Gentleman Verschoyle. A novel

Chapter I

" Do you think you feel well enough to drive to St. Mary's ? " I asked one morning, a few days before Maurice's departure. Hope for some time had been longing for the sight of the waves and the smell of sea weed, but hitherto the drive had been con sidered too much for her strength. How ever, I had set against the fear of catching cold the reflection that bodily illness is better than mental torment. At all events, the sea air might produce sleep, and Pym had told me that the child had tossed from one side to another all the night. Yet in the morning she met me with a steady, composed face, and, in spite of the dark VOL. II. B circles around her eyes, and the tremulous quiver of her lip, assured me that she had slept " quite well, thank you," and then she had asked some question about the work she had undertaken to finish ; some of the pile of charity work I have on hand, which, like the oil in the widow's cruse, never seems to di minish !

So the steady eyes looked clearly into mine, and the pale young lips opened to answer calmly that she felt " quite strong enough " for the drive, and that she " would enjoy it very much, thank you, Miss Dora." It was a crisp lovely morning when we started in the pony-carriage. I drove, and Hope sat by my side. The air was full of rich summer scents. A clear blue vapour rested on the distant hills, and glozed the sharply-defined contour with a dim softening veil. "We drove at a rattling pace through the village, across the breezy common, and past the turning to the Hall Farm, where I observed that Hope gave a slight, sudden shiver, and then along the level turnpike road for some miles, till we reached the foot of St. Mary's Hill. A quick drive in the early morn ing is very invigorating ; the healthful breeze — not the north-east blast, whose praises only Mr. Kingsley can be found to sing1 — but the soft western wind, blew freshly in our faces.

Dewdrops glistened in the hedges, a soft, autumnal mist uprose from the fields, and crept in vapoury wreaths towards the sky. As we slackened our pace to ascend the hill, we noticed the grey mist gradually mounting from the plains had crept and overlaid the hill-tops, and by the time we reached St. Mary's the sky was covered with grey, darkening clouds. As we drove through the narrow, irregular street of the little fishing village the children came out to stare at us. One or two women were looking anxiously towards the sky. The men had all gone out to sea. Only a few old grandfathers remained behind, who were mending the nets ; and the lives of the husbands, as well as the morrow's dinner, depended on the clouds. We drove to 1 Need I say that this was written before that honoured name had become only a memory ?

B GENTLEMAN VERSCHOYLE. the little coastguard station perched on the highest eminence of the cliff, and then Hope and I got out of the carriage and walked to the edge of the rock, to look down on the black, angry-looking sea that was swelling and muttering below. A flock of sea-gulls hovered on the brink of the water. One or two men were hastily drawing up -the empty boats and lashing them to a place of security. Already the black, turbulent waves were creeping over the tiny ripples which the smiling water had carved on the " ribbed sea sand " as it ebbed gently away. Oh, treacherous sea, who can trust you from hour to hour ? Look on the smiling expanse of blue placid water. Trust yourself on its bosom without a fear. Forget, if you can, that only last night the cruel monster engulfed the lives of noble English sailors.

"Widows are weeping in wild despair; children, whose parents lie buried beneath those treacherous waves, are huddled together, speechless with terror; yet the waves laugh as they dash sportively on the white, shining sand, and their musical murmurings do not echo the shrieks of drowning men. There, serenely blue, out stretches the unsympathizing ocean. Nature, that echoes so sweetly the music of our happier hours, seems only to mock our misery by the display of its stern inflexibility. Something of this was Hope's feeling as she looked down on the desolate strand below. As far as eye could reach, stretched a dreary expanse of grey sand, broken by a few small fissures, through which the water oozed clammily out to sea. The sky reflected the same gloomy tint. The prevailing shade throughout nature at that moment was sombre and dark.

