dreaded is the raising of any suspicion in Sir Christopher's mind of what has
happened in the past, or of your present feelings. You think so too, don't you,
Tina?"
Mr Gilfil paused again, but Caterina said nothing. She was looking away from
him, out of the window, and her eyes were filling with tears. He rose, and,
advancing a little towards her, held out his hand and said,�
"Forgive me, Caterina, for intruding on your feelings in this way. I was so
afraid you might not be aware how Miss Assher watched you. Remember, I entreat
you, that the peace of the whole family depends on your power of governing
yourself. Only say you forgive me before I go."
"Dear, good Maynard," she said, stretching out her little hand, and taking two
of his large fingers in her grasp, while her tears flowed fast; "I am very cross
to you. But my heart is breaking. I don't know what I do. Good-by."
He stooped down, kissed the little hand, and then left the room.
"The cursed scoundrel!" he muttered between his teeth, as he closed the door
behind him. "If it were not for Sir Christopher, I should like to pound him into
paste to poison puppies like himself!"
CHAPTER X.
That evening Captain Wybrow, returning from a long ride with Miss Assher, went
up to his dressing-room, and seated himself with an air of considerable
lassitude before his mirror. The reflection there presented of his exquisite
self was certainly paler and more worn than usual, and might excuse the anxiety
with which he first felt his pulse, and then laid his hand on his heart.
"It's a devil of a position this for a man to be in," was the train of his
thought, as he kept his eyes fixed on the glass, while he leaned back in his
chair, and crossed his hands behind his head; "between two jealous women, and
both of them as ready to take fire as tinder. And in my state of health too! I
should be glad enough to run away from the whole affair, and go off to some
lotos-eating place or other where there are no women, or only women who are too
sleepy to be jealous. Here am I, doing nothing to please myself, trying to do
the best thing for everybody else, and all the comfort I get is to have fire
shot at me from women's eyes, and venom spirted at me from women's tongues. If
Beatrice takes another jealous fit into her head�and it's likely enough, Tina is
so unmanageable�I don't know what storm she may raise. And any hitch in this
marriage, especially of that sort, might be a fatal business for the old
gentleman. I wouldn't have such a blow fall upon him for a great deal. Besides,
a man must be married some time in his life, and I could hardly do better than
marry Beatrice. She's an uncommonly fine woman, and I'm really very fond of her;
and as I shall let her have her own way, her temper won't signify much. I wish
the wedding was over and done with, for this fuss doesn't suit me at all. I
haven't been half so well lately. That scene about Tina this morning quite upset
me. Poor little Tina! What a little simpleton it was, to set her heart on me in
that way! But she ought to see how impossible it is that things should be
different. If she would but understand how kindly I feel towards her, and make
up her mind to look on me as a friend;�but that is what one never can get a
woman to do. Beatrice is very good-natured; I'm sure she would be kind to the
little thing. It would be a great comfort if Tina would take to Gilfil, if it
were only in anger against me. He'd make her a capital husband, and I should
like to see the little grasshopper happy. If I had been in a different position,
I would certainly have married her myself; but that was out of the question with
my responsibilities to Sir Christopher. I think a little persuasion from my
uncle would bring her to accept Gilfil; I know she would never be able to oppose
my uncle's wishes. And if they were once married, she's such a loving little
thing, she would soon be billing and cooing with him as if she had never known
me. It would certainly be the best thing for her happiness if that marriage were
hastened. Heigho! Those are lucky fellows that have no women falling in love
with them. It's a confounded responsibility."
At this point in his meditations he turned his head a little, so as to get a
three-quarter view of his face. Clearly it was the "dono infelice della
bellezza" that laid these onerous duties upon him �an idea which naturally
suggested that he should ring for his valet.
For the next few days, however, there was such a cessation of threatening
symptoms as to allay the anxiety both of Captain Wybrow and Mr Gilfil. All
earthly things have their lull: even on nights when the most unappeasable wind
is raging, there will be a moment of stillness before it crashes among the
boughs again, and storms against the windows, and howls like a thousand lost
demons through the key-holes.
Miss Assher appeared to be in the highest good-humour; Captain Wybrow was more
assiduous than usual, and was very circumspect in his behaviour to Caterina, on
whom Miss Assher bestowed unwonted attentions. The weather was brilliant; there
were riding excursions in the mornings and dinner-parties in the evenings.
Consultations in the library between Sir Christopher and Lady Assher seemed to
be leading to a satisfactory result; and it was understood that this visit at
Cheverel Manor would terminate in another fortnight, when the preparations for
the wedding would be carried forward with all despatch at Farleigh. The Baronet
seemed every day more radiant. Accustomed to view people who entered into his
plans by the pleasant light which his own strong will and bright hopefulness
were always casting on the future, he saw nothing but personal charms and
promising domestic qualities in Miss Assher, whose quickness of eye and taste in
externals formed a real ground of sympathy between her and Sir Christopher. Lady
Cheverel's enthusiasm never rose above the temperate mark of calm satisfaction,
and having quite her share of the critical acumen which characterises the mutual
estimates of the fair sex, she had a more moderate opinion of Miss Assher's
qualities. She suspected that the fair Beatrice had a sharp and imperious
temper; and being herself, on principle and by habitual self-command, the most
deferential of wives, she noticed with disapproval Miss Assher's occasional air
of authority towards Captain Wybrow. A proud woman who has learned to submit,
carries all her pride to the reinforcement of her submission, and looks down
with severe superiority on all feminine assumption as "unbecoming." Lady
Cheverel, however, confined her criticisms to the privacy of her own thoughts,
and, with a reticence which I fear may seem incredible, did not use them as a
means of disturbing her husband's complacency.
