Blight

Book I. Page

Chapter I. Small Beginnings 3 IL Paradise Lost 8 III. A New Acquaintance .... 13 IV. Paradise Regained 19 V. Visions 22 VI. Realities 28 VII. Death and Life 35 VIII. A Bloomsbury Tea Party ... 38 IX. Letters 51 X. Axioms 61 XI. Their Sequel 68

Book II

Chapter I. Frost 77 II. Snow 86 III. Hurricane 92 IV. Fog 97 V. Thaw 104 VI. A Plan op Campaign 109 VII. The Scene of Action .... 119 VIII. Diplomacy 126 IX. Flint and Steel VI CONTENTS.

Book III. Page

Chapter I. Men and Manners 141 II. Mother and Son 148 III. A Woman 153 IV. Another Mother 158 V. Sisters-in-Law 163 VI. Tea — and afterwards 170 VII. The Duchess of Derbyshire as DEUS EX MACHINA 177 VIII. Her Prophecy fulfilled . . . 184 IX. Blight regnant 188 X. An Interlude ending with a Letter 195

Book IV

Chapter I. " Till Death us do part "... 203 II. L'Avenir 211 III. A Cloud crossing the Sun . . 218 IV. Old Friends and a Mistake . . 228 V. That way Madness lies .... 236 VI. Remorse and Reprieve .... 244 VII. Her Mother's Face 251 VIII. By Aid of the Church .... 259 IX. The Shadow passes 270 Epilogue

Book I

" Le temps apporte, emporte, mais ne rapporte pas.'' B BLIGHT. Chapter I. SMALL BEGINNINGS. She was her father's favourite child, and yet he had always called her " Blight," and indeed her birth had blighted the roses of his life, for it had cost him that of his wife, whom he had happened to love, and who had been to him more of a helpmeet than he had fully realized. He was only a struggling country doctor, middle-aged as a man, youngish as a doctor, when considered from the standpoint of old maids and matrons to whom gray hairs, a long established practice, and a beautiful bedside manner alone constitute a medical certificate. Blight was the youngest of six children ; very much the youngest, the brother immediately above her having been a year at school when she made her appearance in a house already full enough for comfort, and too full for lux ury; a house, too, in which a nursery and BLIGHT. nurses had long been things of the past, and where babies had ceased to be coveted, or con templated, except as the causes of cheques made payable to the Doctor for ushering them into this already overcrowded hemisphere.

Baby Blight was a little, wizened, delicate child, and it was, perhaps, these physical characteristics, rather than any subtle senti ment, which had earned her at birth a nick name with the knell of an epitaph. To her father, however, the frailty of the little one appealed, and where a solid morsel of healthy humanity would have appeared to him only an unnecessary nuisance, the feeble little life that threatened to wail itself out ere its mother's grave was closed, wound itself round his own, and from the moment when Baby Blight became a " case " and not a mere child to him, Dr. Norman roused himself from the stupor into which he had fallen since his wife's death, and once more took up the work of the world in good earnest. Stapleton was a sleepy little place ; just one wide street of houses standing back from a broad pathway bordered by trees, whose shade and stature gave an air of aristocratic antiquity to the quiet street.

First came the Rector's SMALL BEGINNINGS. house, an old two-storied white building standing in its own grounds, which extended to the churchyard wall. Beyond the church came a row of houses headed by the modest abode of the village dressmaker; then came the Parish Library and several shops, while on the opposite side a Young Ladies' Semin ary and Dr. Norman's somewhat gaunt-looking, cream-coloured house, with a huge tree blocking up at least two windows (one being the study of the Doctor, who distinctly pre ferred the steady shade of the tree to the steady gaze of the passers by), were the most import ant residences. This study was Blight's favourite resort from the time her tiny hands first learnt to turn the handle of the door, and the little, plain, shrewd face peering into the room found itself greeted by one of the smiles the Doctor seemed to keep for Baby Blight, so rare were they.

