Barrington. Volume 2

“Oh, Major Stapylton will excuse a toilette that was never intended for his presence.”

“I will certainly say there could not be a more becoming one, nor a more charming tableau to display it in!”

“There, Jimmy,” said she, laughing; “you must have some bread and jam for getting me such a nice compliment.”

And she bore away the still sobbing urchin, who, burying his head in her bosom, could never summon courage to meet his father’s eye.

“What a spacious garden you appear to have here!” said Stapylton, who saw all the importance of a diversion to the conversation.

“It is a very much neglected one,” said Dill, pathetically. “My poor dear boy Tom used to take care of it when he was here; he had a perfect passion for flowers.”

Whether that Tom was associated in the Major’s mind with some other very different tastes or not, Stapylton smiled slightly, and after a moment said, “If you permit me, I ‘ll take a stroll through your garden, and think over what we have been talking of.”

“Make yourself at home in every respect,” said Dill. “I have a few professional calls to make in the village, but we ‘ll meet at luncheon.”

“He’s in the garden, Polly,” said Dill, as he passed his daughter on the stairs; “he came over here this morning to have a talk with you.”

“Indeed, sir!”

“Yes; he has got it into his head that you can be of service to him.”

“It is not impossible, sir; I think I might.”

“I’m glad to bear it, Polly; I’m delighted to see you take a good sensible view of things. I need not tell you he’s a knowing one.”

“No, sir. But, as I have heard you card-players say, ‘he shows his hand.’”

“So he does, Polly; but I have known fellows do that just to mislead the adversary.”

“Sorry adversaries that could be taken in so easily.” And with a saucy toss of her head she passed on, scarcely noticing the warning gesture of her father’s finger as she went.

When she had found her work-basket and supplied herself with the means of occupying her fingers for an hour or so, she repaired to the garden and took her seat under a large elm, around whose massive trunk a mossy bench ran, divided by rustic-work into a series of separate places.

“What a churlish idea it was to erect these barricades, Miss Dill!” said Stapylton as he seated himself at her side; “how unpicturesque and how prudish!”

“It was a simple notion of my brother Tom’s,” said she, smiling, “who thought people would not be less agreeable by being reminded that they had a place of their own, and ought not to invade that of their neighbor.”

“What an unsocial thought!”

“Poor Tom! A strange reproach to make against you,” said she, laughing out.

“By the way, has n’t he turned out a hero, – saved a ship and all she carried from the flames, – and all at the hazard of his own life?”

“He has done a very gallant thing; and, what’s more, I ‘ll venture to say there is not a man who saw it thinks so little of it as himself.”

“I suppose that every brave man has more or less of that feeling.”

“I’m glad to learn this fact from such good authority,” said she, with a slight bend of the head.

“A prettily turned compliment, Miss Dill. Are you habitually given to flattery?”

“No? I rather think not. I believe the world is pleased to call me more candid than courteous.”

“Will you let me take you at the world’s estimate, – that is, will you do me the inestimable favor to bestow a little of this same candor upon me?”

“Willingly. What is to be the subject of it?”

“The subject is a very humble one, – myself!”

“How can I possibly adjudicate on such a theme?”

“Better than you think for, perhaps!” And for a moment he appeared awkward and ill at ease. “Miss Dill,” said he, after a pause, “fortune has been using me roughly of late; and, like all men who deem themselves hardly treated, I fly at once to any quarter where I fancy I have found a more kindly disposition towards me. Am I indulging a self-delusion in believing that such sentiments are yours?”

Polly Dill, with her own keen tact, had guessed what was the real object of Stapylton’s visit. She had even read in her father’s manner how he himself was a shareholder in the scheme, and she had made up her mind for a great frankness on each side; but now, seeing the diplomatic mys-teriousness with which the Major opened his attack, that love of mischievous drollery which entered into her nature suggested a very different line. She determined, in fact, to seem to accept the Major’s speech as the preliminary to an offer of his hand. She therefore merely turned her head slightly, and in a low voice said, “Continue!”

“I have not deceived myself, then,” said he, with more warmth of manner. “I have secured one kind heart in my interest?”

“You must own,” said she, with a half-coquettish look of pique, “that you scarcely deserve it.”