And Caterina? How did she pass these sunny autumn days, in which the skies
seemed to be smiling on the family gladness? To her the change in Miss Assher's
manner was unaccountable. Those compassionate attentions, those smiling
condescensions, were torture to Caterina, who was constantly tempted to repulse
them with anger.
She thought, "Perhaps Anthony has told her to be kind to poor
Tina. This was an insult. He ought to have known that the mere presence of Miss
Assher was painful to her, that Miss Assher's smiles scorched her, that Miss
Assher's kind words were like poison stings inflaming her to madness. And
he�Anthony�he was evidently repenting of the tenderness he had been betrayed
into that morning in the drawing-room. He was cold and distant and civil to her,
to ward off Beatrice's suspicions, and Beatrice could be so gracious now,
because she was sure of Anthony's entire devotion. Well! and so it ought to
be�and she ought not to wish it otherwise. And yet�oh, he was cruel to her. She
could never have behaved so to him. To make her love him so�to speak such tender
words�to give her such caresses, and then to behave as if such things had never
been. He had given her the poison that seemed so sweet while she was drinking
it, and now it was in her blood, and she was helpless."
With this tempest pent up in her bosom, the poor child went up to her room every
night, and there it all burst forth. There, with loud whispers and sobs,
restlessly pacing up and down, lying on the hard floor, courting cold and
weariness, she told to the pitiful listening night the anguish which she could
pour into no mortal ear. But always sleep came at last, and always in the
morning the reactive calm that enabled her to live through the day.
It is amazing how long a young frame will go on battling with this sort of
secret wretchedness, and yet show no traces of the conflict for any but
sympathetic eyes. The very delicacy of Caterina's usual appearance, her natural
paleness and habitually quiet mouse-like ways, made any symptoms of fatigue and
suffering less noticeable. And her singing�the one thing in which she ceased to
be passive, and became prominent�lost none of its energy. She sometimes wondered
herself how it was that, whether she felt sad or angry, crushed with the sense
of Anthony's indifference, or burning with impatience under Miss Assher's
attentions, it was always a relief to her to sing. Those full deep notes she
sent forth seemed to be lifting the pain from her heart�seemed to be carrying
away the madness from her brain.
discerned with anxiety the feverish spot that sometimes rose on her cheek, the
deepening violet tint under her eyes, and the strange absent glance, the
unhealthy glitter of the beautiful eyes themselves.
But, alas! those agitated nights were producing a more fatal effect than was
represented by these slight outward changes.
CHAPTER XI.
The following Sunday, the morning being rainy, it was determined that the family
should not go to Cumbermoor Church as usual, but that Mr Gilfil, who had only an
afternoon service at his curacy, should conduct the morning service in the
chapel.
Just before the appointed hour of eleven, Caterina came down into the
drawing-room, looking so unusually ill as to call forth an anxious inquiry from
Lady Cheverel, who, on learning that she had a severe headache, insisted that
she should not attend service, and at once packed her up comfortably on a sofa
near the fire, putting a volume of Tillotson's Sermons into her hands, as
appropriate reading, if Caterina should feel equal to that means of edification.
Excellent medicine for the mind are the good archbishop's sermons, but a
medicine, unhappily, not suited to Tina's case. She sat with the book open on
her knees, her dark eyes fixed vacantly on the portrait of that handsome Lady
Cheverel, wife of the notable Sir Anthony. She gazed at the picture without
thinking of it, and the fair blonde dame seemed to look down on her with that
benignant unconcern, that mild wonder, with which happy self-possessed women are
apt to look down on their agitated and weaker sisters.
Caterina was thinking of the near future�of the wedding that was so soon to
come�of all she would have to live through in the next months.
"I wish I could be very ill, and die before then," she thought. "When people get
very ill, they don't mind about things. Poor Patty Richards looked so happy when
she was in a decline. She didn't seem to care any more about her lover that she
was engaged to be married to, and she liked the smell of the flowers so that I
used to take her. O, if I could but like anything �if I could but think about
anything else! If these dreadful feelings would go away, I wouldn't mind about
not being happy. I wouldn't want anything�and I could do what would please Sir
Christopher and Lady Cheverel. But when that rage and anger comes into me, I
don't know what to do. I don't feel the ground under me; I only feel my head and
heart beating, and it seems as if I must do something dreadful. O! I wonder if
any one ever felt like me before. I must be very wicked. But God will have pity
on me; He knows all I have to bear."