Then suddenly, as we were standing there, the whole scene was trans formed as if by magic. There came a rift in the clouds. The heavy, grey curtain rolled away, and through the opening gleamed forth the most wonderful pale-green light I ever saw. In a moment the dull landscape was transfigured. The sluggish water and the pale sand glowed with the reflection of this mysterious hue. It seemed as if the very essence of nature's verdant colouring had fallen direct from heaven upon the shore. GENTLEMAN VERSCHOYLE. The coastguardsman made his appearance, touching his hat. " Beg pardon, ladies," he said civilly, " but if you've far to go, you had better start at once. There will be a storm in less than an hour's time. See that white track on the water, it is always a token of foul weather." I thanked the man and turned to Hope.

She was standing looking lovingly on the turbulent sea, and on the black clouds gather ing ominously on the horizon. The sight of the elements at war, and the wild roar of the waves as they came dashing against the headland, seemed to harmonize with her own restless feelings. " Let us stay and see the storm burst," she pleaded. " It will be a grand sight! " " No, my dear, nonsense ! " was my practical reply, as my eye mourned the absence of umbrellas and waterproofs. "We must start at once, and drive as fast as we can — the man is right." His prophecy was verified sooner than we had anticipated. Before we were half way down the hill heavy rain-drops began to fall and a driving mist hid the landscape from our eyes. Through the gloom a horseman could be seen struggling along with the wind in his teeth.

" It is Mr. Verschoyle," Hope remarked quietly. " Nonsense, child," I said irritably, " what should bring him in this direction." But before the words were well out of my mouth the horseman had flung himself from his saddle, and Maurice, his dark face glow ing from the effects of his recent battle with the tempest, stood before me with a pile of cloaks on his arm. There was no time for questioning. Maurice had wrapped us both in warm shawls, and tucked us up in water proofs before we had time to say a word. " Which way did you come, Aunt Dora ?" " Along the high road." " There is a shorter way than that. You must drive across the common and up Furze Hill. I will show you the way." Maurice rode on, and I followed him as well as I could ; but the storm had burst on us in good earnest. The pitiless rain beat on our heads, and in the eyes of the good, patient pony, who trotted as fast as he could along the rough, clayey roads, that were rapidly being converted into rivers.

Out on the common the wind blew with such force that I almost thought the carriage would have been overturned. I could hardly hear the directions Maurice shouted to me, and the driving rain, beating on my face, blinded me completely. We stumbled along through the thickly clustered gorse, following a sheep track whenever we could, and trusting a good deal to the surefootedness of the pony, till we reached the road at the foot of Furze Hill. Maurice came quickly to Hope's side. " Are you cold, Miss Hope ?" " A little." " Aunt Dora, do you think you could stop a moment ? It is not raining so hard just now. I want to give your fellow-traveller a glass of wine, and you will want some, too, after your plucky driving across the common." Hope's pale lips reddened a little after she had swallowed some of the contents of GENTLEMAN VEKSCHOYLE.

Maurice's flask. Then we moved on again, slowly this time, for the rain had stopped, and, as we were going up hill, the poor pony was sorely out of breath. Never shall I forget the wonderful sight that awaited us at the summit of the hill. We could see at first nothing around us but a billowy expanse of grey, misty clouds ; but, as we slowly descended the hill, the clouds seemed to roll away like a scroll, wrap ping themselves around and around into some invisible distance, and from behind glowed the glorious brightness of the mid day sun, illuminating the plain beneath our feet with tender, changeful lights that quivered on the shining leaves, and lighted up with diamond brightness the thou sand little streamlets created by the sudden outpouring of Nature's reservoirs. Then across this landscape of dewy, silvery glitter, of tremulous shadow, and sweet dawning lights flitting across the leafy branches, and resting gloriously on the hill-tops — there arose a magnificent arch, which spanned our view from east to west, and gathered in its mighty framework the whole compass of the picture.