“How, – in what way?” asked he, in astonishment.

“What a very short memory you are blessed with! Must I, then, remind you of a certain evening at Cobham? Must I recall what I thought at the time very particular, as they certainly were very pleasant, attentions on your part? Must I, also, bring to mind a certain promised visit from you, the day and hour all named by yourself, – a visit which never came off? And after all this, Major, are you not really a bold man to come down and take up your negotiation where you dropped it? Is there not in this a strong conviction of the greatness of Major Stapylton and the littleness of the doctor’s daughter?”

Stapylton was struck dumb. When a general sees that what he meant as a feint has been converted into a real attack, the situation is often imminent; but what comparison in difficulty is there between that mistake and that of him who assails what he never desired to conquer? How he inwardly cursed the stupidity with which he had opened his negotiation!

“I perceive,” said she, triumphing over his confusion, “that your calmer judgment does not reassure you. You feel that there is a certain levity in this conduct not quite excusable! Own it frankly, and at once!”

“I will own, if you like, that I was never in a situation of greater embarrassment!”

“Shall I tell you why?”

“You couldn’t; it would be totally impossible.”

“I will try, however, if you permit me. You do! Then here goes. You no more intended anything to come of your little flirtation at Cobham than you now do of a more serious blunder. You never came here this morning to make your court to me, You are much pained at the awkwardness of a situation so naturally wounding to me, and for the life of you, you cannot imagine what escape there is out of such a difficulty.”

“You are wonderfully clever, Miss Dill,” said he; and there was an honest admiration in his look that gave the words a full significance.

“No,” said she, “but I am wonderfully good-natured. I forgive you what is the hardest thing in the world to forgive!”

“Oh! if you would but be my friend,” cried he, warmly.

“What a want of tact there was in that speech, Major Stapylton!” said she, with a laugh; “but perhaps you wanted to reverse the line of our dear little poet, who tells of some one ‘that came but for Friendship, and took away Love’!”

“How cruel you are in all this mockery of me!”

“Does not the charge of cruelty come rather ill from you? – you, who can afford to sport with the affections of poor village maidens. From the time of that ‘Major bold of Halifax’ the song tells of, I never heard your equal.”

“Could you prevail upon yourself to be serious for a few minutes?” said he, gravely.

“I think not, – at least not just now; but why should I make the attempt?”

“Because I would wish your aid in a serious contingency, – a matter in which I am deeply interested, and which involves probably my future happiness.”

“Ah, Major! is it possible that you are going to trifle with my feelings once more?”

“My dear Miss Dill, must I plead once more for a little mercy?”

“No, don’t do any such thing; it would seem ungenerous to refuse, and yet I could not accord it.”

“Fairly beaten,” said he, with a sigh; “there is no help for it. You are the victor!”

“How did you leave our friends at ‘The Home’?” said she, with an easy indifference in her tone.

“All well, perfectly well; that is to say, I believe so, for I only saw my host himself.”

“What a pleasant house; how well they understand receiving their friends!”

“It is so peaceful and so quiet!” said he, with an effort to seem at ease.

“And the garden is charming!”

“And all this is perfectly intolerable,” said he, rising, and speaking in a voice thick with suppressed anger. “I never came here to play a part in a vaudeville! Your father led me to believe, Miss Dill, that you might not be indisposed to lend me your favoring aid in a suit which I am interested in. He told me I should at least find you frank and outspoken; that if you felt inclined to assist me, you’d never enhance the service by a seeming doubt or hesitation – ”

“And if I should not feel so inclined, what did he then give you to expect?”

“That you’d say so!”

“So I do, then, clearly and distinctly tell you, if my counsels offer a bar to your wishes, they are all enlisted against you.”

“This is the acme of candor. You can only equal it by saying how I could have incurred your disfavor.”

“There is nothing of disfavor in the matter. I think you charming. You are a hero, – very clever, very fascinating, very accomplished; but I believe it would be a great mistake for Fifine to marry you. Your tempers have that sort of resemblance that leave no reliefs in their mutual play. You are each of you hot and hasty, and a little imperious; and if she were not very much in love, and consequently disposed to think a great deal of you and very little of herself, these traits that I speak of would work ill. But if every one of them were otherwise, there would still be one obstacle worse than all!”

