Wooed and Married. A novel

Front matter

& i&obel PA ROSA NOUCHETTE CAREY AUTHOR OF "KB LUX'S MEMORIES," " BARBARA HEATIICOTES TRIAL" "MARY ST. -?OBaV," ETC. NEW AND CHEAPER EDITION LONDON RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON tyubliattets in ©rtiittarp to ffl?rr jTOaitsts tflc ©nerit CONTENTS. CQAP. FAGE I. CONCERNING COBWEBS ..... t • 5 II. KIDDLE-A-WINK INTRODUCES HIMSELF . ... 19 HI. A HEADACHE AMD A MYSTERY 34 rv. number three paradise bow 48 V. THE great unknown ....... 62 vi. the rights and wrongs op women .... 76 VII. A GLIMPSE INTO THE HAPPY VALLEY .... 88 VTn. THE VALLEY OF THE NIDD 103 IX. WHO IS HONOR NETHECOTE ? H5 X. NIDDERDALE COTTAGE 131 XL A BIT OF THE SQUIRE'S TEMPER 148 XII. THE VILLAGE PEACEMAKER 161 XIII. HONOR'S INTERCESSION 172 xiv. Humphrey's wooing , 187 XV. BEATRIX ARRIVES AT INGLESIDE ..... 204 XVI. HALF-TRUTHS MAKE MISCHIEF 213 XVIL UNDER THE STARS . . . • • ■ • ' """ XVIII.

DRAWN OUT OF MANY WATERS 2 j4 ITS. "THE DATS THAT ARE NO MORE " 253 XX. CROWNED iuo XXI. SUNSHINE AND SHADOW 283 XXII. WILL CASTS IN HIS LOT WITH 8T. LUKE'S . • .297 CONTENTS. CHAP. _.__.__,__ XXIII. AMONG THE FIR-TREES 315 XXIV. "WOOED AND MARHIEII AND A'" 330 XXV. A FRAGMENT OF THE OLD, OLD STORY .... 338 XXVI. "IN THE MIDST OF LIFE " 350 XXVII. THROUGH THE CROSS TO THE CROWN .... 303 XXVIII. "QUI PATITUR VINCIT" , 379 XXIX. "SOME liAYS MUST BE DARK AND DREARY " . . . 395 XXX. "ALL IN THE WILD MARCH MORNING" . , . H\ XXXI. LITTLE FLORENCE 423 XXXII. AT BAY XXXIII. DARKEST BEFORE DAWN 447 XXXIV. CRUEL AS THE GRAVE . . . 4gj XXXV. A SHADOW ON THE WALL . . 474 XXXVL THE LAST OF THE COBWEBS ...

Chapter I. Concerning Cobwebs

Once upon a time there was a little old woman who essayed to sweep the sky free from cobwebs. One dandles the children on one's knee with a laugh at the sing-song rhyme of the oft-repeated story, " Old woman, old woman, whither so high ?" After all, there is an odd sort of pathos, a parabolic excel lence in these nursery stories. The cobwebs are nearer earth, to be sure ; young brains get entangled in them ; the old brooms will not sweep clean ; the fine filmy threads intersect everything — to some eyes even the sky itself is not clear. If Dymphna Elliott could have had her way there would be nothing unpleasant in life — sunshine without clouds, roses without thorns, cobwebs nowhere. This is how she would arrange matters : plenty of loving-kindness, no stint of sym pathy, a new system of largesse and almsgiving.

Impracticable, absurd 1 Tangled among the cobwebs, indeed I Of all visionaries, youth is the most fallacious ; its very genius is abrupt, destructive, erratic. It moves in a cycle of its own devising— fixed orbits are its detestation ; broken-up by-ways, forbidden thoroughfares, audacious short-cuts arc better than the old paths. If it had its way, it would rather flash as a meteor through space than be dragged at the ohariot wheels of steady old Time. Here are cobwebs enough I Here is a young brain crying scorn on an old worn-out world, just tottering on to its sis thousand years of sin and pain and weariness ; youthful impatience and petulance striving to stamp out ancient landmarks, to obliterate old proverbs, to bring in the sunshine of a new creation. Futile labor of a Sisyphus I Ludicrous, but sad.

