Chapter I
The house itself was as fine a specimen of Tudor architecture as anyone need hope to see; massive, venerable, essentially dignified, and touched into a softer beauty by the ivy which clung about it. From the line of flower-bed, under the mullioned windows, an expanse of smooth lawn extended for a little distance, and then sloped away; the slope being cut into a flight of grassy steps, flanked by broad terraces. The steps led down into a garden, as old as the house itself, and the expanse of lawn, beyond, was broken by fine old trees. On the right hand side a walk shaded by bent and twisted yews led away into a smaller garden, seen as a bright vista at the end. Beyond this foreground of cul tivation there stretched a wide expanse of park land. It had been a hot August day, and even now, though it was nearly five o'clock, a quivering haze as of palpable heat still hung in the air.
And the stillness all about them had laid its touch, apparently, on the two human beings who gave to their sur roundings the final charm of habitation. Hgafnst tbe XCioe. 2 There was deep shade on the terrace on which the tea-table stood, and the girl who sat by it might have sat for the embodiment of coolness and calm. She was very pretty, in a gentle, regular fashion. She had light brown hair, waving slightly on either side of her brow, and fair, fresh colouring. Her face seemed to be all soft curves, and her eyes, fixed now on the distance with a certain vague thought fulness, were blue. She was wearing a white cotton frock, very simply and not particularly prettily made. The boy who lay on the grass at her feet was a youth of about fifteen, well made, with an air of vigour and vivacity pervading his slight figure.
His colour was dark ; his eyes were brown, his hair was brown also, and his natural complexion was merged in the healthy bronze induced by exposure to sun and air. The features were regular; the nose straight, with well-cut nostrils, the lips a trifle full. There was a suggestion about every line of face and figure of a certain spirited independence and authori tativeness, which gave an unusual charm, perhaps, to the boyish personality; and a touch of unconscious self-approval which lurked in it, seemed hardly a blemish in the pleasant young face. It was the boy's voice that broke the silence at last. "It's an awful bore that it couldn't be put off until the end of the holidays," he said discontent edly. "It'll be no end rotten here when you're gone, Sis ! " The girl had turned her head slowly towards him as he began to speak.
" I'm sorry, dear," she said ; her voice was gentle, and her speech very deliberate. "You know I should have liked it to be just what you wanted it, but, you see, Michael found — " Her colour deep ened slightly, and the boy interrupted her, rolling over on to his back with a laugh. "Oh, yes, of course," he said ruefully: "everything is as Michael likes nowadays, and I'm nobody, Is he coming to dine to-night, by-the-bye, Tessa ? " The conciliatory eagerness with which she an swered him was very pretty. "No, dear," she said; "we settled — he and I, you know — that as there are only three days left now, he will not dine here again. He has his friend with him— Mr. Armstrong, you know, whom he hasn't seen for a year or more ; so he isn't lonely. And he thought that we should, perhaps, like to be alone together.
It was nice of him, wasn't it ? " The boy nodded approvingly. "Quite jolly," he said. "He can afford to be jolly about it, though ! It really is an awful sell that you should go and get married like this, Tessa. " " I wish I were not going so far away from you. Darrent, dear," the girl murmured. " Oh, that doesn't make much difference, to my mind. Of course, when you are married you'll be always running after Pembroke. I shall tell Stubbs to let me know about the stables and that kind of thing when I go back ; but of course his letters won't be the same as yours. And as for the holi days — oh, it's a sickening nuisance." He had talked himself into a vivid realisation of TEtoe. 4 his grievances, and his sister watched him solicit ously. Then she said, somewhat timidly : "Darrent, dear, there's Hilary, you know.