“And that is – ”

“Can you not guess what I mean, Major Stapylton? You do not, surely, want confidences from me that are more than candor!”

“Do I understand you aright?” said he, growing red and pale by turns, as passion worked within him; “do I apprehend you correctly? These people here are credulous enough to be influenced by the shadowy slanders of the newspapers, and they listen to the half-muttered accusations of a hireling press?”

“They do say very awkward things in the daily press, certainly,” said she, dryly; “and your friends marvel at the silence with which you treat them.”

“Then I have divined your meaning,” said he. “It is by these cowardly assailants I am supposed to be vanquished. I suspect, however, that Colonel Barrington himself was, once on a time, indulged with the same sort of flattery. They said that he had usurped a sovereignty, falsified documents, purloined jewels of immense value. I don’t know what they did not charge him with. And what do they say of me? That I exhibited great severity – cruelty, if you will – towards a mob in a state of rebellion; that I reprimanded a very silly subaltern for a misplaced act of humanity. That I have been cashiered, too, they assert, in face of the ‘Gazette,’ which announces my appointment to an unattached majority. In a word, the enormity of the falsehood has never stayed their hand, and they write of me whatever their unthinking malevolence can suggest to them. You have, perhaps, seen some of these paragraphs?”

“Like every one else, I have read them occasionally; not very attentively, indeed. But, in truth, I’m not a reader of newspapers. Here, for instance, is this morning’s as it came from Dublin, still unopened;” and she handed it as she spoke.

“Let us see if I be still honored with their notice,” said he, unfolding the paper, and running his eyes hastily over it. “Debate on the Sugar Bill – Prison Reforms – China – Reinforcements for Canada – Mail Service to the Colonies – Bankruptcy Court. Oh, here we have it – here it is!” and he crushed the paper while he folded down one part of it. “Shall I read it for you? The heading is very tempting: ‘Late Military Scandal. – A very curious report is now going through our West-end Clubs, and especially such as are the resort of military officers. It is to the purport that a certain Field-officer of Cavalry – whose conduct has been the subject of severe strictures from the Press – will speedily be called to answer for a much graver offence than the transgression of regimental discipline. The story which has reached us is a very strange one, and we should call it incredible, if we were not informed, on author-ity, that one of our most distinguished Indian generals has declared himself fully satisfied of its truth in every particular.’ Can you fancy anything worse than that, Miss Dill? An unknown somebody is alleged to be convinced of an unknown something that attaches to me; for, of course, I am designated as the ‘Field-officer of Cavalry,’ and the public is graciously pleased to hold me in abhorrence till I have found out my calumniator and refuted him!”

“It seems very hard. Who do you suspect is the Indian General alluded to?”

“Tell me, first of all, – does he exist?” “And this, too, you will not reply to, nor notice?” “Not, certainly, through such a channel as it reaches me. If the slanderer will stand forth and avow himself, I may know how to deal with him. But what has led us into this digression? I am sure it is as little to your taste as to mine. I have failed in my mission, and if I were able to justify every act of my life, what would it avail me? You have pronounced against me; at least, you will not take my brief.”

“What if I were retained by the other side?” said she, smiling.

“I never suspected that there was another side,” said he, with an air of extreme indifference. “Who is my formidable rival?”

“I might have told you if I saw you were really anxious on the subject.”

“It would be but hypocrisy in me to pretend it. If, for example, Major McCormick – ”

“Oh, that is too bad!” cried Polly, interrupting. “This would mean an impertinence to Miss Barrington.”

“How pleasant we must have been! Almost five o’clock, and I scarcely thought it could be three!” said he, with an affected languor.

“‘Time’s foot is not heard when he treads upon flowers,’” said she, smiling.

“Where shall I find your father, Miss Dill? I want to tell him what a charming creature his daughter is, and how wretched I feel at not being able to win her favor.”

“Pray don’t; or he might fall into my own mistake, and imagine that you wanted a lease of it for life.”

“Still cruel, still inexorable!” said he, with a mockery of affliction in his tone. “Will you say all the proper things – the regrets, and such like – I feel at not meeting him again; and if he has asked me to dinner – which I really forget – will you make the fitting apology?”

“And what is it, in the present case?”