By the five brothers and sisters above her, indeed, he was regarded as rather a stern man, by no means lightly to be entreated, and his tolerance of the baby sister's sometimes wayward whims, was viewed with a distrust which became disfavour as soon as it became apparent that it was de pendable. The birth of a baby, regarded by BLIGHT. the parents as an unnecessary augmentation of their family, became to the said family, before Baby's age could be computed an nually, the introduction of an extraneous element. She cried at night when they were asleep, or wanted to be asleep ; she slept in the day when they were awake and wanted to be noisy; and she had the sole use of a per ambulator which they would fain have utilized as a coach drawn by four horses and carrying four passengers, horse and passengers being convertible at will, as both were human, and differed but slightly in size.

To crown all these crimes against the children's code of conduct, Baby Blight was pronounced delicate, and as soon as basins of bread and milk super seded bottles of milk and water, extra glasses of milk, with sponge biscuits and other luxuries, found their way into the nursery for her sole use and sustenance, while later on a glass of port wine with early dinner was prescribed, and shortly afterwards, late dinner with papa ! an honour not accorded to the boys until they were fourteen, nor to the elder girls even then. Whether Blight under any circumstances would have been popular with her brothers and sisters, it is difficult to determine, but SMALL BEGINNINGS. with such deterrents as latent delicacy and late dinner, it would have taken a much sweeter and more sympathetic nature than hers to make way, and but little sweetness and sympathy mingled in the shrewd soul of Baby Blight.

Papa, the donor of dinners, the prescriber of port wine, was her hero, and she was herself her own heroine, while the " boys and girls," as she called her big bro thers and sisters, in comical, if impudent, imitation of her father, were inferior creatures ; to tolerate, perhaps, but certainly to look down upon and avoid ; and then, to Blight, toleration only meant not slapping or scratch ing, for saying nasty things did not count, and her tongue was as sharp as her little nut cracker chin. Hence it came about that, except for the fondness of her father, Baby Blight grew up unknown, unloving and unloved. Chapter II. PARADISE LOST. Easton Park, the Eastshire seat of the Earl of Easton, was a park by nature and by the grace of God : not one of the pinchbeck paddocks dotted with stunted shrubs, and cut up by duck ponds, dignified by the name of lakes, whose owners talk glibly of the Park, with a very big P., when mentioning their villa residence.

At Easton the oaks, for which the place was famous, were old even for oaks, and their mighty branches, but little scotched and scarred by the many storms which had swept over their venerable heads, spread shade and shelter broadcast about and around them. At Easton, too, the bracken grew strong and high, while the long green glades gave galloping ground good enough to rouse the laziest horseman and most sluggish horse to a race across the fine springy turf. Then, PARADISE LOST. for those afoot, what more alluring than the woodland walks which, followed faithfully, suddenly debouched into a wide opening filled with the vista of an immense lake, fringed by bulrushes, and peopled with wild duck. Easton was Baby Blight's pet resort. Shortly before her birth Lord and Lady Easton had lost their only son, a lad of twelve, who had died from the effects of a chill, which was the result of a boating accident on the lake.

The boy was rowing his sister, who was some half-dozen years his junior, back from the Island, where they had organized a picnic, and little Lady Dorothy, leaning too far over the side of the boat to seize some water lilies, fell in. Instantly her brother dived after her, and succeeded in swimming safely to shore, happily not far distant, with his burden ; but he became very ill during the night from the chill, and died in twenty-four hours, while Dorothy, although none the worse physically, received so severe a mental shock that it was doubtful if her mind would ever regain its balance, and com plete change of scene was prescribed as the only possible means of restoring it. Lord and BLIGHT. Lady Easton, whose love for their beautiful home had changed to horror, eagerly seized upon the excuse to shut up the place, and five abroad ; hence it came about that the big white building seemed to sleep through sunshine and storm, only occasionally blinking a half-opened eye, when a housemaid unbarred some shutter or window with a view to airing one of the vast rooms or corridors.

