Chapter XXVI
The Dance
ARTHUR had chosen the entrance-hall for the ballroom: very wisely, forno other room could have been so airy, or would have had the advantageof the wide doors opening into the garden, as well as a ready entranceinto the other rooms. To be sure, a stone floor was not the pleasantestto dance on, but then, most of the dancers had known what it wasto enjoy a Christmas dance on kitchen quarries. It was one of thoseentrance-halls which make the surrounding rooms look like closets--withstucco angels, trumpets, and flower-wreaths on the lofty ceiling, andgreat medallions of miscellaneous heroes on the walls, alternating withstatues in niches. Just the sort of place to be ornamented well withgreen boughs, and Mr. Craig had been proud to show his taste and hishothouse plants on the occasion. The broad steps of the stone staircasewere covered with cushions to serve as seats for the children, who wereto stay till half-past nine with the servant-maids to see the dancing,and as this dance was confined to the chief tenants, there wasabundant room for every one. The lights were charmingly disposed incoloured-paper lamps, high up among green boughs, and the farmers'wives and daughters, as they peeped in, believed no scene could be moresplendid; they knew now quite well in what sort of rooms the king andqueen lived, and their thoughts glanced with some pity towards cousinsand acquaintances who had not this fine opportunity of knowing howthings went on in the great world. The lamps were already lit, thoughthe sun had not long set, and there was that calm light out of doors inwhich we seem to see all objects more distinctly than in the broad day.
It was a pretty scene outside the house: the farmers and their familieswere moving about the lawn, among the flowers and shrubs, or along thebroad straight road leading from the east front, where a carpet ofmossy grass spread on each side, studded here and there with a darkflat-boughed cedar, or a grand pyramidal fir sweeping the ground withits branches, all tipped with a fringe of paler green. The groups ofcottagers in the park were gradually diminishing, the young ones beingattracted towards the lights that were beginning to gleam from thewindows of the gallery in the abbey, which was to be their dancing-room,and some of the sober elder ones thinking it time to go home quietly.One of these was Lisbeth Bede, and Seth went with her--not from filialattention only, for his conscience would not let him join in dancing.It had been rather a melancholy day to Seth: Dinah had never been moreconstantly present with him than in this scene, where everything wasso unlike her. He saw her all the more vividly after looking at thethoughtless faces and gay-coloured dresses of the young women--just asone feels the beauty and the greatness of a pictured Madonna the morewhen it has been for a moment screened from us by a vulgar head in abonnet. But this presence of Dinah in his mind only helped him to bearthe better with his mother's mood, which had been becoming more and morequerulous for the last hour. Poor Lisbeth was suffering from a strangeconflict of feelings. Her joy and pride in the honour paid to herdarling son Adam was beginning to be worsted in the conflict with thejealousy and fretfulness which had revived when Adam came to tell herthat Captain Donnithorne desired him to join the dancers in the hall.Adam was getting more and more out of her reach; she wished all the oldtroubles back again, for then it mattered more to Adam what his mothersaid and did.
"Eh, it's fine talkin' o' dancin'," she said, "an' thy father not a fiveweek in's grave. An' I wish I war there too, i'stid o' bein' left totake up merrier folks's room above ground."
"Nay, don't look at it i' that way, Mother," said Adam, who wasdetermined to be gentle to her to-day. "I don't mean to dance--I shallonly look on. And since the captain wishes me to be there, it 'ud lookas if I thought I knew better than him to say as I'd rather not stay.And thee know'st how he's behaved to me to-day."
"Eh, thee't do as thee lik'st, for thy old mother's got no right t'hinder thee. She's nought but th' old husk, and thee'st slipped awayfrom her, like the ripe nut."
"Well, Mother," said Adam, "I'll go and tell the captain as it hurts thyfeelings for me to stay, and I'd rather go home upo' that account: hewon't take it ill then, I daresay, and I'm willing." He said this withsome effort, for he really longed to be near Hetty this evening.
"Nay, nay, I wonna ha' thee do that--the young squire 'ull be angered.Go an' do what thee't ordered to do, an' me and Seth 'ull go whome. Iknow it's a grit honour for thee to be so looked on--an' who's to beprouder on it nor thy mother? Hadna she the cumber o' rearin' thee an'doin' for thee all these 'ears?"
"Well, good-bye, then, Mother--good-bye, lad--remember Gyp when you gethome," said Adam, turning away towards the gate of the pleasure-grounds,where he hoped he might be able to join the Poysers, for he had been sooccupied throughout the afternoon that he had had no time to speak toHetty. His eye soon detected a distant group, which he knew to be theright one, returning to the house along the broad gravel road, and hehastened on to meet them.
"Why, Adam, I'm glad to get sight on y' again," said Mr. Poyser, who wascarrying Totty on his arm. "You're going t' have a bit o' fun, I hope,now your work's all done. And here's Hetty has promised no end o'partners, an' I've just been askin' her if she'd agreed to dance wi'you, an' she says no."
"Well, I didn't think o' dancing to-night," said Adam, already temptedto change his mind, as he looked at Hetty.
