'Tact.' A novel (based upon the earlier part of George Eliot's 'Silas Marner')

Chapter I. For

awhile Eppie lay in Susan Briggs' cottage, stunned and absolutely senseless. Briggs had lost no time in carrying the tidings to the Red House, and it was perhaps the sight of Harold's face that first brought her mind back to consciousness — then she remembered all. At first she imagined that she had destroyed him, and the scene of the Rookery came home to her in all its vividness. Then, as she recalled it all, something almost like love came back into her heart ; of course he had been bad, and had trifled with her best and purest feelings. Even in her sorrow, alarmed as she was at his fate, she could not deny that. When her consciousness returned, she did not shed a tear — she lay there still and silent, gazing at nothing ; casting back her mind over the history of her life, and the misery she had brought on all who belonged to her.

Then at last she gave way, fell into tears, hysteric 2 B TACT, sobbings, convulsions so violent, as for a time to take the appearance of epileptic fits, and at last was exhausted, and, happily for herself, unconscious. After that Eppie was ill for many weeks — so ill that at times Harold and Patty who were ceaseless in their attendance, thought she would die. When the first month or six weeks had passed, she would often speak of Percy to Harold, and always spoke of him as though she had brought him to bis sudden fate. " My dear," Harold said to her one evening, " it is a subject wbich we cannot forget, but on which it is well that we should be silent." " I shall always know what that silence means," she replied. " It will never mean condemnation of you by me Eppie," Harold replied. "But I have destroyed your happiness — and her's." She meant Miss Arundel, but she never thought of Edwin and his happiness.

" I wish that I were a Catholic, and that I could bury it amidst sackcloth and ashes, as I have read they did in olden times." " That would not bury it, Eppie," said her father. " But I should at least be buried. If I were out of sight, you might forget it all." " My darling, try and forget it all. You were more TACT, 3 sinned against then sinning. Percy deceived you." '• But I loved him," Eppie said, raising herself in her bed, and looking him full in the face. " He would have been happy now, if he had never seen me. Oh, Mr. Cole, you will never know what has passed through my life the last three years." There was another person who attempted to see Eppie at this period, but she avoided him; this was Edwin Anstruther. " TeU him — not yet," she said to Harold when Edwin's name was mentioned.

At length by degrees Eppie recovered her capability of moving and was persuaded to return with Harold and Patty. Now, of course, she would be in proximity with Edwin Anstruther, and Edwin knew this. While Percy lived, a dreadful incubus had fallen upon Edwin's life, blighting all his prospects, obscuring all his sun by a great cloud, and changing for him all his out-look in the world. He never blamed Eppie, but looked upon his fate as Fate. But now the incubus was removed. The man who had made both him and her wretched had by a sudden stroke been taken away. There was nothing now between him and her — but a memory. He could certainly forgive, if she could forget. Of course he had felt at the first momeut that time must pass by. But how much time ? He had argued it TACT, in his mind daily, and at each daily argument the time was shortened.

Three months had passed and he had not once seen her. Then he thought it would be best to see Mr. Cole and tell him everything. He well knew that he would be telling no secret. Had Harold not in fact expressed his wish that it should be so ? So Edwin sought him out. " It is a matter of great regret to me that I should never see Eppie now. I may as well rush into the matter at once. Percy has gone, and my love for her is the same as it was before she had ever seen him, and as it has always been from that day to this. I could not address you, or ever think of her while we were all in such trouble. It has been a dreadful time to her, to you, to me — to all of us. But it is over, and I think it should be looked upon as a black chasm which we have bridged and got over, and to which we need never cast back our eyes.

I have no right to think that though some day she might love another man, she would there fore love me ; but I think that I have a right to try, and I know that I should have your good-will." " Surely, my dear boy." " Now tell me what you think. I would propose that you should ask her to see me, and then say just as much as you please. It is not as though we had not been very, TACT, 5 very old friends. But I know you will do the best. I have put off speaking to you till I sometimes thought I should go mad if I kept quiet any longer." Harold was at a loss for a reply. Had he not another disclosure to make to Eppie more serious than even this of Edwin's — if he would be honorable to them ? He had long formed his hopes with regard to Edwin Anstruther ; but as the days had crept on since Percy's death he had become aware that time must do much before Edwin's offer would be received.