Little Blight, who, as belonging to the family doctor, was a privileged person in the eyes of the old lodge-keeper, used daily to trot to the big iron gates (through which she had first passed seated in her father's gig, gazing breathlessly on beauties of landscape which were a revelation to her), and slipping through them, would throw herself down in some sheltered spot amongst the bracken, where she could lie and dream, until strength sufficient to wander on. traversing enchanting patches of sunshine and shadow, returned to the little limbs which grew weary so soon. But one day, when Blight was about nine years old, her peaceful possession of her neighbour's territory was ruthlessly disturbed. It was her old friend the lodge-keeper who, with great glee and jubilation, informed PARADISE LOST. her that " The Family " were coming home at last, and after long-winded details as to the cleanings, paintings, and furnishings to be done up at the House, added : " But you'll miss your run in the Park, my dear, for though his Lordship gives the Doctor leave to drive through anywhere when he 's bound to see a patient, it would never do for him to find you flitting about the woods like a wild thing.

The Family, affable though they is, always did keep theirselves to theirselves, and folks do say that since the little Lord's death they see no one, and Lady Dorothy 's been quare ever since, very quare." Of this peroration Blight heard but little, her whole heart and soul being fixed upon one sentence. " Am I to be — shut out? " she demanded, slowly and gaspingly, when the old woman paused, more for lack of breath, than of infor mation, with which indeed she was brimming over. Engrossed as she was, however, in the exciting prospect of the return of the "Family," the intensity of Blight's manner impressed her, and she adjusted her spectacles carefull}7 so as to get a clear view of her inter locutor, as she answered reassuringly: BLIGHT. " Shut out, Missie ? Dear me no ! Not so bad as that.

Times and times I'll be able to let you through when the Family is out driving, but you'll not be able to run in and out as you like ; you'll just have to come once in a way, and tap at my door and say, ' Mrs. Knight, is the Family gone out and could you let me in for a bit? ' — and I'll always be glad to see you, my dear, and to do the best I can for you," said the old woman, with kindly con descension, begotten of the entrancing expec tation that shortly her post of lodge-keeper would cease to be a sinecure, and carriages would roll in and out of the mighty archway, and away up the avenue to the House, or along the shady road which skirted the Park wall. The horror of desolation had, however, fallen upon poor Blight, and, with a smothered sob, she turned and ran out of the lodge, out through the big gates, and never paused, till, violently pushing back the glass door leading from the Doctor's garden into his study, she burst in, and throwing herself down on the rug, sobbed piteously : " Oh ! father, father, they have turned me out."

Chapter III. A NEW ACQUAINTANCE. From that clay nothing would induce Blight to go near Easton Park, and her father tried in vain to decoy her into driving with him in any direction likely to lead them into the neighbourhood of her lost paradise. She never again referred to the matter, and met all her father's kindly assurances that Lord Easton would by no means desire to oust her from all enjoyment of his beautiful demesne with stony silence. That the child fretted privately was very evident, for the little face became more pinched, the chin more peaked, while her appetite, never large, dwindled away until her meals were, as the nurse, still kept to watch over her, indignantly remarked, "not big enough for a sparrow," and the Doctor began to think there was nothing for BLIGHT. it but complete change of air and scene.

This, however, was not a very easy matter for him to manage, for there was a good deal of sickness about, and it was absolutely im possible for him to get away himself just then, while, apart from the somewhat for midable task of inducing Blight to leave him, neither his maiden nor his widowed sister at all inclined to the charge of a child whose entry into the world they regarded as ill judged, and whose continued existence, and development into a somewhat peevish person ality, they privately thought most incon siderate. It is true that Blight had a maternal aunt, a kind motherly soul, but with (unfortunately from the Doctor's paternal point of view) a motherly body as well, for she had a dozen children of her own, and Dr. Norman shrank from subjecting his Baby Blight to a sudden dip into the sometimes boisterous waves of their family life, knowing how her little bark sought shelter in his study from the turmoil of the home circle.

