtenay Despard. He was the new Rector of Holby, and hadonly been there one week.

  He entered the drawing-room, sat down upon one of the many loungingchairs with which it was filled, and waited. He did not have to waitlong. A rapid step was soon heard descending the stairs, and in a fewminutes a lady entered. She came in with a bright smile of welcome onher face, and greeted him with much warmth.

  Mrs. Thornton was very striking in her appearance. A clear olivecomplexion and large, dark hazel eyes marked Southern blood. Her hairwas black, wavy, and exceedingly luxuriant. Her mouth was small, herhands and feet delicately shaped, and her figure slender and elegant.Her whole air had that indefinable grace which is the sign ofhigh-breeding; to this there was added exceeding loveliness, with greatanimation of face and elegance of manner. She was a perfect lady, yetnot of the English stamp; for her looks and manner had not that coldand phlegmatic air which England fosters. She looked rather like someItalian beauty--like those which enchant us as they smile from the wallsof the picture-galleries of Italy.

  "I am so glad you have come!" said she. "It is so stupid here, and Iexpected you an hour ago."

  "Oh, if I had only known that!" said Despard. "For, do you know, I havebeen dying of ennui."

  "I hope that I may be the means of dispelling it."

  "As surely so as the sun disperses the clouds."

  "You are never at a loss for a compliment."

  "Never when I am with you."

  These few words were spoken with a smile by each, and a slightlymelodramatic gesture, as though each was conscious of a littleextravagance.

  "You must be glad to get to your old home," she resumed. "You lived herefifteen, no, sixteen years, you know."

  "Eighteen."

  "So it was. I was sixteen when you left."

  "Never to see you again till I came back," said Despard, with somemournfulness, looking at the floor.

  "And since then all has changed."

  "But I have not," rejoined Despard, in the same tone.

  Mrs. Thornton said nothing for a moment.

  "By-the-way, I've been reading such a nice book," she resumed. "It hasjust come out, and is making a sensation. It would suit you, I know."

  "What is it?"

  She rose and lifted a book from the table, which she handed to him. Hetook it, and read the title out loud.

  "Christian's Cross."

  A strange expression passed over his face. He looked at her, holding thebook out at arms'-length with feigned consternation.

  "And do you have the heart to recommend this book to me, Mrs. Thornton?"

  "Why not?"

  "Why, it's religious. Religious books are my terror. How could Ipossibly open a book like this?"

  She laughed.

  "You are mistaken," she said. "It is an ordinary novel, and for thesake of your peace of mind I assure you that there is not a particle ofreligion in it. But why should you look with such repugnance upon it?The expression of your face is simply horror."

  "Pietistic books have been the bane of my life. The emotional, therhapsodical, the meditative style of book, in which one garrulouslyaddresses one's soul from beginning to end, is simply torture to me.You see religion is a different thing. The rhapsody may do forthe Tabernacle people, but thoughtful men and women need somethingdifferent."

  "I am so delighted to hear such sentiments from a clergyman! Theyentirely accord with my own. Still I must own that your horror struck meas novel, to say the least of it."

  "Would you like me to try to proselytize you?"

  "You may try if you wish. I am open to conviction; but the Church of allthe ages, the Apostolic, the Catholic, has a strong hold on me."

  "You need not fear that I will ever try to loosen it. I only wish that Imay see your face in Trinity Church every Sunday."

  "That happiness shall be yours," answered Mrs. Thornton. "As there isno Catholic church here, I will give you the honor of my presence atTrinity."

  "If that is the case it will be a place of worship to me."

  He smiled away the extravagance of this last remark, and she only shookher head.

  "That is a compliment, but it is awfully profane."

  "Not profanity; say rather justifiable idolatry."

  "Really, I feel overcome; I do not know what to say. At any rate, I hopeyou will like the book; I know you will find it pleasant."

  "Any thing that comes from you could not be otherwise," said Despard."At the same time it is not my habit to read novels singly."

  "Singly! Why how else can one read them?"

  "I always read several at a time."

  Mrs. Thornton laughed at the whimsical idea.