You mustn't forget Hilary." Darrent brought his heels together with a gesture of disdain. "Oh, Hilary," he said. "What's the good of Hilary ? " His sister was evidently by no means in the habit of pressing upon his notice suggestions which he was disinclined to receive with favour. " She could do everything I've ever done for you, dear, I think," she said, diffidently. "You know, Darrent, there is nothing she would not try " He rolled over impatiently. " Oh yes, I know all about that," he said. " We're twins, and she's awfully fond of me and all that. Of course, I'm awfully fond of her too — or I should be if she'd let a fellow alone, and not make such a fuss about things. It's no use going over all that old ground, Tessa." The girl sighed. Then she touched the teapot with a plump white hand.
"Where is Hilary, I wonder?" she said. "I hope she will come before we go. You ordered the pony-carriage at five, didn't you? I think I'll go " " Darrent ! Darrent ! Darrent ! " The call, clear, shrill, and musical, came from the house behind ; and almost at the same instant, the figure of a girl, slight and short, darted out of the doorway. It paused, seeing the pair at the teatable, the sudden arresting of its swift movement giving it something the appearance of a bird just poised for flight. Then, with an equally bird-like rapidity and directness, it reached the terrace. ■ It's come, Darrent," cried the same clear, shrill voice. " It's come." She stood before him quivering, panting, entirely ignoring any presence other than his; and as he turned his head lazily towards her the two young faces thus confronted presented a curious picture.
In feature, and even in colouring, the little girlish face was an almost exact reproduction of the boy's face upturned towards hers. There was the same straight, well-cut nose, the same full lips, the same eyes. But the personality revealed by the girl's physiognomy was so widely dissimilar to that stamped upon the boyish face that the effect pro duced was rather one of contrast than resemblance. The boy's pleasant easy-going satisfaction was trans formed, in the girl, into a tumultuous capacity for emotion, pleasurable or painful. Every Une of the little brown face was intensely sensitive ; its rapid changes of expression were the vivid reflection of every thought that flashed through the rapid, eager mind. The whole childish figure, curiously suggest ive of unrest even in repose, seemed to be merely a vehicle for the vivid spirit within.
" What has come ? " inquired Darrent, languidly. " Hilary, how untidy you look. " A stormy cloud passed across Hilary's face, to disappear instantly, however, as she flung herself down on the grass by his side with a joyous laugh. Œioe. 6 "Your racquet," she said triumphantly. "They got it at the station this morning. Isn't that jolly ? " A sound which only the most determined optimist could have construed into an expression of approval was Darrent's only answer; and Tessa hastened to exclaim, nervously ; "The station, Hilary? You don't mean to say you've been to the station in this heat ? Dear, you must be half-dead. Have some tea at once." Hilary took possession, with a laconic "Thanks," of her cup of tea, and applied herself energetically to the cake basket. Her appearance certainly justi fied her brother's stricture.
She wore a riding-skirt, somewhat the worse for wear, a cotton shirt in that demoralised condition produced by too great heat, and a sailor hat pushed to the back of her head. Her face was hot, and her curly hair clung dishevelled to her damp forehead. "It isn't such an immense distance to the station," she said, scornfully; "six miles, that's all. I didn't suppose you'd go for Darrent, and he said he would like to have a game when it got cool." Herewith she turned her back upon her sister, literally and metaphorically, and devoted her atten tion to Darrent. "It'll be just right in another half-hour, Darrent," she said eagerly ; " I shall have finished tea directly. I won't be two minutes changing my skirt. What's that ? " she continued, as a man-servant came towards them. "Oh, the pony-carriage.
Is Tessa going out?" A flush of unmistakable delight irradiated her face, and she sprang to her feet. " There, I've finished, " she cried. " Come along, Darrent." The boy rose in a leisurely fashion. Tessa rose also, but her placid face was rather disturbed. " Tennis is off for the present, Hilary," said Darrent, in a tone of superior composure. " One can't possibly know in the morning what one will have to do in the evening, when there's so much to see to." Hilary had stopped, abruptly. Her lips were compressed and her eyes flashed ominously. " What do you mean ? " she said. "Now don't get into a fury, Hilary," returned her brother impatiently, " I can't play tennis, and that's all about it. I'm going to drive Tessa over to say good-bye to the Moberleys, and to see about the flowers for Thursday."