It was, however, still possible that his presence there might do something. " I have been talking to Edwin," he said, a day or two after this conversation had taken place. " Is he here ? " she asked. " Yes, and I have invited him to stay with us. You do not mind ? " " Why should I mind ? But oh, Bappo," she cried, flinging her arms around Harold, " I know what it means. His goodness I shall always remember. Tell him I say so. But I cannot meet him yet." Harold pressed her no further. Of course she had understood. He could not even ask her to say a word which might give comfort to Edwin at some long distant time. Again Mr. Cole saw Edwin. TACT. " Time, Edwin — Time," was all he said. " But our lives are running away." " My boy, if you were to see her, you would know how vain it would be to try to hurry her. There must be time." TACT, 7

CHAPTER 11.

What was the ground do you suppose of Eppie's objec tion to Edwin Anstruther ? Of course she loved him. Of course in all the world he was the dearest to her. Of course if she could wipe out the past as with a wet towel, she would become bis wife with the greatest joy. It was this : the very feeling that she loved him was disgraceful to her in her own thoughts. She had brought misery on everyone, and it was destined that she should drink the cup of her misery down to the very dregs, and even to think of joy was, in her idea, a treason. A day or two afterwards, however, a circumstance of quite another kind cropped up in the way. Edwin Anstruther was the nephew of Sir Alured Anstruther, a very wealthy landowner, but bad never anticipated any advantage from the connection, as Sir Alured had a son about his own age.

This son had for a long time been discarded by his father as a profligate drunkard. Sir Alured had in vain attempted to reclaim him, and had TACT. spent no end of money in the endeavour. The money had been allowed to flow like water for a twelvemonth, and had done no good whatever. The son was strong and likely to live, and, after a while, married a wife, some woman that he picked up from the very streets. This had been his last known achievement, and from that moment his name was never mentioned in his father's house. But now had come the tidings of bis death. It was said that he had perished in some attempt to cross some glaciers in Switzerland ; but, by degrees it appeared that the glacier itself had been less dangerous than the brandy which he had swallowed while on hisjourney. At any rate he was dead, and it was equally certain by the letter Edwin had received that he had left no son.

These tidings were not unimportant to Edwin as he would inherit all after the death of old Sir Alured. In Sir Alured's feelings, the catastrophe produced a great change. The new heir to his title and property was one whom he was bound to regard with affection, and almost with reverence, it it were only possible for him to do so; with his own son it had been impossible. But Edwin Anstruther he had always liked, so Sir Alured had hastened to inform him instantly, beseeching him to come at once— quite at once — to The Poplars. There were twenty points as to new wills and new deeds as to which -the TACT, 9 present Baronet wanted the immediate advice of hia nephew. There were a score of things which could now be done, which were before impossible. Trees could be cut down aud buildings put up ; and a little bit of land bought — the doing of which could give new life to Sir Alured, This change of affairs caused some flutter at the Red House, and if the truth must be told, made Eppie somewhat sadder.

She would have to bid him for a time at least — good bye. Would he say anything to her ? How should she look at him ? It is very hard for a woman to tell a lie to a man when she loves him. She may speak the words. She may be able to assure herself that she is indifferent to him. But when a woman really loves a man, as Eppie did really love Edwin in her heart of hearts, there is a desire to touch him which quivers at her fingers' ends, a longing to look at him which she cannot keep out of her eyes, an inclination to be near him which affects every motion of her body. She cannot refrain herself from excessive attention to his words. She has a God to worship, and she cannot control her admiration. Of all this, Eppie herself felt much — but felt at the same time that she would never pardon herself if she betrayed her love by a gleam of her eye, by the tone of a word, or the movement of a finger.

What — should she be known TACT, to love again after such a mistake as hers ? On the following evening he was [alone with her for some minutes. " I shall hardly see you to-morrow, Eppie, he said, " I leave before eight." " I am generally down as early as that, I will come down and see you start." " I am so glad to be with you again, Eppie. It has been like old days — almost. I wish I was not going to leave you," " Why, Edwin, ? You have things to do, and much to hope for. It is all beginning for you, Edwin." " I am many years older than you, Eppie." " What does that matter ? It seems to me that age does not go by years. It is long since I felt myself getting old. But you ought to be happy." " I don't know," said Edwin. " It is hard to say what makes a person happy." He almost made up his mind to speak to her then ; but he had made up his mind before to put it off for a little time, and he would not allow himself to be changed on the spur of the moment.

