Miles Tremenhere Volume I Part 3

Skaife's face; "one whose guidance has led you to better and surer hopes than those you had relied upon. Think of this, and be comforted. You will soon leave this, and meanwhile you shall not quit this cottage; _I_ will ask Mr. Burton to permit you to remain; surely his steward acts without his concurrence, and when he knows this man's order, he will----"

"He!" cried Mary; "he, Mar----, Mr. Burton, I mean!"

"Pray, Miss Dalzell," exclaimed Mr. Skaife hastily, "drop this painful subject--oblige me; leave all to me; and if I may without rudeness ask it, abridge your visit to-day. I will see you this evening, and inform you where this poor girl is removed to, for leave this she must."

"Then I will go now," answered Minnie, moving towards the door. "May I----"

Before she could conclude her sentence, the cottage door was hastily pushed open, and a man entered. Mary uttered a wild scream of surprise, and, springing forward, grasped his hand in both of hers. "Miles," she cried, as if doubting her sense of vision. "Miles, you, you here!--forgive me," she uttered, dropping his hand, as if it blistered hers in the contact, and, stepping back, "I forget myself always _now_, Mr. Tremenhere. Oh, Heavens!" And she covered her face with her hands, and burst into tears.

"Miles--Miles still and ever--dear Mary!" exclaimed the man, putting his arms around her fondly, and drawing her on his breast, quite unconscious of, or indifferent to all observers. "Still, my girl, as when a better than any now on earth sanctioned it." And his voice trembled, yet it was a fine manly one too, and in keeping with the speaker's appearance. He was tall, very tall, muscular in frame, but slight, dark-haired, with dark earnest eyes; a rather projecting but perfect brow gave more depth to them--it was shade above their intense fire; an aquiline nose of chiselled outline, a mouth compressed and firm; all combined, made Miles Tremenhere a portrait worthy the pencil of the most scrupulous of the old masters. He was quite Spanish in style; for a complexion dark and bronzed, gave colouring to that face of wild, half-savage beauty, from its daring, haughty expression. A thick, dark moustache curled down either side of the mouth, veiling, but not concealing, the line of its speaking firmness, even in silence. He appeared quite unconscious of the presence of any one but Mary, like a man accustomed to be alone and friendless in a crowd. Minnie looked at him, in wonder at first at a manly beauty she might have dreamed of, but never saw before; then a sensation of bitter pain came over her, succeeded by the glow of maiden shame when first brought in contact with guilt; for she fancied Mary's seducer before her, and she felt shame for one of her s.e.x who could thus daringly avow it, as Mary's action seemed to do; she made an effort to creep away, then turning her eyes towards Mr. Skaife, expecting to see reprehension or anger on his countenance, she beheld a quiet, benevolent smile cross his expressive, but not handsome, face. She stopped, feeling in an instant that Mr. Tremenhere could not be the one who had wronged the girl, for him to look thus. "Mary," continued Miles, still holding her in his arms. "What dreadful thing is this I hear? I only arrived in this neighbourhood yesterday night, and Weld, my ever true friend, told me, to my horror, that you had been rescued from death by some one.

What, Mary, has your fine spirit become so daunted, that a little poverty could grind it down to despair? Shame on you, my girl! You told me, when things changed at the old place, that poverty should not quell _you_; you bade me cheer up, and look to you for courage. Is this your practice of that excellent theory, Mary?"

While he was speaking, her head gradually turned from his gaze; in vain he tried to force her eyes to meet his; she held her face downwards, and, shrinking from his arms, dropped on her knees, bowed to earth in bitterness, worse than any death could have been; she had yet to teach this n.o.ble heart to despise her. What could death be compared with that?

He tried to raise her. "Come," he said with the gentleness of a woman, "I did not mean to scold you; never be cast down with a few rough words from a rough fellow like myself."

A hand was on his arm; he started, so forgetful had he become of all around, seeing only her, for her poor old mother sat in an arm-chair, perfectly unconscious to all around in hearing, and stone blind--Miles turned hastily--the smile had changed to a frown. "Mr. Tremenhere," said Skaife, for 'twas his touch upon him, "do not let me startle or alarm you," he hurriedly added, feeling the start.

"Sir!" exclaimed the other proudly, "I neither know fear nor timidity,"

and he shook his arm free from the clasp.

"You mistake me," answered Skaife calmly; "though a stranger to you, from report I well know, that, but--" he hesitated a moment in confusion, not well knowing how to continue.

The poor girl came to his aid, rising slowly, whilst her knees trembled beneath her from emotion. She advanced a step; her first impulse of rus.h.i.+ng into Miles's arms was pa.s.sed, and now she durst not touch even his hand, but stood, and with a wave of her hand motioned to Skaife.