"But you said — " " I daresay I did. I don't remember. Anyhow, Tessa — " "Tessa!" The sailor hat wliich Hilary held in her hand was dashed to the ground, and the little figure drew back a step, as she faced the other two. Her eyes were blazing, her colour came and went in burning waves, and she was trembling from head to foot. For a moment her feelings seemed literally to suffocate her. Then the words broke out. "Tessa! " she cried. " Tessa, Tessa, Tessa! Always Tessa! I hate her! Oh, how I do hate her! There! Now I've said it, at last." Uibe. 8 Neither of her hearers moved. They stood gazing at her as though her sudden passion, totally dis proportionate as it seemed to its exciting cause, had transformed her out of their knowledge. Tessa's face had grown a Httle pale. Darrent's had flushed hotly.
There was a moment's silence, broken only by the girl's quick breathing; and then Hilary, turning from her sister with a wild gesture of re pudiation, broke into a torrent of speech. * What should I be made of, Darrent, if I didn't hate her?" she cried. "She's first to you always — always. She's going away and you don't think of anything else. You don't care about anything else from morning till night except to be about with her. You never think of me at all, never. You never let me do anything for you ! You never speak to me, if you can speak to Tessa ! Why should you mind so much whether she goes or stays ! How is she better to you than I am ? She's ten times stupider. She doesn't care for you a millionth part as much ! She's not your twin ! Why should it be all Tessa to you ?" It was the tempestuous, exaggerated speech ofa child; violent, unbeautiful enough.
But behind it, glowing in the great dark eyes, quivering in every line of the almost convulsed face, there was a depth of feeling which had a pathetic, almost a tragic, significance. Pathos and tragedy, however, were alike lost upon the boy. He had listened with his eyes fixed full upon her ; the flush of astonishment dying out of his face, leaving it cold and contemptuous. He did not move, nor did his expression change at all. Gibe. 9 " Because Tessa doesn't happen to be half crazy, perhaps," he said coolly, " You always were a perfect little fury, Hilary, but to-day you seem to have gone out of your mind." She looked at him ; uncertainly and wildly. Then she burst into tears, stretching out her hands to him, entreatingly. " I've not ! " she said. " Darrent — dear, dearest Darrent, don't look at me like that.
Oh, love me as much as you love Tessa ! Think of me as you think of Tessa! I love you so dreadfully, Dar rent dear." Darrent laughed wrathfully. ■ You've got the rummiest way of showing your feelings," he said. "Come along, Tessa, never mind her." He turned on his heel, drawing Tessa towards the steps, when Hilary with an inarticulate cry threw herself in the way and seized her sister by the shoulder. "You're going to be married," she said desperately. " You're going right away. If it wasn't for that, do you know what I should do ? I should go straight down to the river and drown myself." Before the young voice with its terrible ring of earnest had died away, Darrent had pushed Hilary roughly on one side, and drawn his elder sister's hand through his arm. Tessa was crying, helplessly. "Don't be such an utter fool, Hilary!" he said; "get out of the way."
And without another word, without even a back ward glance, he led Tessa away. io against tbe Ztbc, Hilary stood motionless, watching them, until they had disappeared into the house. Her hands were clenched tightly together against her breast ; the tears were standing on her cheeks ; her face was quite colourless. Then she turned and ran down the steps, across the garden, and out into the park beyond.
Chapter II
There was hardly a homestead in all the country side through which a thrill of pity had not passed when twelve years earlier the master and mistress of Stratton Court had been killed by an accident, leaving their three little children alone. Stratton Court was something of a landmark in the life of the county; not by reason of its size or of the state there maintained, for it was not a very large property, nor were its owners exceptionally wealthy : but partly because it had been in the possession of Cheslyns since the Conqueror, and partly because the Cheslyn character had always been a conspicu ously pleasant one. The particular Cheslyn who had been thus un timely swept from his place had been an excellent specimen of his family type, and there were hosts of friends and acquaintances to speculate as to how the three orphans would be brought up, and what would become of Stratton Court during the minor ity of the heir.