In this way the time wore on till Tina heard the sound of voices along the
passage, and became conscious that the volume of Tillotson had slipped on the
floor. She had only just picked it up, and seen with alarm that the pages were
bent, when Lady Assher, Beatrice, and Captain Wybrow entered, all with that
brisk and cheerful air which a sermon is often observed to produce when it is
quite finished.
Lady Assher at once came and seated herself by Caterina. Her ladyship had been
considerably refreshed by a doze, and was in great force for monologue.
"Well, my dear Miss Sarti, and how do you feel now?�a little better, I see. I
thought you would be, sitting quietly here. These headaches, now, are all from
weakness. You must not overexert yourself, and you must take bitters. I used to
have just the same sort of headaches when I was your age, and old Dr Samson used
to say to my mother, 'Madam, what your daughter suffers from is weakness.' He
was such a curious old man, was Dr Samson. But I wish you could have heard the
sermon this morning. Such an excellent sermon! It was about the ten virgins:
five of them were foolish, and five were clever, you know; and Mr Gilfil
explained all that. What a very pleasant young man he is!�so very quiet and
agreeable, and such a good hand at whist. I wish we had him at Farleigh. Sir
John would have liked him beyond anything; he is so good-tempered at cards, and
he was such a man for cards, was Sir John. And our rector is a very irritable
man; he can't bear to lose his money at cards. I don't think a clergyman ought
to mind about losing his money; do you?�do you now?"
"O pray, Lady Assher," interposed Beatrice, in her usual tone of superiority,
"do not weary poor Caterina with such uninteresting questions. Your head seems
very bad still, dear," she continued, in a condoling tone, to Caterina; "do take
then."
"No, thank you," answered Caterina; "I will not take it away from you."
"Indeed, dear, I never use it; you must take it," Miss Assher persisted, holding
it close to Tina's hand. She coloured deeply, p
ushed the vinaigrette away with
some impatience, and said, "Thank you, I never use those things. I don't like
vinaigrettes."
Miss Assher returned the vinaigrette to her pocket in surprised and haughty
silence, and Captain Wybrow, who had looked on in some alarm, said hastily,
"See! it is quite bright out of doors now. There is time for a walk before
luncheon. Come, Beatrice, put on your hat and cloak, and let us have half an
hour's walk on the gravel."
"Yes, do, my dear," said Lady Assher, "and I will go and see if Sir Christopher
is having his walk in the gallery."
As soon as the door had closed behind the two ladies, Captain Wybrow, standing
with his back to the fire, turned towards Caterina, and said in a tone of
earnest remonstrance, "My dear Caterina, let me beg of you to exercise more
control over your feelings; you are really rude to Miss Assher, and I can see
that she is quite hurt. Consider how strange your behaviour must appear to her.
She will wonder what can be the cause of it. Come, dear Tina," he added,
approaching her, and attempting to take her hand; "for your own sake, let me
entreat you to receive her attentions politely. She really feels very kindly
towards you, and I should be so happy to see you friends."
Caterina was already in such a state of diseased susceptibility that the most
innocent words from Captain Wybrow would have been irritating to her, as the
whirr of the most delicate wing will afflict a nervous patient. But this tone of
benevolent remonstrance was intolerable. He had inflicted a great and unrepented
injury on her, and now he assumed an air of benevolence towards her. This was a
new outrage. His profession of goodwill was insolence.
Caterina snatched away her hand and said indignantly, "Leave me to myself,
Captain Wybrow! I do not disturb you."
"Caterina, why will you be so violent�so unjust to me? It is for you that I feel
anxious. Miss Assher has already noticed how strange your behaviour is both to
her and me, and it puts me into a very difficult position. What can I say to
her?"
"Say?" Caterina burst forth, with intense bitterness, rising, and moving towards
the door; "say that I am a poor silly girl, and have fallen in love with you,
and am jealous of her; but that you have never had any feeling but pity for
me�you have never behaved with anything more than friendliness to me. Tell her
that, and she will think all the better of you."
Tina uttered this as the bitterest sarcasm her ideas would furnish her with, not
having the faintest suspicion that the sarcasm derived any of its bitterness
from truth. Underneath all her sense of wrong, which was rather instinctive than
reflective�underneath all the madness of her jealousy, and her ungovernable
impulses of resentment and vindictiveness�underneath all this scorching passion
there were still left some hidden crystal dews of trust, of self-reproof, of
belief that Anthony was trying to do the right. Love had not all gone to feed
the fires of hatred. Tina still trusted that Anthony felt more for her than he
seemed to feel; she was still far from suspecting him of a wrong which a woman
resents even more than inconstancy. And she threw out this taunt simply as the
most intense expression she could find for the anger of the moment.
As she stood nearly in the middle of the room, her little body trembling under
the shock of passions too strong for it, her very lips pale, and her eyes
gleaming, the door opened, and Miss Assher appeared, tall, blooming, and
splendid, in her walking costume. As she entered, her face wore the smile
appropriate to the exits and entrances of a young lady who feels that her
presence is an interesting fact; but the next moment she looked at Caterina with
grave surprise, and then threw a glance of angry suspicion at Captain Wybrow,
who wore an air of weariness and vexation.
"Perhaps you are too much engaged to walk out, Captain Wybrow? I will go alone."