Beatrice

Chapter I

AlND thus several days had passed, and still de tained by the weather and business, Mr. Gervoise did not come. Mrs. Gervoise's uneasiness had calmed down. Gilbert's manner was meant to dispel her alarm. It was plain to her that he greatly admired Beatrice, but it was very plain, too, that he had no wish to indulge himself in that admiration. He was free and familiar with her, but only after a certain fashion. His self-possession never forsook him. His look, his smile, his words, all spoke of inexorable control over his feel ings and his heart. His familiarity was that of old acquaintance ; it had little friendliness in it ; Beatrice's was ever ready to break out into sisterly fondness, Gilbert's never. A subtle reserve VOL. II. B BEATRICE. tempered his whole manner ; it was impossible to tax him with coldness, but it would have been very hard indeed to have discovered tenderness in his bearing towards Beatrice.

This something, wliich Mrs. Gervoise saw with a mother's shrewdness, Beatrice felt keenly. Gilbert's presence in Car noosie was both a happiness ancl a torment to her. She had welcomed him with all the ardour of her old friendship, and almost immediately she had felt that she was not to him what he was to her. In vain she had tried to win back this lost treasure of her childhood, every clay only seemed to place Gilbert at a further distance from her. He was courteous, pleasant, and even familiar; but, alas! he was no longer her friend, and, alas ! again, he did not wish to be so. It was very hard and mortifying, but it was a fact, that Gilbert did not wish for her friendship. If Beatrice had been more vain than she was, and if she had had some experience of life, she might have guessed that Gilbert was prudent, and not cold.

But of herself, and how she might act on a young man's heart, Beatrice knew little. Flattering voices had not early taught her that her share of woman's charms was abundant ; she knew that she was good-looking, beyond this vague knowledge she did not go. Moreover, she did not look on Gilbert as a stranger, and how could he tliink of her otherwise than as of little Beatrice ? BEATRICE. No, that was not it ; it was, sad and bitter reflec tion, that Gilbert no longer loved her ! Then Beatrice wondered if she could not win back some fragment of that regard wdiich she once had possessed entirely. And being more fond than proud, and more eager to accomplish her desires than cautious to hide her purpose, she at once showed Gilbert what she was about. " My little Beatrice !" he thought, much per plexed, " you are very kind, but I must put a stop to that too.

No, I cannot afford it. I wonder if fault-finding will make you like poor Gilbert less ?" He half sighed, for the task was not a pleasant one. Beatrice had faults, to be sure, but Gilbert would just as soon have let them rest. He did not do so, however, and one evening that they hap pened to be alone in Mrs. Gervoise's sitting-room, he began his task with some sweeping censures on Beatrice's general behaviour to Miss Jameson. " I hope I have not displeased you," he hypo critically added, seeing her redden with pain. "No, Gilbert," she answered, trying to remain calm and brave ; " I like you to tell me of my faults, I know I have plenty." " Well, you have your share," he frankly replied. He spoke in jest, but the words went to Beatrice's heart. B BEATRICE. " More than my share," she said recklessly ; " but you see, Gilbert, I have not exactly been reared like other girls.

I have lived in this old Carnoosie, out of the world and its ways, and I have grown up pretty much as weeds grow* — after my own fashion. My poor mother has been wrapped in ill health and could not mind me, and I am afraid, Gilbert, I was not of a temper to mind anyone. Mr. Ray did me good, and I felt it, but he lived in strange doubts, ancl he is dead ; and so I grew up as I tell you, Beatrice Gordon, and somewhat of a heathen, I fear." Gilbert became suddenly grave, and looked at her keenly. Without design on his part, but in the progress of discourse, he had once or twice touched on religion in speaking to Beatrice. And every time he had done so, she had either remained sadly silent, or turned her gay speech to some other matter. Gilbert knew under what conditions Bea trice had been left to his father's guardianship, but perhaps he knew, too, how Mr. Gervoise w-as likely to fulfil this trust.