" Good bye," he said, putting out his hand, and then, excusing himself —they parted. Eppie saw him go the next morning. It was a fine TACT, crisp winter day; dry, and fresh, and clear. After breakfast she went out to walk by herself in the long shrubbery paths, and here she remained for about an hour. She told herself that she was very thankful to him for not having spoken of love. She was unworthy of it. She strengthened herself in her determination never again to listen to anyone willingly on the subject. She had made herself unfit to have any dealings of that nature. It was not that she could not love. Oh, no ! She knew weU enough that she did love — love with all her heart. If it were not that she were so torn to rags, she could now have thrown herself into his arms with a whole heaven of joy before her.

The tears rolled down her cheeks. Oh, how grateful she felt to him. She was glad, she told herself, very glad that it was so. How much trouble and pain to both of them had he spared by his silence? And yet her tears were bitter tears. It was better as it was. And yet one word of love would have been very sweet. She almost thought that she would have liked to tell him for his sake, for his dear sake, she would refuse — that which now would never be offered her. She was quite clear as to the rectitude of her own judgment, clear as ever. And yet her heart was heavy with disappointment. TACT,

Chapter III

Sir Alured Anstruther was a baronet, with a handsome old family place on the Wye in Herefordshire, whose forefathers had been baronets since baronets were first created, and whose earlier forefathers had lived at The Poplars long before that time. It may be imagined, therefore, that Sir Alured was proud of his name, of his estate, and of his rank. He lived at home through the year with his wife and daughters, not caring for the luxury of a season in London, and so, living apart from all the friction of clubs, parliaments, and mixed society, he did veritably believe that his dear country was going utterly to the dogs. He was so staunch in politics, that reckoning the doings of his own time he had honestly declared one side to be as bad as the other. Thus, he felt that all his happiness was to be drawn from the past.

There was nothing of joy or glory to which he could look forward either on behalf of his country or his family. Sir Alured was a melancholy, proud, ignorant man, TACT, who could not endure a personal liberty ; and who thought the assertion of social equality on the part of men of lower rank to amount to the taking of personal liberty — who read little or nothing, and thought that he knew the history of his country because he was aware that Charles 1. had had his head cut off, and that the Georges had come from Hanover. If Charles 1. had never had his head cut off, and if the Georges had never come from Hanover, the Anstruthers would probably now be a great people, and Britain a great nation. But the Evil One had been allowed to prevail, and everything had gone astray, and Sir Alurtd Anstruther had nothing of the world to console him but a hazy retrospect of past glories, and a delight in the beauty of his own river, his own park, and his own house.

Sir Alured, with all his foibles and with all his faults, was a pure-minded simple gentleman, who could not tell a lie, who could not do a wrong, and who was earnest in his desire to make those who were dependent on him comfortable ; and, if possible, happy. Once a year he went up to London for a week to see his lawyers, his tailors, and his dentist. It had been ascertained, that the Anstruther who was now dead, Sir Alured's son, had had a child — but that the child was a daughter. Oh ! What salvation or destruc- TACT tion there may be to an English gentleman in the sex of an infant ! This poor baby was now little better than a beggar brat, unless the relatives who appeared utterly regardless of its fate, should choose in their charity to make some small allowance for its maintenence. Edwin had no sooner been apprised of the circumstance than this he determined to do.

Had it by chance have been a boy, he would have been nobody, and the child, rescued from the iniquities of his parents would have been nursed in the best bedroom of the Poplars, and cherished with the warmest kisses — would in fact have been the centre of all the hopes of the Anstruthers. Edwin soon found that the unfortunate Anstruther had left behind him an infant, and that the infant was a girl, and set working his mind as to what he should do. " Though she has no legitimate claim upon me, the poor mite shall not starve," he said to himself. Meanwhile, Edwin was the hero of the day. He found himself possessed of a thousand graces in his uncle's eye sight. The old baronet was very happy. He took Edwin round to every tenant and introduced him as the heir. He discussed his own death with extreme satisfaction, and insisted on having it discussed by the others.