A thing out of its proper niche is always a pitiful sight. Young birds in strange nests, a drone in a hive of busy work ers, a young face on the outskirts of a crowd, seeking kind ness and protection in a world of staring sight-seers, impotent childish pride opposed to cold shrugs aud dignified repression — these are as sad as the rich gleaning of beautiful thoughts and warm affections scattered over an empty harvest-field. Misunderstood I What a whole world of pain and slow torture there is in that one word I One pronounces its syllables slowly and with reluctance. Dym once declared, in one of her reckless mo ments, that the word would be found engraven on her heart, as Calais was on the heart of an embittered queen. Calais and Mary— misunderstood and Dymphna Elliott. Somebody else says, with a wise shake of the head, nothing but Temper — written in italics and with a big capital.

Some people cannot see their own cobwebs. After all, one may have different opinions. The little tribunal at present sitting on the Dymphna case are arriving at an adverse verdict; the jury are agreed, every man of them, and the poor old judge is beginning to settle his black cap with trembling hands. It goes hard with some natures to arrive at any decision. Mrs. Tressilian was one of these. With her, procrastination was a reprieve. She loved to defer action, to live for ever in a region of possibilities and uncertainty. For one thing, she was never certain of any thing but her own symptoms. A foe to impulse, largo aud lymphatic of deposition, one read " hypochondriac" written legibly ou her fair apathetic features, which were just now disturbed from their ordinary placidity. She was deep in an argument with her daughter.

And, as usual, having the worst of it. Beatrix Tressilian was plaintiff, jury, and counsel in her own person. " Temper, my dear mother — temper, every bit of it." " So you have said before, Beatrix. You know it makes me nervous to hear a thing repeated over and over again, as you have been doing for the last half-hour ; and Dr. Richter only just gone, and my composing-draught not taken ;" and Mrs. Tressilian, in real agitation, had recourse to her vinai grette. " My dear mother, we shall never arrive at any decision if you do not keep calm," replied her daughter, coldly. The scene was a sunshiny drawing-room somewhere in the region of Belgravia. A room unique as a triumph of up holstery, and tropical in temperature ; a perfect miracle of satin, ormolu, and bric-a-brac ; faint perfumes of rare IndiaL woods blending oddly with the cool fresh scent of roses and heliotrope ; the centre figure of the whole, the tall girl in the riding-habit, who stands toying somewhat impatiently with her whip.

Take them all in all — irregularities, defects, and such small errata of Nature — in looking at Beatrix Tressilian you are looking at a lovely woman ; but you must rest satisfied with this knowledge — there is little beyond. Beatrix Tressilian is the centre figure of many a picture ; a young goddess, whom few men would dare to elect as their household divinity. A splendid young figure, too ; yellow-haired as a Venus, and glowing with health and vigor ; gray-eyed, and as erect as an Amazon, with small white hands that can grip with a man's strength, with a mouth that can set itself closely in an im movable curve even when the lips smile. Such is Beatrix Tressilian. In fairy tales the evil genius of the story is always some witch or hag or hideous old fairy, wizened of face aud malev olent in temper.

In the nursery, sin and ugliness always go together ; it is only the grown-up children that can read that verse aright about " the angel of light." Dym was ever ready to aver that Beatrix Tressilian was the evil genius of her story. There were times, doubtless, when she thought the fiery oven or the red-hot shoes would be insufficient punishment. Her witch was yellow-haired and gray-eyed, but she was the cross old fairy godmother for all that. " And you really think, my dear," began Mrs. Tressilian hesitatingly, in a slow full voice which had grown slower and riper with age — a voice which always seemed to flow on with sleepy modulation — "you really think, my dear, that we ought to reprimand Miss Elliott severely for such conduct?" What a contrast between mother and daughter I Perfection of health and hypochondria — youthful severity opposed to the pitying leniency of age.

