Beyond the light quiver and flap of the flames nothing moved or was audible therein.
She turned the handle and entered,throwing off the cloak which enveloped her,under which she appeared without hat or bonnet,and in the sort of half-toilette country people ordinarily dine in.
Then advancing to the foot of the staircase she called distinctly,but somewhat fearfully,Mrs.Jethway!
No answer.
With a look of relief and regret combined,denoting that ease came to the heart and disappointment to the brain,Elfride paused for several minutes,as if undecided how to act.Determining to wait,she sat down on a chair.The minutes drew on,and after sitting on the thorns of impatience for half an hour,she searched her pocket,took therefrom a letter,and tore off the blank leaf.
Then taking out a pencil she wrote upon the paper:
DEAR MRS.JETHWAY,--I have been to visit you.I wanted much to see you,but I cannot wait any longer.I came to beg you not to execute the threats you have repeated to me.Do not,I beseech you,Mrs.Jethway,let any one know I ran away from home!It would ruin me with him,and break my heart.I will do anything for you,if you will be kind to me.In the name of our common womanhood,do not,I implore you,make a scandal of me.--Yours,E.
SWANCOURT.
She folded the note cornerwise,directed it,and placed it on the table.Then again drawing the hood over her curly head she emerged silently as she had come.
Whilst this episode had been in action at Mrs.Jethways cottage,Knight had gone from the dining-room into the drawing-room,and found Mrs.Swancourt there alone.
Elfride has vanished upstairs or somewhere,she said.
And I have been reading an article in an old number of the PRESENT that I lighted on by chance a short time ago;it is an article you once told us was yours.Well,Harry,with due deference to your literary powers,allow me to say that this effusion is all nonsense,in my opinion.
What is it about?said Knight,taking up the paper and reading.
There:dont get red about it.Own that experience has taught you to be more charitable.I have never read such unchivalrous sentiments in my life--from a man,I mean.There,I forgive you;
it was before you knew Elfride.
Oh yes,said Knight,looking up.I remember now.The text of that sermon was not my own at all,but was suggested to me by a young man named Smith--the same whom I have mentioned to you as coming from this parish.I thought the idea rather ingenious at the time,and enlarged it to the weight of a few guineas,because I had nothing else in my head.
Which idea do you call the text?I am curious to know that.
Well,this,said Knight,somewhat unwillingly.That experience teaches,and your sweetheart,no less than your tailor,is necessarily very imperfect in her duties,if you are her first patron:and conversely,the sweetheart who is graceful under the initial kiss must be supposed to have had some practice in the trade.
And do you mean to say that you wrote that upon the strength of another mans remark,without having tested it by practice?
Yes--indeed I do.
Then I think it was uncalled for and unfair.And how do you know it is true?I expect you regret it now.
Since you bring me into a serious mood,I will speak candidly.I do believe that remark to be perfectly true,and,having written it,I would defend it anywhere.But I do often regret having ever written it,as well as others of the sort.I have grown older since,and I find such a tone of writing is calculated to do harm in the world.Every literary Jack becomes a gentleman if he can only pen a few indifferent satires upon womankind:women themselves,too,have taken to the trick;and so,upon the whole,I begin to be rather ashamed of my companions.
Ah,Henry,you have fallen in love since and it makes a difference,said Mrs.Swancourt with a faint tone of banter.
Thats true;but that is not my reason.