There, stretching grandly across the heavens, glowed this mystic arch, in colours of crimson, orange, and purple harmoniously blended, and lost in each other's hues. Maurice, whose sense of communion with nature — or rather with God, Who is the Spirit of nature — was very powerful, involuntarily bared his head, as I had seen him do once before in the solemn recesses of a pine forest. " Only The Architect of the Universe could span that arch," he said, half to himself, but looking at Hope — feeling, I think, for the moment, that the greatnesses of nature and of nature's God make our poor, struggling attempts at personal happiness to be very selfish and weak. And Hope ? Did nature's glorious panorama raise her thoughts to God, Who stands revealed in His mighty works ? I fear not. She was glad of the sunshine because it shone on Maurice's face, which the storm had hidden from her !

A young girl's lover — is he not often her image of the Divine ? As in the days of Paradise, while Adam lived for God only, but Eve for God in him, so now, the lover and husband, — who has fallen from his high estate and can no longer be the priest and interpreter of his Maker, — is often burdened with the love and trust which ought first to be given to God, in Whom we live, and move, and have our being. And yet, as I looked on Hope's face and marked the tender sweetness that hung about the curves of her patient mouth and worn cheek, I could not but feel that God was graciously using this precious human love to nourish and expand her whole nature. And gradually from that fond earthly image might she not turn to an emotion higher still ? Might she not through " loving the brother whom she had seen," learn to love God Whom she had not seen ?

Maurice had dismounted from his horse and was standing in the portico waiting to help us to alight, when the weary pony had brought us at last to our journey's end. Maurice almost lifted Hope out of the carriage. " I am afraid you are very weary," he said. There was infinite tenderness in his voice and look. " Let me help you upstairs." " Thank you. Pym is here," Hope said, turning from him, and slipping her hand through my faithful maid's arm. Maurice, with a cloud on his brow, helped me out of the carriage. " Thank you, my dear boy," I said. " What for, Aunt Dora ?" " For taking care of us. What shall we do when you are gone ?" " What indeed ! I wish to heavens I was not going at all !" I knew why quite well — perhaps better than he knew himself, but I prudently forbore making any rejoinder, and went off to see after Hope.

She was sitting in her room, before a blazing fire that Pym had thought fully ordered. Her wet things had been carried off, and Hope, wrapped in a big shawl, was as comfortable as kindness could make her, but, with her face buried in her hands, she was sobbing violently. " Drink this, do, there's a dear ! " said Pym, arriving at this moment with a tumbler full of hot wine and water, " and off to bed you'll go this minute. Miss Dora, whatever could make you do such a hair-brained thing?" (Pym presumes a little on her long service.) " She's quite overdone, poor thing ! it's all the fatigue and the cold." I thought I knew of another cause, besides fatigue and cold. But I said nothing ; I only kissed the child's quivering lip, and gave myself up meekly to Pym's control.

Chapter II

I fear I must own to a selfish sense of relief when I found that a slight cold, the result of our unwise expedition to St. Mary's, caused Hope to remain a prisoner in her room for two days. But on the third day she was better, and able to return to her usual occu pations, so my spirits sank again ! I really did wish that Pym had been less anxious to drag her out of her room. Hope would have stayed there willingly enough, till after Maurice's departure, and so the fatal danger of " last words " would have been avoided. But there was Hope amongst us again, and looking none the worse for her wetting, whilst Maurice's face, his manner, even the accents of his voice revealed plainly enough that his case was a hopeless one ! But my sister was blind — blind; she could not see. In my despair I appealed to Mr. Vernon.

" Could he say anything ? Warn Maurice of his danger ; set the matter before him in a proper light?" But Mr. Vernon, looking over my head, and speaking shortly and coldly, said, " It was quite impossible. He had no right to interfere, neither would he if he could." So my last mainstay was taken from me. However, I consoled myself with the reflection that in five days Maurice would leave us, and in the meantime I resolved that it should be by no fault of mine if the two young people were left alone together for a single minute. I had no difficulty with Hope ; but Maurice — well, I must confess that ever since he was a baby he has always managed to have his own way, however much we women might try to thwart him. The morning of Maurice's departure at length arrived ; Agatha presided at the break fast-table with something of the old nervous fussiness that had characterized her on the days of Maurice's departure for school.