“I ‘m not exactly sure whether I am engaged to dine elsewhere, or too ill to dine at all.”

“Why not say it is the despair at being rejected renders you unequal to the effort? I mean, of course, by myself, Major Stapylton.”

“I have no objection; say so, if you like,” said he, with an insulting indifference. “Good-day, Miss Dill. This is the way to the road, I believe;” and, with a low bow, very deferential but very distant, he turned away to leave the garden. He had not, however, gone many paces, when he stopped and seemed to ponder. He looked up at the sky, singularly clear and cloudless as it was, without a breath of wind in the air; he gazed around him on every side, as if in search of an object he wanted; and then, taking out his purse, he drew forth a shilling and examined it. “Yes,” muttered he, “Chance has been my only counsellor for many a year, and the only one that never takes a bribe! And yet, is it not taking to the raft before the ship has foundered? True; but shall I be sure of the raft if I wait for the shipwreck? She is intensely crafty. She has that sort of head that loves a hard knot to unravel! Here goes! Let Destiny take all the consequences!” and as he flung up the piece of money in the air, he cried, “Head!” It was some minutes ere he could discover where it had fallen, amongst the close leaves of a border of strawberries. He bent down to look, and exclaimed, “Head! she has won!” Just as he arose from his stooping attitude he perceived that Polly was engaged in the adjoining walk, making a bouquet of roses. He sprang across the space, and stood beside her.

“I thought you had been a mile off by this time, at least,” said she, calmly.

“So I meant, and so I intended; but just as I parted from you, a thought struck me – one of those thoughts which come from no process of reasoning or reflection, but seem impelled by a force out of our own natures – that I would come back and tell you something that was passing in my mind. Can you guess it?”

“No; except it be that you are sorry for having trifled so unfeelingly with my hopes, and have come back to make the best reparation in your power, asking me to forgive and accept you.”

“You have guessed aright; it was for that I returned.”

“What a clever guess I made! Confess I am very ready-witted!”

“You are; and it is to engage those ready wits in my behalf that I am now before you.”

“‘At my feet,’ sir, is the appropriate expression. I wonder how a gentleman so suited to be the hero of a story could forget the language of the novel.”

“I want you to be serious,” said he, almost sternly.

“And why should that provoke seriousness from me which only costs you levity?”

“Levity! – where is the levity?”

“Is it not this instant that you flung a shilling in the air, and cried out, as you looked on it, ‘She has won’? Is it not that you asked Chance to decide for you what most men are led to by their affections, or at least their interests; and if so, is levity not the name for this?”

“True in part, but not in whole; for I felt it was I who had won when ‘head’ came uppermost.”

“And yet you have lost.”

“How so! You refuse me?”

“I forgive your astonishment. It is really strange, but I do refuse you.”

“But why? Are you piqued with me for anything that occurred this morning? Have I offended you by anything that dropped from me in that conversation? Tell me frankly, that I may, if in my power, rectify it.”

“No; I rather felt flattered at the notion of being consulted. I thought it a great tribute to my clear-headedness and my tact.”

“Then tell me what it was.”

“You really wish it?”

“I do.”

“Insist upon it?”

“I insist upon it.”

“Well, it was this. Seeing that you were intrusting your future fortune to chance, I thought that I would do the same, and so I tossed up whether, opportunity serving, I should accept you or a certain other, and the other won!”

“May I ask for the name of my fortunate rival?”

“I don’t think it is very fair, perhaps not altogether delicate of you; and the more since he has not proposed, nor possibly ever may. But no matter, you shall hear his name. It was Major McCormick.”

“McCormick! You mean this for an insult to me, Miss Dill?”

“Well, it certainly is open to that objection,” said she, with a very slight closure of her eyes, and a look of steady, resolute defiance.

“And in this way,” continued he, “to throw ridicule over the offer I have made you?”

“Scarcely that; the proposition was in itself too ridiculous to require any such aid from me.”

For a moment Stapylton lost his self-possession, and he turned on her with a look of savage malignity.

“An insult, and an intentional insult!” said he; “a bold thing to avow.”

“I don’t think so, Major Stapylton. We have been playing a very rough game with each other, and it is not very wonderful if each of us should have to complain of hard treatment.”