"Miles," she said, "that is our curate, good, kind Mr. Skaife. But for him, my poor mother would now have been childless, and probably in the workhouse--_he_ rescued me!" At the thought of her old mother, paralyzed, deaf, and blind, in that spectre-house of misery, the tears dropped from her eyes, which were strained wide open, to try and see through that crowding flood of despair.

"I seldom offer my hand," exclaimed Tremenhere, at the same time extending his towards Skaife, "it has been so often repulsed; but take it now in warm thanks for what you have done for one, almost a sister."

All coldness and pride were banished from that fine n.o.ble face; his every feature lit up with the rich, bland smile, which left you almost speechless with admiration, so exalted the expression became. Two worthy of each other in heart and mind clasped hands warmly, and looking in Skaife's face, Miles, whose wrongs had made him a keen observer of countenance, ever dreading an enemy, with his hand gave a feeling of friends.h.i.+p which time well matured.

"Now, I remember," he added, "Weld spoke of your kindness; but my brain was so bewildered I had forgotten it, and other harsh events to deal with, prevented my coming over here last night, as I was a.s.sured of Mary's safety by my good farmer friend where I am staying."

"And now," said Skaife looking expressively at him, "will you accompany me a short distance, merely across a couple of fields, whilst I offer my protection as far as her own grounds, to Miss Dalzell." And he turned to where Minnie stood, almost concealed by the curtains of the humble bed.

"Miss Dalzell!" exclaimed Tremenhere; and again the first haughty expression mantled his face with scorn. "Allow me to use the privilege of my calling," said Skaife, "and take upon me what, as another, I might not dare a.s.sume--the liberty of presenting you to one another,--Miss Dalzell, Mr. Tremenhere."

The latter raised his hat coldly, but respectfully, yet he seemed annoyed at the meeting.

"Honour Miss Dalzell, for _my_ sake," whispered poor Mary, well knowing why he looked so troubled; "for she has come here day after day, as an angel, to visit a suffering creature, and bring balm to a wretched sinner." The last word was unheard by Miles; he stood beside Minnie, whose face was covered by a deep blush.

"This," he said, "has been a day of much surprise, if of sorrow too; I came, expecting every hand and heart against me--every hand cold, every heart stone; I have met two generous ones, or faces are sad traitors.

Forgive me, Miss Dalzell, but in your home, the bitterest against me, the almost dwelling-place of Marmaduke Burton, my _worthy_ cousin, I scarcely expected to find a bosom with human blood in it; a thousand, and a thousand thanks for Mary's sake."

"Mr. Tremenhere has been intimate with my thoughts for some time,"

answered Minnie more calmly, "and believe me as friend, not foe."

"Indeed!" and a bright glowing look was fixed in her face, "I never dreamed of a personal friend at Gatestone, even in thought. This is truly the prodigal's welcome home! May I accompany you and Mr. Skaife across the two fields he named? I know them well! I may? Thank you; Mary!"--He turned to the poor girl, and his face saddened as he approached her, for she was weeping bitterly; the very floor seemed to tremble with her emotion, as Skaife whispered lowly to her--"Mary, I will return soon--soon, my girl; don't be so cast down, better times will come for all. Hope, Mary; _I_ do to-day," and he grasped her reluctant hand, "just a few moments, and I will return."

Skaife whispered, "Remember your solemn promise to me, to Heaven. He _must_ know all; cheer up, poor girl, I am sure he will only feel _pity_ for you!" _Only_ pity where we were once loved and respected, is indeed an icedrop on a burning surface, soon pa.s.sed away, soon absorbed, and not long even the memory of it left.

Minnie, Tremenhere, and Skaife, pa.s.sed out.

CHAPTER IV.

Tremenhere had two distinct characters; with those he disliked, he had more than the coldness ascribed to Englishmen in general; there was something almost despotic in his manner. With those to whom his affections kindled, he was not alone gentleness itself, but forbearing, bending, loving, the almost habitual frown quitted his face, and left it youthful, bland, and joyous in expression. Poor Miles! he had suffered, and been made to endure, keenly; he had been forced to graft suspicion on a n.o.ble nature, and this destroyed the bud of much good fruit. There was so much wild nature about him, that not unfrequently the usages of society suffered from his bluntness; what he thought, he spoke freely.

"Miss Dalzell knows, I presume," he said, as the three entered the path-field, "my history--as I was--as I am?"

"But slightly," she answered, rather embarra.s.sed.

"Well, 'tis best, perhaps, little known to one so young and pure as yourself. It would show you a capability of vice in the human heart, which you may never discover in your personal career--so better ignore it; it might, too, tarnish your mind's purity, to see so dark a current in a life's ocean; but what I wished to allude to, is this, when I first saw you, and heard your name mentioned, it recalled you to me as one whom I have recently heard of as the elected bride of my hopeful cousin, Marmaduke Burton. My first thought of you was darker than dislike--'twas contempt; no good, true heart could love that man for himself."