While thus debating possibilities and im possibilities, fate settled the matter. One particularly bright sunny day the Doctor cajoled Blight into driving with him to visit A NEW ACQUAINTANCE. 15 a patient the other side of Tufhal, the little town whose half-dozen shops disputed the patronage of the county with Stapleton. On their way back they stopped at Tufnal Rec tory, as Dr. Norman wanted to speak to the Rector about a parish patient, and as he said he should not stay five minutes, he left Blight sitting in the gig, holding the reins with a most important air, albeit her position was one of absolute irresponsibility, the good old gig horse being but too glad to wait his master's pleasure. The five minutes length ened into ten, but httle Blight, sitting there in the sunshine, was quite content to let her eyes feast on the banks and beds of flowers which flanked the Rector's trim drive and lawn.

She was lost in some dream of a fairyland where she could wander for hours through glades of ferns and flowers, when the sound of voices from the Rectory hall recalled her with a start to the fact that, instead of being an enchanted and enchanting princess, she was only a plain little girl in an old serge frock and a somewhat burnt and battered sailor hat. The voices grew louder, and the hall door opened to give egress to three middle-aged men — her father, BLIGHT. a thoroughly honest, genial specimen of the country doctor ; the Rector, portly in presence, and in manner suave, with a suavity which was almost olfactory ; and who was the third ? Tall, slender, upright, with a dignified bearing which seemed to httle Blight quite king-like, his sad, refined face, with its regular features and clear cut lips, would have been almost stern, had it not been for the kindly blue eyes that looked too youthful for the silvery hair.

Blight's somewhat awed admiration of the stranger was interrupted by the Rector, who, advancing to the gig, greeted her in his most effusively paternal style. " How do you do, my child ? The Doctor tells me you have been ailing, but nice drives with papa will soon set us up, eh ? " Blight muttered something inaudible, and became engrossed by her reins ; she did not like the Rector, indeed she hardly liked any one in the wide world except her father and her old nurse, and she hated to be called "my child" by anyone except her father. Another voice, however, struck in, asking: " Is this your youngest, Norman ?" Then, without waiting for a reply, " You must bring her to see my Lady one day, she and Dorothy A NEW ACQUAINTANCE. will be delighted. Drop her on your way to Hylton to-morrow, they will take care of her and give her some tea."

My Lady ! and Dorothy ! ! Blight grew scarlet and gasped with emotion. Then this beautiful, benign-looking being was Lord Easton, the dreaded ogre whose return to his castle had banished her from the regions of bliss ! No one noticed the little girl's discom posure, for the Doctor was thanking Lord Easton heartily, inwardly determining that for once he would insist upon Blight's going, however much she might oppose it, and so get her out of her absurd and inconvenient fad about the Park. Lord Easton put aside his thanks with a " Not at all, not at all, Norman, it will do Dorothy a world of good to see a fresh face ; it 's so hard to interest her in anything," and his lordship sighed half unconsciously, for the state of lethargy into which Dorothy had i alien after her brother's death, was the ever enduring grief of his and of his wife's life.

"Would not Lady Easton bring her over to my school treat next week ? " the Rector struck in, regretting inwardly that his bachelor C BLIGHT. state precluded him from offering a daughter as a " fresh interest " at the Park. " Nothing so cheerful as a school feast, such a delight to see the dear little children so happy. I feel sure the little lady would enjoy it." " Thanks, thanks," Lord Easton answered hurriedly, " but I fear it would be too tiring for Dorothy ; she is by no means strong still, but I will tell my Lady of your kind suggestion, and I am sure she will look in if she can. Good-bye. Good-bye, Norman. Good-bye till to-morrow, little woman," and before the Rector could enmesh him with any more social suggestions, Lord Easton opened a little gate that led into the shrubbery and was lost to sight amongst the well-grown laurels, an avenue of which led to the short field cut to Easton Park.