The catastrophe had been brought about by a carriage accident which had killed Mrs. Cheslyn on the spot. Her husband lived for four days longer, and during that time he made absolutely clear to Uibe. 12 his only male relative— a brother-in-law— his wishes as to both property and children. The brother-in law himself, a Mr. Gore, was a successful barrister and a member of Parliament. There were no family connections who could take up their abode at Stratton to exercise a personal guardianship over the children. But the father decided peremptorily, nevertheless, that the boy and his little sisters should be brought up in their own home. Stratton Court was on no account to be let; it was to be managed by persons to be engaged by Mr. Moberley and supervised by that gentleman. And the per sonal care of the little ones was to be committed to a suitable lady to be engaged for the purpose.
Theresa, the eldest — Tessa, for the convenience of her baby brother and sister — was ten years old at this time; the twins were only three; and a storm of controversy rose round the dead father's decision. The twins, grown out of babyhood, into a happy, healthy childhood, were still alluded to far and near as " those poor httle lonely things. " It was not until childhood itself was almost past that it dawned upon the imagination of the deepest sympathisers that the children, loved and cared for, enjoying the exclusive devotion of their temporary guardian, were far happier in their own home than they could ever have been elsewhere. Perhaps nothing since the death of Ralph Cheslyn and his wife had created more excitement in the neighbourhood than did the announcement, when she was just twenty-two years old, of the engagement and immediately forthcoming marriage of "Gibe. 13 Tessa Cheslyn.
She had met Mr. Michael Pem broke, who was thus made known to the county in the character of accepted suitor, at her uncle's house. Mr. Pembroke was well known, in the " set " in which Mr. Gore moved, as a fairly distinguished member of the diplomatic service ; he was very well off and though he was fifteen years older than Tessa Cheslyn, the disparity, being on the right side, was not disapproved of. " A delightful man ! " everyone said of Mr. Pem broke; "a httle cynical perhaps, but charming manners, and so clever! " And Mr. Gore supple mented the dictum with the far-seeing observation: * He'll go a long way. Unless I am much mistaken, Tessa is a lucky girl." There was only one point about the marriage which detracted at all from the satisfaction with which it was regarded. Pembroke had just received an appointment which would take him for some years to St. Petersburg.
"So sad for Hilary," everyone said; "so sad for Hilary, in particular, to lose her sister completely. " External facts may be marshalled carefuUy before scrutinising eyes; relative circumstances may be weighed and discussed ; but the chance that any just conception of the actual life, of which these things are but the material, is ever to be attained by those who see them from the outside is sUght in the ex treme. If the kindly neighbours who had known her from her babyhood could have had any notion of the real feelings with which Hilary Cheslyn con templated her sister's marriage, they would have been somewhat astonished; if they could have guessed at the real life which had palpitated, as far as Hilary was concerned, behind the pretty picture presented by the circumstances of existence at Strat ton Court, that picture would have been enriched with lights and shades somewhat too strong for its prettiness.
It was no conscious deception on Hilary's part that kept all her Uttle world in ignorance of the core of her life. She was as quick to speak, on all the transient passions which swept her from hour to hour, as she was quick to feel. Only round the one supreme emotion of her existence a childish pride, or that half-shy, half-nervous shrinking from the recognition of intense feeling which is not con fined to childhood, had created strange and insuper able reserves. Her devotion to her twin brother was patent in its surface aspect to all the world. She would fetch and carry for him, she would hang on his looks and words ; she would quarrel fiercely with him, to sue for reconciliation subsequently with floods of tears. But that which lay behind all this childish ebullition of feeling; the intense sensitiveness of every fibre of her undeveloped nature to the mysterious tie which bound her to her brother; the vague and inexplicable yearning towards him; and the complement of these, the agonising jealousy stirred in her by aU that came between her undisciplined devotion and its object; aU this was hardly suspected even by that object himself.