  "You see," said Despard, "one must keep up with the literature of theday. I used to read each book as it came out, but at last found satiety.The best novel palls. For my own comfort I had to invent a new plan tostimulate my interest. I will tell you about it. I take ten at a time,spread them on the table in front of me, and read each chapter insuccession."

  "Isn't that a little confusing?"

  "Not at all," said Despard, gravely. "Practice enables one to keep alldistinct."

  "But what is the good of it?"

  "This," replied Despard; "you see in each novel there are certainsituations. Perhaps on an average there may be forty each. Interestingcharacters also may average ten each. Thrilling scenes twenty each.Overwhelming catastrophes fifteen each. Now by reading novels singly theeffect of all this is weakened, for you only have the work of each inits divided, isolated state, but where you read according to my plan youhave the aggregate of all these effects in one combined--that is to say,in ten books which I read at once I have two hundred thrilling scenes,one hundred and fifty overwhelming catastrophes, one hundred interestingcharacters, and four hundred situations of absorbing fascination. Do younot see what an advantage there is in my plan? By following this ruleI have been able to stimulate a somewhat faded appetite, and to keepabreast of the literature of the day."

  "What an admirable plan! And do you read all books in that way? Why,one could write ten novels at a time on the same principle, and if so heought to write very much better."

  "I think I will try it some day. At present I am busily engaged with alearned treatise on the Symbolical Nature of the Mosaic Economy, and--"

  "The--what?" cried Mrs. Thornton, breathlessly. "What was that?"

  "The Symbolical Nature of the Mosaic Economy," said Despard, placid
ly.

  "And is the title all your own?"

  "All my own."

  "Then pray don't write the book. The title is enough. Publish that, andsee if it does not of itself by its own extraordinary merits bring youundying fame."

  "I've been thinking seriously of doing so," said Despard, "and I don'tknow but that I may follow your advice. It will save some trouble, andperhaps amount to just as much in the end."

  "And do you often have such brilliant fancies?"

  "No, frankly, not often. I consider that title the one great idea of mylife."

  "But do not dwell too much upon that," said Mrs. Thornton, in a warningvoice. "It might make you conceited."

  "Do you think so?" rejoined the other, with a shudder. "Do you reallythink so? I hope not. At any rate I hope you do not like conceitedpeople?"

  "No."

  "Am I conceited?"

  "No. I like you," replied Mrs. Thornton, with a slight bow and a wave ofthe hand, which she accompanied with a smile.

  "And I like you," said Despard, in the same tone.

  "You could not do less."

  "This," said Despard, with an air of thoughtful seriousness, "is asolemn occasion. After such a tender confession from each of us whatremains to be done? What is it that the novels lay down?"

  "I'm sure," returned Mrs. Thornton, with the same assumed solemnity, "itis not for me to say. You must make the proposition."

  "We cannot do any thing less than fly together."

  "I should think not"

  "But where?"

  "And not only where, but how? By rail, by steamboat, or by canal? Acanal strikes me as the best mode of flight. It is secluded."

  "Free from observation," said Despard.

  "Quiet," rejoined Mrs. Thornton.

  "Poetic."

  "Remote."

  "Unfriended."

  "Solitary."

  "Slow."

  "And, best of all, hitherto untried."

  "Yes, its novelty is undeniable."

  "So much so," said Mrs. Thornton, "that it overwhelms one. It is abright, original idea, and in these days of commonplace is itnot creditable? The idea is mine, Sir, and I will match it withyour--what?--your Symbolical Nature of the Mosaic Cosmogony."

  "Economy."

  "But Cosmogony is better. Allow me to suggest it by way of a change."

  "It must be so, since you say it; but I have a weakness for the wordEconomy. It is derived from the Greek--"

  "Greek!" exclaimed Mrs. Thornton, raising her hands. "You surely are notgoing to be so ungenerous as to quote Greek! Am I not a lady? Will yoube so base as to take me at a disadvantage in that way?"

  "I am thoroughly ashamed of myself, and you may consider that a tacitapology is going on within my mind whenever I see you."