"Think? I am sure of it," returned Beatrix, quickly. " I think it is our duty for Edith's sake to take decided steps at once — at once," with a meaning pause on the repetition. " Very well," replied her mother, fretfully ; " but it is very unfortunate, just as Dr. Richter says I am to avoid unnecessary agitation ; and I am sure it will agitate me dreadfully to send that poor girl away." " Yes, it is unfortunate," assented Beatrix, coldly ; " but you ought to have taken my advice, mother, in the first instance. I told you Miss Elliott would never do for Edith ; she is too much a spoilt child herself." " I am sure I do not know why I should always be guided by you, Beatrix," returned Mrs. Tressilian, with an attempt at dignity, but failing lamentably, and relapsing into her fretful state. " I think it very hard that you can never get on with Edith's governesses ; this is the seventh we have tried, and each one worse than the last.

I am sure it must be your fault somehow ; for she seems a harmless little thing enough, and very prettily spoken, too. I shall never forget how nicely she attended to me iu my last nervous attack." A scornful smile passed over Miss Tressilian's tine fea tures. " Ahvays the same thing, mother. Because she acquitted herself handily in your sick-room she must prove an excellent governess for Edith, and all her sullenness and bad humors arc to be forgiven." " But she is never sullen with me, Beatrix— at least when you are not in the room ; though I cannot deny she is a little abrupt aud offhand in her manner sometimes. But we must remember how young she is, Trichy." " That is what I mean, mother ; she is so absurdly youn"— not eighteen, I believe. Look at her and Edith together ■ why, they go on just like a couple of children, romping and laughing ; but the moment I go into the room there is that odious black look, and the least remonstrance is met by im pertinence or a shower of tears."

" I do think you are a little hard on her, Trichy." Beatrix shrugged her shoulders ; she was growing weary of the discussion. She always got her way in the end, but delay provoked her. She had made up her mind that her sister's governess was obnoxious to her, aud not to bo tolerated for a moment. Her mother's hints of mercy to the culprit had no effect on her ; the soft wave of " the charity that endureth" broke unavailingly against her determination. Six governesses had already been dismissed from Lansdowne House ; the fiat had already gone forth against the seventh — Miss Elliott must go. Miss Tressilian's will had always been the law in that house; "recommended to mercy" had never been her motto. " Well, perhaps you are right, Beatrix," continued her mother, after another vacillating pause ; and she drew the bone of contention — a blotted copy-book — towards her with a fur tive sigh.

" After all, it was very wrong and silly of her to scribble all this nonsense in Edith's book; it shows an ill regulated and undisciplined mind at the best." There they were, the few foolish sentences which had brought down the vials of wrath on Miss Elliott's devoted head. Cobwebs, and dusty ones too. A little scornful tirade drawn out of a girl's sad heart, and scrawled idly in a rounded school-girl's hand in an old copy book, blotted and half erased with tears : " In the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and forty — I, Dymphna Mabel Elliott, being of sound mind, and in possession of all my faculties, do hereby set forth and solemnly declare that life is nothing but a deceit and snare, made up of appearances without reality, beginnings with no end, efforts without success, disappointment and weariness always.

And so endeth the first chapter of Dym's life." And over leaf, just jotted down as a sort of bitter jest, verging on the pathetic, a fragment in the same girlish hand : " dym's diary : A record op one week. " A new sort of barometer, invented expressly for Will. Not an aneroid. " Sunday. — ' In cœlo quies,' and nowhere else. Wind in the c;ist ; strong enough to blow out the altar lights ; very chilly atmosphere. " Monday. — An April day : plenty of sunshine and show ers ; sunshine predominating, rainbow tints appearing at inter vals ; towards evening one little star on the edge of a blue cloud, signifying hope ; no fogs or Will-o'-thc-wisps. " Tuesday. — A dead calm : all things at a low level ; lights without shades ; atmosphere sultry ; temperature changing towards evening. " Wednesday. — A fit of vapors early ; in the afternoon a new edition of the play Much Ado about Nothing ; a storm in a teacup ; calm again towards evening.

" Thursday. — General fogginess ; darkness within and with out. ' Alas, poor Yorick I' alias Dym. " Friday. — Gusty, and decidedly tempestuous ; rapid oscil lations of the mercury ; atmospheric pressure ; clouds drifting wildly ; one little bark far out at sea, struggling among the breakers. " Saturday. — Still in the deep waters ; no lights ahead ; no port in view; adverse winds blowing; all hands on deck." And here was a great blot of tears. Poor little cynic; and brought before sucL a tribunal, too I Here was a ruthless hand ready to sweep down cobwebs. "Did you ever read such rubbish in your life, mother? There is plenty more farther on," continued the young censor. severely ; but it is not worth wasting your time over it." " I don't half understand it," returned Mrs. Tressilian, help lessly.