She could do nothing. A letter of introduction she had begun the evening before lay open on her writing-desk, but her fingers refused to hold the pen. " Do address this letter for me, Dora," she said, " whilst I give Maurice his breakfast." " I have finished, mother, thank you," was Maurice's reply, as he rose from the table and left the room. I was in an agony. There was Maurice flying up the staircase to Hope, whilst Agatha fumbled for her address-book, and turned over the pages with nervous, trembling hands. " Just copy my letter, Dora, you can do it in ten minutes. It is almost illegible," she said. " Let me go, Agatha," I said imploringly. " I want to speak to Hope." " Do let Hope alone," Agatha replied pettishly. " How disobliging you are, Dora, you might see how nervous and upset I am this morning, and help me a little."

There I sat tied to the desk, writing with hands as hot and trembling as Agatha's, and listening to Maurice's footstep passing along the gallery and pausing at the door of Hope's room. " Come in," Hope said in a steady voice, rising to greet her visitor with rather a forced smile on her lips. " How fortunate you are in the weather for your journey ! " This is what Hope said. Maurice, as he stood on the threshold of the door, looked down on the girl standing before him in her plain black dress, her thin hands folded together, her tall, slight figure erect and composed, her eyes raised steadily and calmly to his face. " I have come to say good-bye," Maurice said. " The carriage is at the door. Have you any commissions for me ?" " None, thank you," Hope replied in her quiet voice ; " I hope you will enjoy your trip.

Good-bye, Mr. Maurice." How composed the voice was ! How icy cold the hand that Maurice clasped in his ! " Hope," Maurice said softly. That was all ! Some sudden light, revelation, belief, seemed to flash upon his soul. All the love that had swelled so long in his heart, all the tenderness that had looked unconsciously from his eyes, and trembled on his lips, and throbbed in the tones of his voice whenever VOL. II. o he addressed Hope ; all this seemed to gather itself in one mighty torrent overleaping all possibility of prudent self-restraint, of worldly consideration or of filial deference. Had Hope been a beggar-maid and he " King Cophetua " the words that rose to his lips would have forced their utterance just the same. For, standing there, with the girl's cold hand in his, looking down on the face that was not beautiful or possessed of any peculiar fascination, Maurice saw revealed to him the face of his Love !

Yes, there she stood before him, neither so lovely, nor so charming, or so good as other women he had met, and yet no woman had ever so stirred his heart before. In her presence he felt the language of his soul was understood. Her voice, her look, her simplest action, had the power to penetrate quietly but surely into the recesses of his inmost heart. With a feeling of intense thankfulness — how he did it Maurice never knew — he folded the girl in his arms, and stood there quite still, feeling down in the very depths of his heart that at length the long weary aching was mercifully stilled — at length the twin-spirit for whose advent he had unconsciously craved so long, had fluttered into his heart and lay there with folded wings, pervading his whole being with a sense of infinite rest and peace.

All his world was centred in the slight form he circled with his arms. A sense of wonderful blessedness filled his heart. Like a drowning man, he clung to the frail spar God had flung on the wild, tossing ocean of his restless manhood, to be an abiding anchorage. And Hope ? All her prudent reserve had vanished — she lay passively in Maurice's arms, feeling like some weary little bird that had at length found its nest. Great, heavy tears rolled sweetly from her thankful eyes. Yet she had not said one word. What need of words ? The spirits had recognized each other. In that moment of exquisite silence the soul-marriage was perfected. There had been no premeditation on Maurice's part. He had never paused to analyze his feelings, he had never sat looking into the recesses of his heart and saying, "This, then, is Love !