  "You are forgiven," said Mrs. Thornton.

  "I can not conceive how I could have so far forgotten myself. I do notusually speak Greek to ladies. I consider it my duty to make myselfagreeable. And you have no idea how agreeable I can make myself, if Itry."

  "I? I have no idea? Is it you who say that, and to me?" exclaimed Mrs.Thornton, in that slight melodramatic tone which she had employed thusfar, somewhat exaggerated. "After what I told you--of my feelings?"

  "I see I shall have to devote all the rest of my life to makingapologies."

  "No. Do not make apologies. Avoid your besetting sins. Otherwise, fondas I am of you"--and she spoke with exaggerated solemnity--"I mustregard you as a failure."

  The conversation went on uninterruptedly in this style for some time. Itappeared to suit each of them. Despard's face, naturally grave, assistedhim toward maintaining the mock-serious tone which he chose to adopt;and Mrs. Thornton's peculiar style of face gave her the same advantage.It pleased each to express for the other an exaggerated sentiment ofregard. They considered it banter and badinage. How far it was safe wasanother thing. But they had known one another years before, and wereonly resuming the manner of earlier times.

  Yet, after all, was it safe for the grave Rector of Holby to adoptthe inflated style of a troubadour in addressing the Lady of ThorntonGrange? Neither of them thought of it. They simply improved theshining hour after this fashion, until at length the conversation wasinterrupted by the opening of folding-doors, and the entrance of aservant who announced--dinner.

  On entering the dining-room Despard was greeted with respectfulformality by the master of the house. He was a man of about forty,with the professional air of the lawyer about him, and an abstractedexpression of face, such as usually belongs to one who is deeplyengrossed in the cares of business. His tone, in spite of itsfriendliness, was naturally stiff, and was in marked contrast to thewarmth of Mrs. Thornton's greeting.

  "How do you like your new quarters?" he asked, as they sat down.

  "Very well," said Despard. "It is more my home, you know, than any otherplace. I lived there so many years as school-boy with Mr. Carson that itseems natural to take up my station there as home."

  Mr. Thornton relapsed into his abstraction while Despard was speaking,who directed the remainder of his conversation to Mrs. Thornton.

  It was light, idle chat, in the same tone as that in which they hadbefore indulged. Once or twice, at some unusually extravagant remark,Mr. Thornton looked up in perplexity, which was not lessened on seeingtheir perfect gravity.

  They had a long discussion as to the meaning of the phrase "the dayafter to-morrow." Despard asserted that it meant the same as eternalduration, and insisted that it must be so, since when to-morrow came theday after it was still coming, and when that came there was stillthe day after. He supported his theory with so much earnestness thatThornton, after listening for a while, took the trouble to go heavilyand at length into the whole question, and conclude it triumphantlyagainst Despard.

  Then the subject of politics came up, and a probable war with France wasconsidered. Despard professed to take no interest in the subject, since,even if an invasion took place, clergymen could do nothing. They wereexempt from military duty in common with gaugers. The mention of thisbrought on a long discussion as to the spelling of the word gauger.Despard asserted that nobody knew how it was spelled, and that, from thenecessities of human nature, it was simply impossible to tell whether itwas _gauger_ or _guager_. This brought out Thornton again, who mentionedseveral law papers in which the word had been correctly written by hisclerks. Despard challenged him on this, and, because Thornton hadto confess that he had not examined the word, dictionary in hand, heclaimed a victory over him.

  Thornton, at this, looked away, with the smile of a man who is talkingunintelligible things to a child.

  Then followed a long conversation between Despard and Mrs. Thorntonabout religion, art, music, and a miscellaneous assemblage of otherthings, which lasted for a long time. At length he rose to go. Mrs.Thornton went to a side-table and took up a book.

  "Here," said she, "is the little book you lent me; I ought to have sentit, but I thought you would come for it."

  "And so I will," said he, "some day."

  "Come for it to-morrow."

  "Will you be at home?"

  "MRS. THORNTON, WALKING TO THE WINDOW, LOOKED OUT."]