That he should have gone and left everything at the mercy of the spendthrift had been terrible to his old heart — but TACT, 15 now, well — it was just as he wished. He seemed to be almost impatient for Edwin's ownership, giving many hints as to what should be done when he himself was gone. He must surely have thought that he would return to The Poplars as a spirit, and take a ghostly share in the prosperity of the farms. " You will find John Griffiths a very good man," said the baronet. John Griffiths had been a tenant on the estate for the last half century, and was an older man than his landlord, but the baronet spoke of all this as though he himself were about to leave The Poplars for ever in the course of the next week. " John Griffiths has been a good man, and if not always quite ready with his rent has never been much behind.

You won't be hard on John Griffiths ? " " I hope I may'nt have the opportunity, sir." " Well ; — well ; — well ; that's as may be. But I don't quite know what to say about young John. The farm has gone from father to son, and there's never been a word of a lease." " Is there anything wrong about the young man ? " "He's a little given to poaching." " Oh dear ! " " I've always got him off for his father's sake. They TACT, say he's going to marry Sally Jones. That may take it out of him. I do like the farms to go from father to son, Edwin. It's the way that everything should go. Of course there's no right." "No — nothing of the kind. God in his mercy forbid that a landlord in England should even be robbed after that fashion." " But I have a feeling about it Edwin, and I hope you will share it.

It is good that things should go from father to son. I never make a promise; but the tenants know what I think about it, and then the father works for the son. Why should he work for a stranger ? Sally Jones is a very good young woman, and perhaps young John will do better. And, by-the-bye, you will see that Sally's few shillings are kept up weekly for tidying up old Warner's cottage ? Poor Job has got wonderful feeble since he came into these parts." " Job — Job Warner ! " said Edwin, " where on earth have I heard that name before?" " Perhaps you have heard the girls mention it; Job is a great favorite here, and a superior old man." So the baronet went on chatting. There was not a field nor a fence that he did not show to his heir — hardly a tree which he left without a word. " That bit of woodland coming in there, Edwin — they TACT. 17 call it Farndon Spinnies— doesn't belong to the estate at all."

This Sir Alured said in a melancholy tone. " Doesn't it, really ? " "And it comes in right between Payne's farm and Grundon's. They've always let me have the shooting as a compliment. Not that there's ever anything in it. It's only seven acres, but I like the civility." " Who does it belong to ? " " It belongs to Benet of the Cobs. He is willing to sell, but it means paying for the land and the wood separately. I don't know that you'd get much out of it; but it's very unsightly— on the survey maps, I mean." " We'U buy it by all means," said Edwin. " Yes, I think it should be bought," and Sir Alured rejoiced in the idea that when his ghost should look at the survey-map, that hiatus of Farndon Spinnies would not trouble his spectral eyes. So the months flew by at The Poplars. Edwin had determined that he would plead his suit as soon as he could find it convenient to leave Sir Alured, and return to the Red House.

Three months had now already flown since he left her last. But it became with him a deep matter of business, a question of great difficulty, how he should arrange the necessary interview — whether he should plead his case with her at their first meeting, or TACT, whether he had better allow her to become accustomed again to his presence in the house. His uncle, who knew how matters stood, ridiculed him, because he was, as he said, afraid of a woman. Edwin well remembered that he had never been afraid of Eppie when they had been quite young — little more than a boy and girl together. Then he had told her of his love, over and over again, and had found almost a comfortable luxury in urging her to say a word, which she had never indeed said, but which probably in those days he still hoped that she would say.

And occasionally he had feigned to be angry with her, and had tempted her on to little quarrels with a boyish idea, that quick reconciliation would perhaps throw her into his arms. But now it seemed to him that an age had passed since those days. His love had certainly not faded. There had never been a moment when that had been on the wing. But now the azure plumage of his love was becoming grey as the wings of a dove, and the gorgeousness of his dreams were sobering into hopes and fears which were a constant burden to his heart. There was time enough ; still time enough for happiness if she would yield— and time enough for the pressure of unsatisfied aspirations should she persist in her refusal. TACT. 19

Chapter IV

That evening there was a forced attempt on the part of all the inmates of the Red House to be happy — which, however, as is the case whenever such attempts are forced, was a failure. Both Harold Cole and Patty had surmised what had happened ; Patty felt angry with Eppie, and thought her perverse and unreasonable. To her, Eppie's strange obstinacy was matter for surprise and sorrow — for to her, Edwin Anstruther was one of those demigods who are not expected to do more than express a wish, and be accepted. She regarded Edwin as being of all men the most lovable, and she was amazed that he should sigh in vain. Meantime Harold could not bring himself to tell Eppie the truth about her birtb, and Patty was angry with her husband on this head also. " The wrong to me was but little, Harold," she had said more than once, " you've made it up to me - -you've been good to me for seventeen years, but to let Eppie TACT, grow up under the impression that she is bound to us only by the claims of gratitude, I think it cruel.