" A heathen !" he said at length ; " you do not mean it, Beatrice." Beatrice was silent. Gilbert looked as he felt — pained. He had a strong feeling of religion, as he had of duty, of honour and principle, and he could not bear to hear BEATRICE. Beatrice talk so. He looked at her again and half sighed. " Oh ! Beatrice, Beatrice !" " I cannot help it," she said recklessly, and a little defiantly, too. " I tell you I have lived out of the world, and its laws and its proprieties. Once, many years ago, mamma took a drive in the country. Miss Jameson w*as with us. She and I got down and wandered away to a little church. I do not know why or how there was a service in it, but there was. The door was open, and we stood near it ancl looked in at the congregation. It was a very pretty sight, ancl the voices singing sounded very sweet ; but Miss Jameson burst into tears, and walked away, and siuce I came to Carnoosie, Gil bert, that is all I ever knew of religion.

I remember when we were both in Kensington, at Rose mary Cottage, we used to go together on a Sunday morning to the little chapel in Holland Street. I had been there with my father, too. I remember, Gilbert, the voices singing, and the priest's face, and the pew in which we sat, and there is as a dream of a sermon we once heard, a fine one we thought it then, as we spoke and walked home through the lanes ; but I have outlived all that, you see, and learned other lessons in Carnoosie." Gilbert looked at her, and his purpose of reproof melted away from him. His heart ached for her. BEATRICE. Poor, ill-taught, ill-reared Beatrice! How could he, the son of her wronger, reprove her for the faults she had acquired under such teaching ? All he said was — " My poor little Beatrice!" " Yes, you do well to pity me," she said, turning away, " for I sometimes feel cast out of love and faith.

I cannot bear to hear church bells, Gilbert ; and when I see parents and their children walking happily on to worship, I feel a rebel's bitterness in my heart." This time Gilbert Smiled. How different he and Beatrice were ! How she exaggerated, in her imaginative girlish way, the accidents of her un happy education ! How she made herself out a lost angel, standing forlorn at the gate of Paradise! But Beatrice saw the smile, ancl took it amiss. " You are laughing at me," she said, a little in dignantly. " Heaven forbid !" piously said Gilbert. " Gilbert, you do not care about me." " Yes, I do," he replied with his calm smile. "Ah! but how?" "How? — as one cares about everything that is delightful, of course. Let me see. I like you as I like a bird on a tree in spring, roses in a garden in summer, or a peach on the wall in the autumn, or as I like all these, if you please."

BEATRICE. Beatrice turned her head away. He would not treat her seriously. She was a child in his eyes. With keen pain she felt that she amused him — that was her hold on Gilbert. Her society was pleasant to him in that way, but Gilbert could clo without amusement, and once he had turned his back on Carnoosie, Beatrice would be forgotten. " I cannot make him like me, do what I will," thought Beatrice. He saw that he had displeased her, and he was sorry. " Again!" he said, reproachfully, " Yes, again, and for ever again, whilst you talk •■ so. " And yet birds, roses, and peaches are pleasant in their way." " I am much obliged to you," replied Beatrice. " I treat you as a friend, and you treat me like a bird, a rose, or, more flattering still, a peach. I am much obliged to you, Gilbert." She looked grave and displeased.

" What a child she is !" thought Gilbert. He clung rather tenaciously to the belief that Beatrice was childish — perhaps because he would have been glad to find in her the little Beatrice of old days. Often did he long to pass his hand through her heavy dark curls, as he had so often passed it when they were children both, rousing her wrath and BEATRICE. bravinoher defiance. He would have liked to have her nestle up to him and caress him with innocent security. " What a pity she has grown up !" he thought, looking at her now ; " I should like my little Beatrice back again. If ever I have a daughter, Beatrice shall be her name." And on the spur of the moment, he told her so. Beatrice reddened and tapped her foot. " You will make me jealous of that Beatrice," she said warmly. " I wish she were dead."