Darrent's perceptions on the subject, indeed, were rounded by his consciousness that Hilary " made a fuss." And the slight obtuseness thus evinced was inherent in his nature. There are cases in which twin children seem to share the same mental and moral qualities in equal proportion, even as their physical features resemble one another, line for line, There are other cases in which one child seems to have absorbed certain mental characteristics, either of good or evil; to possess in excess that which the other lacks. And to this latter class belonged the Cheslyn twins. All the emotionalism, the sensitiveness, the pas sion, of the pair, seemed to be concentrated in Hilary. All the egoism, the mental restriction, the coolness of brain, belonged to Darrent. He was attached to Hilary in a matter-of-fact, high-handed fashion.
But he was unconsciously annoyed at the sense of something in their intercourse beyond his reach, and he took refuge instinctively in a lofty contempt, more or less impatient, of the turbulent impetuosity of her demonstration. Her love was exacting; and Darrent's temperament was opposed to exaction unless he himself were the active agent. She could be sweepingly critical, and Darrent's position as the young master and head of the family was not such as to render him tolerant of criticism. It was not strange, under the circumstances, that he should turn from the slave who also assumed the position of his creditor, to the slave whose ideas never strayed beyond a serene admiration for his every characteristic; from the restless, hungry, insatiable spirit that demanded food which he had trtbe. 16 not to give, to the calm personality that asked of him nothing; from his unreasonable, fiery-hearted twin, to the gentle placidity of his elder sister.
"I hate her! I hate her! I hate her!" Every inch of the park was as familiar to Hilary as the garden itself, and she had run bhndly on and on, to cast herself down when she could run no more, among the tall bracken and the long dry grass in the park. She lay there now, face down wards. Ever since the first childish consciousness of thwarting and frustration had dawned upon her, it had seemed to Hilary, ignorant of that cruel com plication of life caUed temperament, that it was her sister Tessa who stood between herself and her twin. It was with "Sis" he had preferred to play as a baby : if there had been no " Sis, " argued the other baby — ignoring the fact that " Sis " never brought a plan or a will of her own to bear upon the game — "Boy" would have played with her. It was Tessa who received the school boy's first letter, a letter which must otherwise have fallen to Hilary.
If there had been no Tessa, it would have been to Hilary that her twin would have returned in those hohdays which should have been such golden days, and were such purgatorial intervals. For Hilary, would have been his time, his thoughts, his confidence, his love, if there had been no Tessa. " I hate her ! I hate her ! I hate her ! " Hilary's nature, in spite of its want of balance, and its demoralising fixity of idea, was essentially a sweet and wholesome one. The passion with which she was convulsed, was the converse of that passion of which the formula came to her lips. She loved her brother with a force which she was power less to control; but she had no hatred for her sister. On the rare occasions on which Tessa's in dividuality presented itself to her, unshadowed by her relations with Darrent, it inspired her with the careless goodwill natural to a warm-hearted child, just touched by the inevitable impatience of a fervid nature for a slow one.
Owing to circumstances over which she had no control, her world, to be for her anything but a place of torment, needed the elimination of Tessa, that was aU. The knowledge that Tessa was to be married, was to go away, not only from Stratton, but from England, had been to her as the promise of water to a creature dying of thirst. Day after day, through out the three months which had elapsed since the news had come to her, the hope that it conveyed had coloured her very dreams. The date fixed for the wedding was the goal towards which alone time seemed to be traveUing, for her. When that goal should be reached the burden of her Use was to drop from her, and beyond stretched a new existence, unshadowed by a care. But with every day that brought it nearer the space yet to be lived through seemed to become more interminable ; with the near prospect of that new life when she should be first with him, the sight of Darrent's absorption in the sister he was so soon to lose became more absolutely intolerable to her.