"Stop, Mr. Tremenhere," cried Skaife hastily, and in evidently painful emotion. "Do not judge harshly what woman's weakness or love may lead her to forget, or forgive, for herself or another."

"Good heavens, Mr. Skaife!" cried Minnie, amazed and in almost horror; "what do you suppose?"

Skaife had forgotten her, he was thinking of another. Tremenhere stopped suddenly, and flushed deeply, as he fixed his earnest eyes on her--

"Have I, can I have been mistaken? Has my own wary judgment in general, deceived me this once? I thought," he almost uttered these last words to himself, "no one could cheat my watchfulness now."

"Mr. Tremenhere," exclaimed she in much embarra.s.sment, yet anxious to cast from her a garment so hateful as the one which should cloak her as Burton's wife in his or any eyes, "I may be speaking boldly for a girl, and to you, a stranger too, but I would not have any one suppose, much less you, an injured man, that I can ever become your cousin's wife. Mr.

Skaife, pray a.s.sure Mr. Tremenhere you did not allude to me!"

"Indeed," said Skaife, much puzzled by his own awkwardness, "I had forgotten all present; I will explain my meaning to you," and he turned to Miles.

"Oh!" answered this man again, rea.s.sured in confidence, and smiling his own peculiar smile on Minnie. "I ill deserve this kindness, this haste to soothe my wounds. Believe me, they are deep and cankering when I think of Burton, not for myself, but another. You have been so Christian in kindness to poor Mary, that I could not bear, Miss Dalzell, to a.s.sociate any one I respected in even my thoughts with that traitor.

Thought," he continued, musingly, "is a gift of the soul; you will inhabit mine, linked with that unfortunate girl, whom I much love."

"Am I to understand," asked Skaife aside to him in surprise, "that you know all?"

"All?" and the other stared, astonished at the question to himself.

"Could any know it better? what else has again brought me to this place?

what drove me from it?"

"Then, indeed, you are to be pitied, Mr. Tremenhere--deeply pitied; but I feared something of this, from your emotion in the humble cottage we have quitted."

Skaife was playing with shadows of his own creating. He fancied Tremenhere loved Mary, with whom he had been brought up from childhood; and he also thought he (Tremenhere) knew all her painful story. Skaife's last words demanded an explanation. Before the other could ask it, Minnie uttered an exclamation, and over the stile, the last one, near which they stood, struggled Mrs. Gillett--for struggle it was--whether she should overcome the stile, or the stile lay her in the ditch.

However, she arrived safely on the side where stood the three, smoothed her dress, settled her ap.r.o.n, picked up a patten which she had dropped (she always carried these, even in the finest weather, to cross the brooks on,) and then she looked up over her spectacles, which were on the tip of her nose, and stood transfixed. At a glance she knew Miles Tremenhere. Mrs. Gillett had one excellent quality--she was no talebearer; she kept circ.u.mstances to herself; they only oozed out in imperceptible drops in her counsellings, making her seem an OEdipus for soothsaying and guessing. Her hearers were amazed when truths came to light which she had foretold, without any seeming foreknowledge of them: herein lay her strength and power over all. "Mussiful powers!" she mentally said; "here's a pretty business! What am I to do with _him_?"

She was thinking of all the lovers for Minnie she had already on hand, with their leaders. Skaife was the first to recover self-possession.

"Perhaps, Miss Dalzell," he said, "you will allow me"--he did not say "us," for Mrs. Gillett was, perhaps, ignorant who Tremenhere was; he might seem as a stranger to Minnie in her eyes--"to hand over my escort, however unwillingly done, to Mrs. Gillett; and I and my friend (he glanced at Miles) will continue our walk of business."

But Tremenhere stepped boldly forward; something more than his usual candour forbade disguise, even if practicable: "Mrs. Gillett," he said, "you and I are old friends. Surely you remember the 'sweet youth,' as you were used to call me when I visited Gatestone and your cosey room there!"

Mrs. Gillett shrunk back--she was on her slippery rock: had they been alone, she would gladly have spoken to Miles, before witnesses she durst not. She looked down, and, affecting not to hear, stooped, resting on one toe to support her knee, on which, placing a patten, she very a.s.siduously begun tying its string. Miles laughed aloud: it was a cold, contemptuous, unpained laugh. "Miss Dalzell," he said, lowly bowing, and changing his tone to one of feeling, "I do indeed thank you for to-day, for all your gentle words. Whenever I revisit this spot, here shall I pause to salute the shade of one whose kindness will be ever present with me." He was turning sadly away: "Good bye, Mr. Tremenhere," she cried, extending her hand; "and when we meet again, may you be very differently circ.u.mstanced to what you are to-day."