"And so she is," sighed Gilbert, with mock sorrow ; " dead ancl buried. Daisies and green grass are growing on her grave somewhere, and behold her slayer !" He looked in the glass. Beatrice looked too. She saw him, and he saw her. It was a strange moment for both. They exchanged looks in that bright and clear surface. They began in jest, and ended in earnest. Beatrice got frightened first. The mirror seemed to grow deep as a world, a world in which each sought but the other. She quickly turned and looked at Gilbert. She feared him less than his image. Of the two he was the more troubled. He was pale, and would scarcely look at Beatrice. She had already recovered, and said quickly, "What is it? What ails you?" "Nothing. I felt giddy." He walked to the window, ancl thought, " That little Beatrice is a BEATRICE. witch.

I do believe I was as near making a fool of myself then as ever man was. It was well she turned round and broke the spell. I must settle that once for all." So he went back to the fire, ancl, sitting down by Beatrice, he looked at his watch, ancl said, " My father will not come to-night." " No," replied Beatrice, and she thought, "What a blessing!" " Beatrice, you have not asked on what business I came to Carnoosie." " Then it was business brought you — not poor Beatrice," she said, rather sadly. "It was business," he persisted; "and business which the mistress of Carnoosie has a right to know. I came here to ask my father's consent to my marriage." Beatrice looked bewildered. " You are going to get married !" she cried. " I hope so," he composedly replied. " I hope you do not object to it, Miss Gordon."

He seemed amused at the thought, for he was thinking of the little wilful mistress of Carnoosie of old times — of that jealous Beatrice who wanted him all for herself. Beatrice understood him but too wTell, and his tone stung her. She raised her handsome head, ancl, looking him steadily in the face, she asked — BEATRICE. " Why should I object to it, Doctor Gervoise!" Why Doctor Gervoise?— why not Gilbert? " After all, why should he not marry, poor fellow!" thought Beatrice, calming down, and, with a cheerful though not very cordial smile, she asked softly, " Who is she, Gilbert?" "A young lady whose mother I attended." " In Verville, of course. What is her name?" " Lucie Joanne." " Is she young ? — but of course she is." " About twenty, I believe." " What is she like, Gilbert?" She raised her inquiring eyes to his, and Gilbert smiled as he looked at her, and replied, " Very unlike you."

" Of course she is very pretty," said Beatrice, affecting to consider his remark as implying the fact. " Indeed, she is not — beauty is too costly for poor Doctor Gervoise ; but she is not plain either," he added, smiling. " She is well, as we say in French, ancl amiable, ancl good. Are you satis fied ?" " I am, if you are," quietly said Beatrice; " ancl of course you are — you would not have selected her if you did not love ancl admire her, nor would she have accepted you." BEATRICE. 11 "But she has not accepted me," interrupted Gilbert ; " for I could not ask her without first having my father's consent." " Then she does not know you want her !" ex claimed Beatrice. " I have spoken to her mother, and perhaps her mother has spoken to her," replied Gilbert gravely. " And you have not spoken to her ?"

" Certainly not." " Then perhaps she will not have you after all." " Perhaps, as you say, she will not — yet I think she will. She has always been gentle ancl kind with me — but then it is her nature to be so." Gilbert looked thoughtful ; but he looked neither hopeful nor despondent. Beatrice's dark eyes searched his face in vain for the tokens of a true lover's hopes and fears ; he detected her, and smiled at her with a grave smile which was peculiar to him. " You are quite right," he said, answering her thought, " this is no grande passion ; yet, for all that, I wish to be Lucie Joanne's husband, ancl I do believe she wishes to be Docteur Gervoise's wife. She is amiable, very gentle and intelligent ; she has a small income, ancl though I am not mercenary, I cannot marry a poor girl." " Why so ?" interrupted Beatrice quickly.

Gilbert hesitated. " Why so ?" she said, again ; " tell me, Gilbert." BEATRICE. "I will tell vou, Beatrice; and when I have told you, I have really told you my great secret. I do not mean to devote myself exclusively to my profession. It is a noble one, and I like it, but I must have something else — science. I wish to follow* modern discovery, and, if God give me the power, to help it, even though humbly. I cannot marry a poor girl, and be burdened with all the cares of a family. To do so would be to bid the only joy, the only ambition of my life, adieu. I have fitted up a little laboratory in my house in Verville ; and there, Beatrice, I have already spent such happy hours ! You know nothing of science — what a pity ! I am sure you would like it ! If I were to stay in Carnoosie, I would show you how to begin."