Why should you mind the world — the world must know sooner or later. Don't let [your sin be a burden on you for ever. Be plain and open, and make up in the rest of your life for the faults you have sinned before. Shall I break it to her Harold ? " "Not yet." Not yet ? always to this shetter Harold Cole rushed. But delays are dangerous, and Harold's temerity was not exempted from the vicissitudes to which everything else under the sun is exposed. Well ! perhaps it was best that it was so. ' Why should you mind the world,' Patty had said, and who will not say that, perhaps, Harold Cole's folly was fear of the world's tongue. When that stern old lady, Mrs. Arundel — when she should hear this story, the roof would hardly be able to hold her wrath and dismay. The Anstruthers, his own, and his father's oldest friends — Sir Alured, a peculiar man in an age that was then surrendering itself to quick perdition, what would he say, with his peculiar ideas of duty.

Had he not often said that the chiefest among the duties, incumbent on either sex was that of so restraining their affections that they should never damage the good cause by leaving it. They might marry within the pale — or TACT, 21 remain single, as might be their lot, but for Harold Cole, a cousin of the Anstruthers, to marry a low woman, because she had bright eyes, and a gypsy face ; to foster that low woman's offspring, and then to palm her off on to the heir of the Anstruthers — Harold's thoughts were abruptly broken by hearing his wife's voice, and looking up he saw that Eppie had left the room. " Eppie seems to me most ungracious, Harold," Patty said to her husband. " I am afraid she is not very happy," said Harold. " She has everything that ought to make a girl happy, and I don't know what she wants ; and as to that affair of Percy's it is downright nonsense to be always brooding over that."

Patty had known nothing of the dagger, and, therefore any idea of remorse never occurred to her. " It makes me quite angry to see her so discontented," continued Patty. " She doesn't say a word, but sits there as glum as death. I feel, that if I were Edwin, I would never see her again." . " But, my dear, we cannot force Eppie to marry Edwin, if she does not like him." "But she should try to like him, if he is suitable in other respects, and it is our wish. At any rate she need TACT, not sit silent in the way she does." " It makes her unhappy, I suppose, because she can't do what we all want," said Harold. " Fal, lal ! she'd have wanted it herself, if nobody else had wished it. She didn't ask our wishes in respect to Percy. I am surprised after the way she took up with that poor fellow, that Edwin should be so wrapped up in her."

" You had better say nothing about it, Patty." "I don't mean to say anything about it, Harold. Edwin can do very well in the world without Eppie. Only I should like to have seen them married. Eppie is so passionate, and I feel that Edwin is the only one man who will manage and understand her. I should be sorry if she ever made a disgraceful match like—" The blood rushed to Harold's face and neck. He felt that Patty had stopped herself in an allusion to his first unhappy union. The eyes of husband and wife met with awe in them, at a crisis which seemed for a moment to suspend affection. She rose and threw her arms round his neck, and two great tears stood in her lustrous eyes. " I am so grieved, Harold — forgive me. But it is not as if Eppie knew she were our child. Oh, Harold! take her to your heart and tell her as you ought."

" I will, Patty," said Harold huskily, taking his wife's TACT. 23 hand within his own — " I will, and pray that God Almighty will bring everything right in the end." TACT,

Chapter V

Sir Alured and his nephew sat smoking their pipes in the Baronet's favorite room, for with an old fashioned prejudice, he would never permit the smell of tobacco to offend the nostrils of any one in the house. " Yes, Edwin I employ a good number of old people. I think they find it easier with me than with the tenants." " I shouldn't wonder ; but that's charity, not employ ment.'' "Well, I dont think it pays very well," the old baronet said with a gentle smile, " but I like it. They work for their wages, and do their best. Powell sees to that." Powell was the bailiff, who knew the length of his master's foot to a quarter of an inch. " Powell doesn't keep many cats about the place but what catch mice. I dont think I lose much by my farming. I have jabout four hundred acres on hand, and I keep my accounts pretty regularly.