" Of course you don't," interrupted Beatrix, in her magnificent voice of scorn. " Who could understand such crazed fancies? It is nearly time for your afternoon nap," went on the wary young diplomatist. " Suppose I send Miss Elliott to you, as I pass the school-room. Edith is only practicing." " You won't leave me? You do not wish me to speak to her alone ?" asked her mother in an alarmed voice. Like other good-natured people, Mrs. Tressilian had a whole some horror of scenes ; she had conceived some kindly feeling towards the young girl whom chance had placed under her roof; and then, as she remembered Edith was so fond of her, what a pity, she thought, Beatrix had taken this fancy into her head I The two did get on very badly together ; but she was not sure that Beatrix was not the most to blame ; but for the sake of peace she must go.

Beatrix could be stubborn, inex orable even, as her mother knew. Meanwhile the poor little culprit herself, as yet ignorant of the storm that awaited her, sat in the hot, close school-room, turning over the leaves of Edith's music-book, and trying hard not to give her instruc tions in a sharp, querulous voice. " Dear Miss Elliott, it is so hot," pleaded the child, " and 1 am so tired ; do let me leave off. I am sure it is a good long hour since I began." " Nonsense, Edie ; how often I have told you not to be idle I You are very inattentive this afternoon. Hold your wrist lower, and go on with the scale in C minor." And as tha child's rosy face lengthened perceptibly over the petulant re proof, she continued in a milder voice : " You are so tiresome, Edie, and the weather is so hot" — an admission made in such a weary young voice that Edith stopped altogether in her playing to throw her arms round her governess's neok, with a penitent kiss or two.

" Couldn't we go in the park this evening ? You look so pale; and I am sure a walk would do you good," went on the child, coaxingly. But both child and governess started asun der, as though detected in some wrong, as the door was flung back and Miss Tressilian stood on the threshold. " Faugh, what an atmosphere I How often I have asked you, Miss Elliott, to open the window at the top as well as at the bottom ; no wonder Edie looks so flushed. Never mind your scales for a moment, Edie ; you were only talking when I came in. Mamma wants to speak to Miss Elliott." Miss Elliott rose immediately, without a word. She was a slight pale girl, somewhat low in stature, and looking younger than her age, which, in truth, was barely eighteen, and with a sweet foreign-looking face, its clear olive complexion redeemed intirely from plainness by the bright clever-looking dark eyes.

Miss Elliott might have known what awaited her in the drawing-room by the sudden colour that flushed into her pale face as she hastily obeyed Miss Tressilian's summons ; but it died away into ominous whiteness as, with much prompting from her daughter, Mrs Tressilian slowly and laboriously de livered herself of her summing up. " I hope you are following me, Miss Elliott. You quite understand the various faults I am trying to point out to you?" " I understand you perfectly," returned the girl, m an odd quavering voice ; but the effort to speak made her cheeks burn again. " You wish — that is, you think that I am not fit to teach Edith any more ?" " Yes, that is my mother's meaning," interposed Beatrix, hastily. " I never said she was not fit, Trichy," began Mrs. Tres silian, reproachfully. " You are so harsh in your expressions.

I only said, Miss Elliott, that considering all things, your youth, inexperience, and what my daughter considers your personal antagonism to her, that it would be better that, on all accounts, we should part." " And you will really send me away?" cried the poor child — for she was little more than a child — in a frightened voice. " I do not see I have any alternative," replied Mrs. Tres silian ; and then, becoming helpless again in her pity : " You see, you are so young ; hardly old enough for such a respon sible position. My child's interests would suffer," she went on with a little dignity ; but Miss Elliott interrupted her. " Yes, I know ; that is just what they all say of me. I am too childish, too silly, too ill-tempered ; but I did try so to do my best. And now Will will never believe that I did.