" He knew that Hope was very dear to him, he knew that her voice, her step, c her look, fell on his mind with a sense of delicious harmony. But he never stopped to reflect and to ask himself, "Whither does this tend ? Is this the forerunner of marriage ? " Even now he did not think of marriage. He rested in the heartfelt joy of the spirit union. The knowledge that he should be separated from Hope the next moment for ever, would hardly have dimmed his joy, or hushed the music that was pealing, thrilling within his soul. The soft melody of Hope's womanly existence harmonized in tones of heavenly sweetness with the full, deep chords of his sterner manhood. He wunted nothing else, nothing but this sense of intimate union and blessed rest. Hope was the first to stir. The harder grooves of her former life had early fostered in her mind the power of prac tical reflection.

Thoughts of the future, of Mrs. Verschoyle's displeasure, of her uncle's anger filled her mind. She raised her face and looked at Maurice with affrighted eyes. But Maurice only smiled on her. No sub lunary consideration could ruffle the delicious flow of his new happiness. The glow of sweet life on the hill-tops touched all sur rounding objects with tender hues of solemn glory. All the future glowed in colours of light and love. " My Hope," he said, holding the girl's hands firmly against his heart, " tell me, have I been too bold ? We are both very happy, are we not, dearest ? " Hope's eyes filled with the light of her great, solemn joy, gleamed out like stars in the pale evening sky of her colourless face. Tender lights flitted across her brow. Soft curves of tremulous sweetness played about her mouth.

" You love me, Hope?" Maurice said, drawing her nearer to him. " Say that you love me. I want to hear it from your lips." With a look of perfect child-like trust and happiness, Hope turned her candid eyes to his. " Monsieur Maurice, I do ! " she said softly. That was all. Looking back to those transient moments of ecstasy that gleam across the dullest life, are we helped in our spirit-picturing by the recollection of the words which then fell from our lips? Do they not need translation ere they can interpret the lan guage of the soul ? Very commonplace utter ances may ring out, to the fond, faithful ear of memory, tones of exquisitely melodious happiness, and may conjure up the sweet vision of love's dawn. Who can interpret the mysterious under-current of life's great ocean which flows beneath the waves of passion, the moans of despair, the throbs of unspeakable happiness ?

The heart knoweth its own joy as well as its bitterness. In every life there are moments when the soul is palpi tating with the mysterious strength of its individual existence, when through the heavy folds of sense the spirit seems to leap into being, and overstep the trammels of the flesh. The immortal, the eternal, the invisi ble, rises before our eyes. What can the lips say ? What words can frame the exuberant glow of life within ? So, although the young lovers said but little, " Eternity was in their lips and eyes." The sense of the conquering, immortal power of love awed them to silence. Hope's little word " I do " had set the seal to their pure contentment. "You love me now, Hope," Maurice said at last, " but I, although I hardly knew it, I loved you the first moment I saw you in the field, my pale golden lily.

From that mo ment, Hope, a new life dawned for me ; the creation of a fairer world. In loving you, Hope, it seems to me that I love all the world better." Ominous sounds of moving luggage, and hurryings to and fro in the hall below, warned Maurice that his time was short, and recalled him to the exigencies of the present. " I am leaving you, Hope," he said, " but only for a few weeks. I must go, but my stay shall be very short. I have no time now to speak to my mother. When I return all the world must know the happiness we have found. God bless you, my darling ! " In the exquisite happiness of the sweet sorrow of parting the lovers were lost to all sense of sight and sound. Even when Mau rice, with an effort, tore himself from Hope's side and rushed out into the gallery, the sight of his mother standing mute and motionless outside the door did not strike him with any particular meaning.

Neither did he notice how passively she received the embrace she had been wont to return with all the passionate fervour of maternal love. A hasty kiss, and promise to write soon — and — Maurice was gone ! Gone from Agatha, lost to her ! What cared he for his mother's cold embrace? Was not his heart throbbing, his brain swim ming, his pulse leaping, with fond, delirious joy ? Had not the sweet, maddening cup he had just quaffed utterly drowned the calmer memory of childish loves ? The clasp of Hope's hand, the light of her fond eyes, the ringing music of her loving voice were all present to him as he hastily kissed his mother, and sped down the stairs to bid me a hurried farewell, and then — with a nod to the servants assembled to say good-bye to the young master — he was gone. Very soon his home was far behind him.