Beatrice heard him with surprise. Gilbert's blue eyes sparkled ; he looked eager and ardent. Truly he had, as he said, revealed his great secret. "And Mademoiselle Joanne?" " Well," replied Gilbert, calming down, " I am sure of her mother, and almost sure of her. I do not see why my father should object to so suitable a match, and therefore I consider the matter settled. I confess to you, Beatrice, that being a domestic man, I long to have a wife and a home, and hope to be very happy with both. I think, too, I may say that if Mademoiselle Joanne is not happy with BEATRICE. me, it shall be no fault of mine. I feel very much inclined to make her a happy woman, and where there is a will there is a way, you know." " I wish I w-ere as sure of many things as I am of her happiness," cried Beatrice, ardently ; " ancl yet I am selfish — I am sorry you are getting married, Gilbert, for you are lost to us."

Tears stood in her eyes, ancl she could scarcely speak. She resumed more calmly : " On seeing you I felt as if a long lost brother had returned, and now I have scarcely seen you when I learn that you are lost again ; for marriage, and very justly, I suppose, breaks all the old ties. You must belong to your wife, and she to you. If I could go and live near you, I would make her my friend, and then have a sister as well as a brother. I do so want a friend sometimes — but it cannot be. Dear Mr. Ray, so good, so gentle, so kind, is dead; and you appear but to depart, and I must return to the old life." " Beatrice ! — Beatrice !" he exclaimed, much moved, for her tears were flowing. " I cannot help it," she said ; " you have had a hundred things in your life, I have had but two or three ; and when, one goes, as this is going now, my heart will ache."

Gilbert was touched with Beatrice's frankness. "Beatrice — my good little Beatrice," he said, BEATRICE. taking her two hands in his, " friendship— true friendship — docs not go so, and yours is the only friendship in my life." "And Mademoiselle Joanne?" " In the first place, that is not friendship," he replied, with a half smile ; "in the second, Made moiselle Joanne is too correct a young lady to care about me until she becomes Madame Gervoise, if such is her fate." " Then it is no love match ?" " My clear little Beatrice, I cannot help it. I have not been able to fall in love, so I take a girl whom I like and esteem, and I hope to be happy with her. I know this is dreadful heresy ; but I repeat it, I cannot help it." Beatrice said, "Of course not." To say the truth, she was not over-anxious that Gilbert should be desperately in love with Mademoiselle Joanne.

It was quite bad enough that he should marry her. Her first emotion was over, ancl she looked a little Hushed still, but neither disturbed nor unhappy. " That is how men ancl women cheat their own hearts, and the hearts of their neighbours too," thought Gilbert, looking at Beatrice ; " I do not know if Beatrice thought of friendship a while ago, but surely I did not. Fancy and beauty play us strange tricks now and then ; but for Lucie Joanne, I suppose 1 should be desperately in love by this. BEATRICE. 15 or think myself so. Mighty passions are born thus, and, nursed by weak wills ancl frail hearts, they become unconquerable. Thank Heaven, Beatrice, I am free from blame with you." " Oh, dear !" said Beatrice, with a start and a frightened look. " What is it ?" asked Gilbert, surprised. "I am nervous since Mr. Ray died," replied Beatrice, recovering her self-possession, " but I am almost sure I have just heard Mr. Gervoise's voice in my mother's room."

Gilbert listened, and heard it too. They both waited silently, thinking Mr. Gervoise would appear, but he did not. When the door opened, it was Mrs. Gervoise's pale and startled face that looked in at them. " Good night, Gilbert — good night, Beatrice," she said, faintly ; " Mr. Gervoise cannot see you to-night — he is quite exhausted." Thus dismissed, Gilbert rose, and bidding his step-mother good night, withdrew. Beatrice stood irresolute for a while, then she yielded. " Good night, my poor darling," she said softly, and she sailed out of Mrs. Gervoise's sitting-room with the look of an indignant queen. " They are gone," said Mrs. Gervoise, in a low voice. Mr. Gervoise came out of her room, and, taking BEATRICE. possession of Beatrice's favourite chair, stretched his legs ancl warmed his feet at the fire.