  "Yes."

  "Then of course I'll come. And now I must tear myself away. Good-night!"

  On the following day, at about two o'clock, Despard called again. Mrs.Thornton had been writing, and the desk was strewn with papers.

  "I know I am disturbing you," said he, after the usual greetings. "I seethat you are writing, so I will not stay but a moment. I have come, youknow, after that little book."

  "Indeed, you are not disturbing me at all. I have been trying tocontinue a letter which I began to my brother a month ago. There is nohurry about it."

  "And how is Paolo?"

  "I have not heard for some time. I ought to hear soon. He went toAmerica last summer, and I have not had a word from him since. My letteris of no importance, I assure you, and now, since you are here, youshall not go. Indeed, I only touche
d it a minute ago. I have beenlooking at some pictures till I am so begrimed and inundated with dustthat I feel as though I had been resolved into my original element."

  And she held up her hands with a pretty gesture of horror.

  Despard looked at her for a moment as she stood in her bright beautybefore him. A sudden expression of pain flashed over his face, succeededby his usual smile.

  "Dust never before took so fair a form," he said, and sat down, lookingon the floor.

  "For unfailing power of compliment, for an unending supply of neat andpretty speeches, commend me to the Rev. Courtenay Despard."

  "Yet, singularly enough, no one else ever dreamed that of me."

  "You were always so."

  "With you."

  "In the old days."

  "Now lost forever."

  Their voices sank low and expressive of a deep melancholy. A silencefollowed. Despard at last, with a sudden effort, began talking in hisusual extravagant strain about badgers till at last Mrs. Thornton beganto laugh, and the radiancy of their spirits was restored. "Strange,"said he, taking up a prayer-book with a peculiar binding, on which therewas a curiously intertwisted figure in gilt. "That pattern has been inmy thoughts and dreams for a week."

  "How so?"

  "Why, I saw it in your hands last Sunday, and my eyes were drawn toit till its whole figure seemed to stamp itself on my mind. See! I cantrace it from memory." And, taking his cane, he traced the curiouslyinvolved figure on the carpet.

  "And were your thoughts fixed on nothing better than that?"

  "I was engaged in worship," was the reply, with marked emphasis.

  "I must take another book next time."

  "Do not. You will only force me to study another pattern."

  Mrs. Thornton laughed lightly, and Despard looked at her with a smile.

  "I'm afraid your thoughts wander," she said, lightly, "as mine do. Thereis no excuse for you. There is for me. For you know I'm like Naaman; Ihave to bow my head in the temple of Baal. After all," she continued,in a more serious voice, "I suppose I shall be able some day to worshipbefore my own altar, for, do you know, I expect to end my days in aconvent."

  "And why?"

  "For the purpose of perfect religious seclusion."

  Despard looked at her earnestly for a moment. Then his usual smile brokeout.

  "Wherever you go let me know, and I'll take up my abode outside thewalls and come and look at you every day through the grating."

  "And would that be a help to a religious life?"

  "Perhaps not; but I'll tell you what would be a help. Be a Sister ofCharity. I'll be a Paulist. I'll devote myself to the sick. Then you andI can go together; and when you are tired I can assist you. I think thatidea is much better than yours."

  "Oh, very much, indeed!" said Mrs. Thornton, with a strange, sad look.

  "I remember a boy and girl who once used to go hand in hand over yondershore, and--" He stopped suddenly, and then hastily added, "and now itwould be very sad, and therefore very absurd, in one of them to bring upold memories."

  Mrs. Thornton suddenly rose, and, walking to the window, looked out. "Iwonder if it will rain to-day!" she said, in a sweet voice, full of atremulous melancholy.

  "There are very dark clouds about," returned Despard, mournfully.

  "I hope there will not be a storm," she rejoined, with the same sadness.Her hands were held tightly together. "Some things will perish if astorm comes."

  "Let us pray that there may be calm and peace," said Despard.

  She turned and looked at him for a moment. Strange that these two shouldpass so quickly from gayety to gloom! Their eyes met, and each read inthe face of the other sadness beyond words.