His home — why, was not his home in his heart ? Did he not carry there sacredly enshrined the love that already sweetened and gladdened his existence ? So, feeding on and exulting in this new rapture, Maurice sped farther and farther from his old home — and, oh ! that my pen should write it, not a thought of the mother to whom he owed his existence, crossed his mind ! Her untiring devotion during his infancy, her teachings, rompings, caressings, fondlings — her pride in his dawning manhood, her fond schemes for a happy future — all, all were forgotten, obscured by the vision of his love, the creation of a few weeks ! Yet, can we blame him ? Is it not God's own law which causes husband and wife to leave father and mother, and friends, old childish memories, and intimate family joys, to gather around them fresh interests and dearer ties ?

For love is ever creative. Love, true love, which is based on the higher principle of love to God, cannot be a selfish emotion. Out of the tender depths of married happiness upspring the parental joys which gather so lovingly around childish existences. Then, from the sweet contentment of family union, must grow, if the source be pure and true, tender influences outspreading in acts of mercy, charity, and helpfulness towards the whole family of God— of God, Who has implanted in our hearts the pure principle of love, to cleanse us from the unhallowed fires of earthly passion, and to give us even now a foretaste of the joys of heaven. Husbands and wives gain by their mutual affection a fresh power of sympathy which extends the waves of its blessed influence over the broad ocean of humanity. Fathers and mothers, as they watch the tender buds blossoming about their own hearth, feel their hearts expand in ever widening impulses of charity towards all " Christ's little ones."

To every lover, every husband in Christendom, God points to the Bridegroom on Calvary. " Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ loved the Church." The individual love of each household is brought under the power of Christ. Every home is laid under the obligation of framing its conduct on the model of Christ's relations to His Church. Oh, to what heights of self sacrifice and mutual love might we not reach by realizing the power of this mystic parallel ! Every Christian virtue would spring from and blossom around the pure homes knit together in the bonds of holy love. The germ of this blessed happiness had struck its roots deeply in Maurice's breast, and had created a vision of exquisite beauty, which, for the moment, veiled from his eyes both the present and the past.

Chapter III

Maurice sat looking out on the flat Hamp shire scenery with very abstracted eyes as the train whirled him away to Southampton. He was rehearsing silently all the glad memories of the morning ; holding Hope again in his arms, listening to her low, tremulous voice, seeing the light in her candid eyes. Quite a brightness came into his own face as the scene arose before him. An old lady who sat opposite glanced at him somewhat apprehensively. Visions of escaped lunatics flitted across her brain. She looked for comfort to the other end of the carriage, and measured the breadth of limb of its male occupant with considerable satisfaction. He would be a valuable ally in case of a sudden outbreak on Maurice's part. Maurice too occasionally glanced in the same direction, and watched the movements of the two people, evidently bride and bridegroom, with considerable interest.

It was instructive to see how gladly the man took refuge in the Times and the lady in a novel when the train had started. A tete-a-tete of a month's dura tion must be rather wearisome when there is not any great similarity of tastes and thought. One cannot live for ever on love-making. Even sweet speeches pall after a time. One can have a surfeit of sugar-plums very easily. I wonder if people ever confess to a sense of weariness stealing over them during the unoccupied hours of their honeymoon ? Maurice could not help pitying the young couple. The glory of happiness that flooded his own life made him strangely regretful for those other people who knew nothing of the tender sweetness of the face upraised to his a few hours ago, and of the music of the voice still ringing in his ears. Faint chimes of celestial melody stirred the soul of the young man as the echo of Hope's words thrilled it with solemn gladness.