" Have they long been alone ?" he asked. " Only a few minutes," faltered Mrs. Gervoise; " Miss Jameson's head ached, ancl she could not come and sit with them." "But they have often been alone during the last week ?" " Not very often." " Are they distant ancl cool, or familiar to gether ?" " They were great friends once, you know," said the poor lady, " and so they are familiar, but " " Mrs. Gervoise, I must entreat you to answer me plainly. You know my meaning well enough. Has any of the nonsense which often goes on be tween young people been going on between them?" "No, no," replied Mrs. Gervoise, with suspicious eagerness, " you need not fear anything of the kind, Mr. Gervoise, I would not have allowed it." Mr. Gervoise looked scornfully at his wife. " Mrs. Gervoise, you are a fool," he said.

" Indeed, Mi'. Gervoise, I did my best." " Mrs. Gervoise, you are an incorrigible fool. Do you suppose that I would have had my son BEATRICE here a week with Beatrice if I did not mean some thing by it ?" Mrs. Gervoise stared at her husband.. " You intend " she began. " Yes, Mrs. Gervoise, I do intend, and you, like an idiot as you are, instead of seconding my plans, have been thwarting them. Your daughter has refused to marry my younger son—well and good. If she does not marry the elder one, she shall never marry at all. Bear that in mind." Mrs. Gervoise was too much amazed to utter one word. " Where is Beatrice now ?" asked Mr. Ger voise. "In her room, I suppose." " Send for her — or rather — no, go and see if she is there." Mrs. Gervoise went, and came back with the tidings that Beatrice was not in her room.

" Shall I tell you where she is, Mrs. Gervoise ?" asked her husband with a triumphant smile ; " she is in the library, with my son Gilbert. I shall go and look at them," he added, rising. And though Mr. Gervoise was so far exhausted that he was unequal to the company of his son and step-daughter, his interest in their welfare was so great that he actually rose and left the warm sitting room to go out on the cool terrace. Light shone in VOL. II. ijS C BEATRICE. all the library windows, and Mr. Gervoise, drawing near one, peeped in ancl saw them. Av, they were there together, but by accident, and not by design, as he thought. Gilbert had gone down to the library to read and end his even ing, and the same purpose had drawn Beatrice there. Neither had the wisdom or the fortitude to depart on finding the other.

Mr. Gervoise watched them with a keen and scrutinizing eye, and if his eyes were no longer pleasant to look at, they were excellent for use, and served him well. He could not hear, but for that he did not care. Seeing is as good as listening in some cases. He saw this. Unconsciously Gilbert ancl Beatrice made a fair picture as they sat thus side by side, an open volume between them, her dark eyes raised to his, his calm blue glance bent on her face, rosy with a delicate flush, ancl smiling ancl happy. There was no mis taking the meaning of their looks. Hers beamed with gentle ardour, his with admiring tenderness, but the tempting serpent who looked at them little knew how innocent and holy was the feeling that bound them, though perhaps not without its perils and its shoals. Earthly in all his feelings, he was earthly in his thoughts of others.

"Ha ha, my lady, I have you now!" he thought ,as he turned away laughing at the success of his plans. BEATRICE. He was in high good-humour when he went back to Mrs. Gervoise. " Now, Mrs. Gervoise," he said to her, " I hope you have understood me rightly. Your daughter is to marry my son Gilbert, ancl you are not to talk or to interfere. Let them be together, and say no • thing. You understand?" " Quite well. But does Gilbert " " Gilbert knows nothing, but I have been Watch ing them, and he is over head and ears in love as it is. " I am afraid, Mr. Gervoise, you are mistaken," said Mrs. Gervoise, with more boldness than she usually displayed. " I should be too happy to have Beatrice married to Gilbert, but " " I tell you he must marry her, and she must marry him," interrupted Mr. Gervoise, with a cold, hard voice.

