I lull a fancy,trouble-tost.
Miss Swancourt,it is eleven oclock.
She was looking out of her dressing-room window on the first floor,and Knight was regarding her from the terrace balustrade,upon which he had been idly sitting for some time--dividing the glances of his eye between the pages of a book in his hand,the brilliant hues of the geraniums and calceolarias,and the open window above-mentioned.
Yes,it is,I know.I am coming.
He drew closer,and under the window.
How are you this morning,Elfride?You look no better for your long nights rest.
She appeared at the door shortly after,took his offered arm,and together they walked slowly down the gravel path leading to the river and away under the trees.
Her resolution,sustained during the last fifteen hours,had been to tell the whole truth,and now the moment had come.
Step by step they advanced,and still she did not speak.They were nearly at the end of the walk,when Knight broke the silence.
Well,what is the confession,Elfride?
She paused a moment,drew a long breath;and this is what she said:
I told you one day--or rather I gave you to understand--what was not true.I fancy you thought me to mean I was nineteen my next birthday,but it was my last I was nineteen.
The moment had been too much for her.Now that the crisis had come,no qualms of conscience,no love of honesty,no yearning to make a confidence and obtain forgiveness with a kiss,could string Elfride up to the venture.Her dread lest he should be unforgiving was heightened by the thought of yesterdays artifice,which might possibly add disgust to his disappointment.The certainty of one more days affection,which she gained by silence,outvalued the hope of a perpetuity combined with the risk of all.
The trepidation caused by these thoughts on what she had intended to say shook so naturally the words she did say,that Knight never for a moment suspected them to be a last moments substitution.
He smiled and pressed her hand warmly.
My dear Elfie--yes,you are now--no protestation--what a winning little woman you are,to be so absurdly scrupulous about a mere iota!Really,I never once have thought whether your nineteenth year was the last or the present.And,by George,well I may not;for it would never do for a staid fogey a dozen years older to stand upon such a trifle as that.
Dont praise me--dont praise me!Though I prize it from your lips,I dont deserve it now.
But Knight,being in an exceptionally genial mood,merely saw this distressful exclamation as modesty.Well,he added,after a minute,I like you all the better,you know,for such moral precision,although I called it absurd.He went on with tender earnestness:For,Elfride,there is one thing I do love to see in a woman--that is,a soul truthful and clear as heavens light.I could put up with anything if I had that--forgive nothing if I had it not.Elfride,you have such a soul,if ever woman had;and having it,retain it,and dont ever listen to the fashionable theories of the day about a womans privileges and natural right to practise wiles.Depend upon it,my dear girl,that a noble woman must be as honest as a noble man.I specially mean by honesty,fairness not only in matters of business and social detail,but in all the delicate dealings of love,to which the licence given to your *** particularly refers.
Elfride looked troublously at the trees.
Now let us go on to the river,Elfie.
I would if I had a hat on,she said with a sort of suppressed woe.
I will get it for you,said Knight,very willing to purchase her companionship at so cheap a price.You sit down there a minute.
And he turned and walked rapidly back to the house for the article in question.
Elfride sat down upon one of the rustic benches which adorned this portion of the grounds,and remained with her eyes upon the grass.
She was induced to lift them by hearing the brush of light and irregular footsteps hard by.Passing along the path which intersected the one she was in and traversed the outer shrubberies,Elfride beheld the farmers widow,Mrs.Jethway.
Before she noticed Elfride,she paused to look at the house,portions of which were visible through the bushes.Elfride,shrinking back,hoped the unpleasant woman might go on without seeing her.But Mrs.Jethway,silently apostrophizing the house,with actions which seemed dictated by a half-overturned reason,had discerned the girl,and immediately came up and stood in front of her.
Ah,Miss Swancourt!Why did you disturb me?Mustnt I trespass here?
You may walk here if you like,Mrs.Jethway.I do not disturb you.
You disturb my mind,and my mind is my whole life;for my boy is there still,and he is gone from my body.
Yes,poor young man.I was sorry when he died.
Do you know what he died of?
Consumption.
Oh no,no!said the widow.That word "consumption"covers a good deal.He died because you were his own well-agreed sweetheart,and then proved false--and it killed him.Yes,Miss Swancourt,she said in an excited whisper,you killed my son!
How can you be so wicked and foolish!replied Elfride,rising indignantly.But indignation was not natural to her,and having been so worn and harrowed by late events,she lost any powers of defence that mood might have lent her.I could not help his loving me,Mrs.Jethway!
Thats just what you could have helped.You know how it began,Miss Elfride.Yes:you said you liked the name of Felix better than any other name in the parish,and you knew it was his name,and that those you said it to would report it to him.
I knew it was his name--of course I did;but I am sure,Mrs.
Jethway,I did not intend anybody to tell him.
But you knew they would.
No,I didnt.
And then,after that,when you were riding on Revels-day by our house,and the lads were gathered there,and you wanted to dismount,when Jim Drake and George Upway and three or four more ran forward to hold your pony,and Felix stood back timid,why did you beckon to him,and say you would rather he held it?