Chapter IV. PARADISE REGAINED. Blight's visit to Lady Easton and her daughter was the opening of a new life to her. Not a word had been said in reference to it during her drive home with her father from Tufnal Rectory the previous day, the Doctor deeming it wiser to leave her to speak first ; but the child was strangely silent, for as a rule these drives with her father were the hours when Bhght's chilly little heart opened itself to the one person who, so far, held the key thereto. Driving back from Tufnal, how ever, she gave vent to none of those shrewd, sharp sayings anent the people they had left, with which she was wont to divert the Doctor to such good purpose that he never remem bered to rebuke her for want of respect to her elders, and of kindliness towards her contem poraries. It happened, therefore, that when BLIGHT.

Dr. Norman was ready to start for Hylton next day, he had no notion whether or no his wayward little daughter intended to accom pany him; but banishing determinedly all doubt from his tone, he called up the staircase, " Gig coming round, Blight. Look sharp ! " and was answered by a " Coming, papa," the present tense of which answer was promptly proved by Blight's appearance dressed for her drive. The Doctor's surprise was only equalled by his delight, but he was careful to give no sign of either, reflecting that women were " kittle cattle," and that if Blight was not a woman yet, she would be some day. He therefore discoursed volubly upon all sorts of subjects during the drive, and made no reference to their destination, inwardly pluming himself upon his diplomacy, to the exercise of which the previous day he credited Blight's sudden abandonment of the position she had so firmly taken up with reference to Easton Park.

When they drew up at the door Blight put the finishing touch to her father's bewilder ment by saying, when he announced that he could only stay just to take her in and in troduce her to Lady Easton, " No, thank you, PARADISE REGAINED. 21 papa. I prefer going in alone; " and passing the two tall powdered footmen without a glance, she followed the portly butler across the hall, and disappeared behind some heavy velvet curtains before Dr. Norman realized, that he was staring at an unoccupied space, and that the footmen were staring at him. Thus it came about that Lady Easton, who was sitting by the open window of her sunny boudoir reading aloud to her daughter, who was lying listlessly on a couch, heard " Miss Norman" announced in the butler's most pompous tones, and looked up to see advanc ing towards her a small thin child with a pointed, hollow-cheeked face, to whom her motherly heart at once went out, and Baby Blight on the instant became Lady Easton's protegee.

Chapter V. VISIONS. ' For between those pillars there opens a great light, and, in the midst of it, as we advance slowly, the vast tower of St. Mark's seems to lift itself visibly forth from the level field of chequered stones; and, on each side, the countless arches prolong themselves into ranged symmetry, as if the rugged and irregu lar houses that pressed together above us in the dark alley had been struck back into sudden obedience and lovely order, and all their rude casements and broken walls had been transformed into arches charged with goodly sculpture, and fluted shafts of delicate stone. And well may they fall back, for beyond those troops of ordered arches there rises a vision out of the earth, and all the great Square seems to have opened from it, in a kind of awe, that we may see it far away.' Thus did Dorothy Easton see San Marco.

VISIONS. Standing in the busy square, thronged with tourists and traffic, the tall, slender girl gazed entranced at its majestic splendour. Not so her companion, despite the travelling copy of ' Stones of Venice ' securely strapped to a guide book and tucked under her arm. Alert in every glance and movement, no greater contrast to Dorothy could have been found than the little keen-eyed damsel by her side, who was evidently consumed by impatience and intolerance of her companion's absorption. " Dorothy," she exclaimed in peremptory tones, though with lowered voice, " Dorothy ! We can't stand here all day. Do come ! " But Dorothy seemed neither to hear the per emptory call nor to feel the accentuating nudge given to her arm by an elbow of some sharpness. Always dreaming, the habitual melancholy into which she had sunk at her brother's death had never lifted, but had gradually sapped her mind until it became evident that, if not actually idiotic, Dorothy Easton would never be quite as others are.