" Gilbert is an idiot if he doos not take a fine girl like Beatrice, with Carnoosie for her portion." Mrs. Gervoise would have been an idiot, indeed, if she had not understood her husband's meaning. Her health and her life were uncertain. AVith her ended his claim on Carnoosie. It was expedient to secure the prize habit had rendered doubly dear, into Mr. Gervoise's family. Antony had failed, Gilbert must succeed. Let him only marry Bea trice, and Mr. Gervoise could defy her to oust him C BEATRICE. from his splendid nest. He knew his elder son, and what chords to strike in order to win him over. Gilbert was the slave of duty, and would rather leave Carnoosie than turn out his father. Appeal to his sense of honour, and, unbending as he was, Gilbert became your slave. He must marry Bea trice, for he was safer than Antony, though harder to win.

" I know Gilbert admires Beatrice," began Mrs. Gervoise. " Precisely," interrupted Mr. Gervoise, " he admires her, as you say, and your daughter, Mrs. Gervoise, is just the girl to make a man marry her whether he likes it or not." This complimentary remark to Beatrice closed the conversation.

Chapter II

Me. Gervoise was so far recovered the next morning as to be able to see his son Gilbert. This interview was long and satisfactory, no doubt, for when Gilbert came out of his father's study his brow was open and his look was smiling. Bea trice met him in the hall, and had no trouble in reading his face. " It is all right," he said, gaily, " and I can be off next week." Beatrice's heart fell ; this was Saturday, next week meant Monday, of course. " I am glad it is all right," she said. " And so am I — I confess, Beatrice, I felt anxious. What a fine morning ! You were going to take a walk ; shall I accompany you ?" Beatrice was, indeed, attired for a walk. She was wrapped in velvet and furs, and she wore a crimson hood of most becoming fashion. " Beatrice," said Gilbert, as he took her arm, and led her out into the clear frosty morning, BEATRICE.

" you were born for wealth and fine apparel. It were a mortal sin you should ever grow poor !" Beatrice did not answer. They were going clown the steps of the terrace into the garden. She looked at the four fountains, with their icicles sparkling in the sun ; at the tall bare trees, spread ing their broad, leafless branches on the blue sky, and she thought : " Oh ! Gilbert, how little you know me, and how you wrong me ! You might as well say these fountains should ever play, and these trees be for ever green, as say that Beatrice was only meant for wealth." Unconscious of his offence, Gilbert pursued : " Now, Lucie Joanne was meant by nature for mediocrity. She is delicate and refined, and a lady ; but no one will ever take her for a Princess in disguise. And you are one, Beatrice, every inch of you !"

Comparisons are said to be odious. In vain did Gilbert's looks express the admiration he felt, in vain did he acknowledge Beatrice's superiority. His words hurt her to the quick, for affection is subtle, and will extract sweetness or poison from anything. Feeling that he was inclined to go on with his remarks, Beatrice endeavoured to give his thoughts another turn by saying : " Gilbert, I want to see Mademoiselle Joanne." BEATRICE. " Well, come to my wedding." "That would be seeing Madame Gervoise. I want to see Mademoiselle Joanne." Gilbert looked a little perplexed. " I want to see her here," continued Beatrice ; " and since your father agrees to your marriage, why should not Mademoiselle Joanne ancl her mother pay us a visit?" Gilbert remained silent, and looked embarrassed. " I have never had a friend," resumed Beatrice.

" I never had a companion, ancl I have always longed for one. I can find no friend I shall value more than the girl who is to become your wife ; but for that I must see her, ancl Mr. Gervoise will not let us stir from Carnoosie. Let her come to me, and let me know and love her ; it will be plea sant to think of you both after that acquaintance. You will be like brother and sister to me, and your children, if God gives you any, will be like nephews and nieces. I shall feel that I have kindred, and I do not feel it now." Still Gilbert was silent. Beatrice gave him a wondering look. At length he said : " Do not misunderstand me, Beatrice. What you ask for is impossible. My father, too, wanted to have Lucie and her mother here, and I have declined. I did not tell him why — I will tell you. BEATRICE.