And I am sure," in a broken voice — " I am sure Edie is fond of me." A harder heart than Mrs. Tressilian's would have been moved to pity at the involuntary pathos of those simple words. The girl's flushed face, and voice choked with barely-repressed sobs, were eloquent pleading enough. A painful hesitation appeared on the lady's good-natured face, and, if truth were to be told, her motherly soul yearned to comfort the young culprit before her ; but Beatrix, who had hitherto held aloof, struck in here with her calm, sarcastic voice. " I don't see that Edith's fondness has anything to do with it, mother ; a child always attaches itself to a playfellow ; and with all consideration to Miss Elliott's good intentions, I think she was little more to Edith." At the first sound of Miss Tressilian's voice, the young governess's manner wholly changed.

She drew herself up, and pressed her hands to her eyes hastily, as though to force back the tears, while a proud sullen look came over her face. " It was wrong, to say the least of it," continued Beatrix, iu the same cold voice, " to write all that rubbish in Edith's book ; wrong and childish in the extreme." Here an indignant exclamation on Miss Elliott's part stopped her. " I might have known this was your doing, Miss Tres silian. What have I done to you that you should become my enemy?" " My dear, Beatrix meant no unkindness to you," exclaimed Mrs. Tressilian, alarmed at the angry gesture with which Miss Elliott possessed herself of the offending copy-book ; " it was very wrong and foolish to write those silly things. You know you are a little incautious in some things, my dear Miss El liott."

" But no one had the right to read them," cried the girl, passionately; " no one — no one 1 Itwas mean, dishonourable. I did not think it of you, Miss Tressilian. Such a little thing as that, too, and to be turned against me I" " Miss Elliott, I cannot allow you to speak to my daughter in that manner." " Why should I not speak to her ? Has she ever given me a kind word or look ? Has she ever remembered she is only a girl like myself? Ah, I may well call her my enemy ; no one but an enemy could have done me this wrong!" Beatrix shrugged her shoulders slightly. " I think Miss Elliott is giving you a tolerable proof of her temper, mamma." " But who arouses that temper, Miss Tressilian ? Cruel, cruel ; and to think you are not much older than I. Let me go, Mrs. Tressilian. I would not stop here even if I were starving and had not a crust in the world."

" An amiable spirit in which to take reproof," muttered Beatrix, still more scornfully. " I only said I was sorry because of Edith, and because" ■ — faltering in spite of herself — " because it is so hard to gc back and be a burden on Will. If it had not been for your daughter," she continued, clasping her hands in mere anguish of recollection, " I think I should have begged and prayed you, dear Mrs. Tressilian, to let me stop on a little longer and try to do better. I have not been once oross this week, and Edith was getting so fond of me ; and now he will look so sad when I tell him that I have come back to him again." " My dear, I never meant that you should not stay out your month ; and perhaps, if Beatrix docs not mind, we might arrange something " began Mrs. Tressilian, soothingly. " Not for the world I" cried the young girl, rising.

" I know you mean kindly — you always do; but I have made up my mind now that I will not remain a day longer in this house than I can help. It is not your fault that I have been so un happy here, aud I never thought that we should part like this. But it is better so— much better so ;" and fearful of breaking down again in the presence of her enemy, the young governess hastened from the room. " What do you think of your protegee now, mother?" ex claimed Beatrix, triumphantly, wheu they were lest alone. " I am sure I don't know, Beatrix," returned her mother peevishly, and half crying ; " only you have both made me ill between you ;" and seeing that her mother was really too agitated to pursue the question, Beatrix very adroitly turned the subject. Meanwhile Miss Elliott, after retreating with some dignity from the room, was indulging herself in a very hearty and unromantic fit of crying in her own little garret up-stairs — a room which had always gone by the name of the governess's room, and which had been pronounced by Miss Tressilian to be good enough for the purpose.