Very gentle and quiet always, she was absolutely indifferent to all the ordinary occurrences of life, and desired only to be constantly beside her mother. Art BLIGHT. and music were the sole things that appealed to her. She drew most beautifully, and would spend hours reproducing on the piano airs she had heard in opera or oratorio, for it had been found impossible to teach her notes, and she played entirely by ear. When first they arrived in Venice, now some ten days back, Dorothy had accompanied her father into the Piazza San Marco, and had at once fallen under the spell of the cathedral. Daily she returned to it, sometimes standing, as now, in the Piazza, lost in the day-dreams which for her hovered over the " treasure heap of gold, of opal, of mother-of-pearl," sometimes kneeling before some shrine inside the church, in a vague adoration which supremely scandal ized Ella Norman, whom the Eastons had brought with them to Italy, partly as a com panion for Dorothy, and partly out of compas sion for the child, whose young life had been suddenly darkened by her father's death.

In the kindnesses of Lord and Lady Easton, and the comforting, sustaining sense of being really useful in looking after Dorothy, and saving Lady Easton's eyes and voice from the constant reading aloud which her daughter loved, Blight's jealous little mind rejoiced right glad- VISIONS. ly, and well indeed was it for her that she had such friends at hand when her father died. As it was, the blow almost crushed her, for she had loved him with that narrow absorption which is so full of self that the loss of its object must strike at the root of vitality. The day of the funeral the child fell ill, and when at last nursed back to convalescence she was such a shadow of herself that her aunts were but too glad to accept Lady Easton's offer to take her abroad with them at once; and after a winter in the Riviera, spring saw them in Venice, Blight having regained her old alertness and activity, and having put aside her old name, by which the Eastons had never called her.

After her father's death the girl had flown into such a violent passion when one of her brothers used it, that he consoled himself by remarking rather brutally, " Well ! Blight you were born, and Bhght you'll die, call yourself what you will," and addressed her as "Wild Cat" during the remainder of her short stay at Stapleton. To the student of human nature there was certainly something about Ella Norman both blighted and blighting ; for, although outgrow- BLIGHT. ing her childish plainness and developing into a bright, intelligent-looking girl, she had, to a close observer, always the appearance of a plant which has been too severely nipped by an early frost ever to come to full fruition ; and she seemed also to have a curious faculty for repulsing the good, and bringing out the evil qualities of others.

The habit contracted in the large and some what rough family circle of the doctor's home, of deeming every man's hand against her, clung to her still, and while adoring the Eastons she was horribly jealous of all around them, and in perpetual dread lest some one should come between her and their affection. To be first was her idee fixe. Of Dorothy she was not jealous, regarding her with a some what impatient pity ; but her influence over the girl since they had been abroad had un doubtedly been blighting. This, however, neither Lord nor Lady Easton remarked. The latter was in very delicate health, and her husband was thankful to have some one, to whom Dorothy was accustomed, to accom pany her in walks and expeditions, leaving him free to watch over his wife. As time went on Dorothy seemed to shrink VISIONS. more and more into herself, and to be always dreaming, as Blight put it, not reahzing that her sensitive companion, to whom seeing beauty meant feeling it in every fibre of her being, was practically stunned by the cold common sense, which met any attempt to de scribe the feelings and fancies, with which any thing beautiful in art, or nature, filled a mind uncrowded by everyday aims and anxieties.

Vision, if one may use the word in a sense somewhat distinct from sight, is godlike, and Dorothy possessed this gift, or rather was possessed by it, while Ella Norman did not even know she lacked it. Chapter VI. REALITIES. When the two girls reached the hotel, they found Lord Easton waiting for them on the steps. " Come in to luncheon at once," he said. " Don't wait to take off your hats. It is such a lovely day, I have ordered the gondola to come round in half an hour, and I will take you both out to the Lido. You will like that, won't you, Dorothy ? " " Oh yes, papa," she answered, with a bright light in her eyes, " I love ' the Lido. That great calm sea looks as if Heaven might be on the other side." Lord Easton smiled in the half sad, half tender manner with Avhich he usually re sponded to his daughter's remarks, while Ella hurried impatiently into the salle ii manger, where they found a little round table, laid for REALITIES. three, awaiting them in a window looking out on the Grand Canal.