The reserve in which she had insensibly intrenched herself for years ; the pride which had held her back from any open appeal to Darrent for his pity ; had given way under the strain. In the outbreak of this August afternoon the pent-up passion of her young life had found expression at last. There was the excitement of long-delayed expres sion raging in her now, as the cool evening breeze passed unnoticed over her head; excitement, and wild anger against herself, in that she had said what she had never meant to say. The quiet about her grew deeper, as the hush of evening fell upon the woods. The birds about her sang their evening song, and one by one sank into silence ; and as the last low notes of a solitary thrush sounded alone she broke into sobs and tears of utter exhaustion. Half-an-hour later she was asleep.
She was so worn out, and she slept so heavily, that when consciousness returned to her at last it did so very gradually. She realised vaguely that she was lying somewhere out of doors, and that it was almost dark; then she became aware that all her limbs were stiff and tired; lastly, it dawned upon her that somewhere near people were talking. " I think we may as weU agree to differ on the subject! " The voice acted, as sound will act, upon Hilarj*'s half-dormant brain, and conjured up before her mental vision an image of the speaker. She saw a man of about middle height, with a pale thin face, rather deeply lined, black hair, and black eyes- Michael Pembroke, the man who was to be her sister's husband. She was puzzling sleepily over a certain discrepancy between the expression of the face before her mind's eye; a not unpleasant, if somewhat careless expression; and the tone which still echoed in her ear, when another voice responded.
" Forgive me, Pembroke, if I say that that is not possible." A nice voice, this one, though very grave. Hilary felt that this was the friend who was to act as Michael Pembroke's best man on his wedding day, a Mr. Armstrong. He had joined Michael Pem broke only this afternoon at the comfortable viUage inn, and had not yet been presented at Stratton Court. With the unreason of half-dormant senses, Hilary found herself annoyed that she did not know what he was like, and that Michael Pembroke's image had consequently no companion in her mental vision, and must needs hold converse with a voice alone. " It is not for me to interfere. Of that I am quite aware. But as the only man at hand to whom all the circumstances are known, it is for me, and I should be a cur if I shirked the obligation, to do my utmost to make you see what it is that you are doing."
It was the voice that spoke, and as the words shaped themselves, stern and measured, there was that about them which suddenly dissipated the haze of sleep from Hilary's senses. With a flash of dis may she realised that she was listening to a private conversation. She was lying in a little hollow, not many yards from the path which led through the park to the village ; but the path was cut deep at this point, and the ground rose high on either side of it. With a swift impulse either to make her presence known or to escape out of earshot, Hilary sprang to her feet. But the sUght rustle of her movement was drowned for the speakers in Michael Pembroke's tones, and with his words a strange weight seemed to fall upon all Hilary's limbs. She stood there, the sloping sides of the hollow rising up about her, looking straight before her.
"I am marrying Tessa Cheslyn three days hence." There was a pause. All Hilary's life seemed to be concentrated in the rapid beating of her heart. Then the voice spoke again. " You are marrying a young girl on the threshold of life, and you are keeping back, alike from her and from her relatives, a fact in your history which they have a right to know." 8 There we join issue. " Michael Pembroke's voice grated harshly, for aU its would-be carelessness. "They have a right to find it out — if they can. No obstacles would have been placed in the way of any inquiries into what you are pleased to caU the facts of my history. Gore is content to take them on trust. WeU and good ! No man is required to incriminate himself, I believe. No man, having made up his mind to marry is likely to mention to the famUy which he proposes to enter, a circumstance or circumstances which would in aU probability in duce them to decline the honour osthe alUance."
The opening of the book is shown; the full text loads in the reader.
Loading the full text…
The end
You’ve reached the end of Against the Tide.