In fairy-stories the poor little heroine is always the occu pant of a garret, unless she sleeps among the cinders, as that world-renowned kitchen-wench Cinderella did. The interme diate floors — the state rooms, with their hangings and canopies — are always devoted to the harsh stepmother or the cruel sisters. In this sort of literature startling contrasts are the chief glory of the tale — plenty of ashes to begin with ; cloth of gold, hundreds and thousands of spangles, a wonderful glitter and sheen to embellish the end. This poor little Cinderella dwelt like a fairy princess in her garret ; its sloping whitewashed walls were as dear to her as Beatrix's pink and white draperies were to her in the room down-stairs. What wonderful dreams she had hero I From the window she could see the park, a strip of green lying CONCERNING COB WEBS. 15 0 somewhere on the confines of the sunset ; behind the grand houses opposite she could catch glimpses of a wonderful panorama, fleeting views of great red and golden clouds, waves and billows of light.

The old boxes piled up under the window made a throne fit for a queen. Here Dym would sit in the twilight for hours, while Edith, in her silk or gauze frock, was dancing about the still empty drawing-rooms. Sometimes she could hear the laughter and the rustle of dresses as the ladies came up the stairs. She would hide sometimes in a dark corner on the landing below and watch them, as one watches a flock of strange birds. What wonderful plumage, she thought ; what white throats and queenly heads ! She would shrink back ashamed as the tallest and queenliest of them all passed her. " How well she looks ! People with yellow hair ought always to wear sea-green," she thought, as she slipped away again to her throne among the boxes. Sometimes she would come back to her place with hot cheeks and wet eyes, and when the music began stop her ears and cry softly.

" It is not right. Why should one be so different?" she thought. " I suppose if the want were not here I should not feel it so. I wonder if all governesses are so lonely and sad as I. Will will say it is my fault, and that I ought to make myself happy. He would not like me to be sitting up here looking at the stars, and feeling so out of tune with it all. 0 Will, Will, if I could only have a good talk with you now I" And Dym's tears would flow again. " Aren't you ashamed of yourself, sitting all in the dark, and with the window wide open too ?" cries Caroline, running in with a stream of light and good-natured bustle. " Why, you aren't more than a child yourself, Miss Elliott. And such a nice little supper as I have served for you in the school-room ! A little bit of chicken hot, aud a meringue as I have stole from James himself as he was carrying the tray down."

" Thank you, Caroline ; you are very good," says the poor little governess very humbly, and drying her eyes. Somehow the school-room, with its shady lamp and great arm-chair, and the cozy supper, seem to lift a little of the bur den off her ; she does not scorn the meringue, which Caroline pronounces so as to rhyme with syringe. Many a time have Caroline's good-tempered face and rough-and-ready kindnesses banished the dark cloud. " Thank you, Caroline ; you arf n very good, and it docs look comfortable," she would say again ; and she would cat her supper gratefully, and forget the grand dresses down-stairs, and that she was only a poor little Cinder ella of a governess. Dym did not always have such sad thoughts. Sometimes her garret might have been an enchanted palace, she peopled it so grandly.

What castles she built there ! what marvelous snatches of poetry and prose she compiled I The girl's mind was in that state of transition when it was obliged to find an outlet for itself. Young people run this sort of gauntlet once in their lives ; they arm themselves with all sorts of fancied powers, and ride full tilt against circumstance. This phase is to some exist ences what childish ailments are to the physical constitution ; they go through it as a child goes through whooping-cough or scarlatina. No one is to blame for it — they themselves least of all. It is a healthy outlet, nothing more. These embryo poets, novelists, and artists indeed turn for the most part into very practical matter-of-fact people ; only a few refuse to lay down their childish arms. By and by we shall see them har nessed in statelier panoply, and rushing down into the arena to do battle to the death.

Bring laurel and bay to encircle the brows of the conquerors, and peace and a decent grave to the vanquished I Dym's crude efforts were chiefly rhymic — small adaptations of thought and measure in the Barrett Browning style, very flimsy of structure, full of startling paradoxes, and hardly re cognizable by the great ideal. Dym gave it up after a time, and settled down to the sober prose of her own life. It did no great harm — it served to pass away a good many lonely hours ; but I think she was a sadder and better woman when she could utter Mrs. Barrett Browning's "valediction" with her heart, instead of seeking to reproduce a feeble imitation with her brain. Nevertheless, with some exceptions, the hours in her garret were Dym's happiest ones. Poor Dym I it was a sad enough face that she brought thero after her interview with Mrs. Tressilian.