“Could not so very clever a person as Miss Dill perceive that I was only jesting?” said he, with a cutting insolence in his tone.

“I assure you that I did not,” said she, calmly; “had I known or even suspected it was a jest, I never should have been angry. That the distinguished Major Stapylton should mock and quiz – or whatever be the name for it – the doctor’s daughter, however questionable the good taste, was, after all, only a passing slight. The thought of asking her to marry him was different, – that was an outrage!”

“You shall pay for this one day, perhaps,” said he, biting his lip.

“No, Major Stapylton,” said she, laughing; “this is not a debt of honor; you can afford to ignore it.”

“I tell you again, you shall pay for it.”

“Till then, sir!” said she, with a courtesy; and without giving him time for another word, she turned and re-entered the house.

Scarcely had Stapylton gained the road when he was joined by McCormick. “Faith, you didn’t get the best of that brush, anyhow,” said he, with a grin.

“What do you mean, sir?” replied Stapylton, savagely.

“I mean that I heard every word that passed between you, and I would n’t have been standing in your shoes for a fifty-pound note.”

“How is your rheumatism this morning?” asked Stapylton, blandly.

“Pretty much as it always is,” croaked out the other.

“Be thankful to it, then; for if you were not a cripple, I ‘d throw you into that river as sure as I stand here to say it.”

Major McCormick did not wait for a less merciful moment, but hobbled away from the spot with all the speed he could muster.

CHAPTER XIV. STORMS

When Stapylton stepped out of his boat and landed at “The Home,” the first person he saw was certainly the last in his wishes. It was Miss Dinah who stood at the jetty, as though awaiting him. Scarcely deigning to notice, beyond a faint smile of acquiescence, the somewhat bungling explanation he gave of his absence, she asked if he had met her brother.

“No,” said he. “I left the village a couple of hours ago; rather loitering, as I came along, to enjoy the river scenery.”

“He took the road, and in this way missed you,” said she, dryly.

“How unfortunate! – for me, I mean, of course. I own to you, Miss Barrington, wide as the difference between our ages, I never yet met any one so thoroughly companionable to me as your brother. To meet a man so consummately acquainted with the world, and yet not soured by his knowledge; to see the ripe wisdom of age blended with the generous warmth of youth; to find one whose experiences only make him more patient, more forgiving, more trustful – ”

“Too trustful, Major Stapylton, far too trustful.” And her bold gray eyes were turned upon him as she spoke, with a significance that could not be mistaken.

“It is a noble feeling, madam,” said he, haughtily.

“It is a great misfortune to its possessor, sir.”

“Can we deem that misfortune, Miss Barrington, which enlarges the charity of our natures, and teaches us to be slow to think ill?”

Not paying the slightest attention to his question, she said, —

“My brother went in search of you, sir, to place in your hands some very urgent letters from the Horse Guards, and which a special messenger brought here this morning.”

“Truly kind of him. They relate, I have no doubt, to my Indian appointment. They told me I should have news by to-day or to-morrow.”

“He received a letter also for himself, sir, which he desired to show you.”

“About his lawsuit, of course? It is alike a pleasure and a duty to me to serve him in that affair.”

“It more nearly concerns yourself, sir,” said she, in the same cold, stern tone; “though it has certainly its bearing on the case you speak of.”

“More nearly concerns myself!” said he, repeating her words slowly. “I am about the worst guesser of a riddle in the world, Miss Barrington. Would you kindly relieve my curiosity? Is this letter a continuation of those cowardly attacks which, in the want of a worthier theme, the Press have amused themselves by making upon me? Is it possible that some enemy has had the malice to attack me through my friends?”

“The writer of the letter in question is a sufficient guarantee for its honor, Mr. Withering.”

“Mr. Withering!” repeated he, with a start, and then, as suddenly assuming an easy smile, added: “I am perfectly tranquil to find myself in such hands as Mr. Withering’s. And what, pray, does he say of me?”

“Will you excuse me, Major Stapylton, if I do not enter upon a subject on which I am not merely very imperfectly informed, but on which so humble a judgment as mine would be valueless? My brother showed me the letter very hurriedly; I had but time to see to what it referred, and to be aware that it was his duty to let you see it at once, – if possible, indeed, before you were again under his roof.”