"Nonsense!" said Mr. Poyser. "Why, everybody's goin' to dance to-night,all but th' old squire and Mrs. Irwine. Mrs. Best's been tellin' us asMiss Lyddy and Miss Irwine 'ull dance, an' the young squire 'ull pickmy wife for his first partner, t' open the ball: so she'll be forced todance, though she's laid by ever sin' the Christmas afore the little unwas born. You canna for shame stand still, Adam, an' you a fine youngfellow and can dance as well as anybody."
"Nay, nay," said Mrs. Poyser, "it 'ud be unbecomin'. I know the dancin'snonsense, but if you stick at everything because it's nonsense, youwonna go far i' this life. When your broth's ready-made for you, you munswallow the thickenin', or else let the broth alone."
"Then if Hetty 'ull dance with me," said Adam, yielding either to Mrs.Poyser's argument or to something else, "I'll dance whichever danceshe's free."
"I've got no partner for the fourth dance," said Hetty; "I'll dance thatwith you, if you like."
"Ah," said Mr. Poyser, "but you mun dance the first dance, Adam, elseit'll look partic'ler. There's plenty o' nice partners to pick an'choose from, an' it's hard for the gells when the men stan' by and don'task 'em."
Adam felt the justice of Mr. Poyser's observation: it would not do forhim to dance with no one besides Hetty; and remembering that JonathanBurge had some reason to feel hurt to-day, he resolved to ask Miss Maryto dance with him the first dance, if she had no other partner.
"There's the big clock strikin' eight," said Mr. Poyser; "we must makehaste in now, else the squire and the ladies 'ull be in afore us, an'that wouldna look well."
When they had entered the hall, and the three children under Molly'scharge had been seated on the stairs, the folding-doors of thedrawing-room were thrown open, and Arthur entered in his regimentals,leading Mrs. Irwine to a carpet-covered dais ornamented with hot-houseplants, where she and Miss Anne were to be seated with old Mr.Donnithorne, that they might look on at the dancing, like the kingsand queens in the plays. Arthur had put on his uniform to please thetenants, he said, who thought as much of his militia dignity as if ithad been an elevation to the premiership. He had not the least objectionto gratify them in that way: his uniform was very advantageous to hisfigure.
The old squire, before sitting down, walked round the hall to greet thetenants and make polite speeches to the wives: he was always polite; butthe farmers had found out, after long puzzling, that this polish wasone of the signs of hardness. It was observed that he gave his mostelaborate civility to Mrs. Poyser to-night, inquiring particularly abouther health, recommending her to strengthen herself with cold water ashe did, and avoid all drugs. Mrs. Poyser curtsied and thanked him withgreat self-command, but when he had passed on, she whispered to herhusband, "I'll lay my life he's brewin' some nasty turn agains
t us. OldHarry doesna wag his tail so for nothin'." Mr. Poyser had no time toanswer, for now Arthur came up and said, "Mrs. Poyser, I'm come torequest the favour of your hand for the first dance; and, Mr. Poyser,you must let me take you to my aunt, for she claims you as her partner."
The wife's pale cheek flushed with a nervous sense of unwonted honour asArthur led her to the top of the room; but Mr. Poyser, to whom an extraglass had restored his youthful confidence in his good looks and gooddancing, walked along with them quite proudly, secretly flatteringhimself that Miss Lydia had never had a partner in HER life who couldlift her off the ground as he would. In order to balance the honoursgiven to the two parishes, Miss Irwine danced with Luke Britton, thelargest Broxton farmer, and Mr. Gawaine led out Mrs. Britton. Mr.Irwine, after seating his sister Anne, had gone to the abbey gallery,as he had agreed with Arthur beforehand, to see how the merriment of thecottagers was prospering. Meanwhile, all the less distinguished coupleshad taken their places: Hetty was led out by the inevitable Mr. Craig,and Mary Burge by Adam; and now the music struck up, and the gloriouscountry-dance, best of all dances, began.
Pity it was not a boarded floor! Then the rhythmic stamping of the thickshoes would have been better than any drums. That merry stamping, thatgracious nodding of the head, that waving bestowal of the hand--wherecan we see them now? That simple dancing of well-covered matrons, layingaside for an hour the cares of house and dairy, remembering but notaffecting youth, not jealous but proud of the young maidens by theirside--that holiday sprightliness of portly husbands paying littlecompliments to their wives, as if their courting days were comeagain--those lads and lasses a little confused and awkward with theirpartners, having nothing to say--it would be a pleasant variety tosee all that sometimes, instead of low dresses and large skirts, andscanning glances exploring costumes, and languid men in lacquered bootssmiling with double meaning.
There was but one thing to mar Martin Poyser's pleasure in this dance:it was that he was always in close contact with Luke Britton, thatslovenly farmer. He thought of throwing a little glazed coldness intohis eye in the crossing of hands; but then, as Miss Irwine was oppositeto him instead of the offensive Luke, he might freeze the wrong person.So he gave his face up to hilarity, unchilled by moral judgments.
How Hetty's heart beat as Arthur approached her! He had hardly looked ather to-day: now he must take her hand. Would he press it? Would he lookat her? She thought she would cry if he gave her no sign of feeling.Now he was there--he had taken her hand--yes, he was pressing it. Hettyturned pale as she looked up at him for an instant and met his eyes,before the dance carried him away. That pale look came upon Arthur likethe beginning of a dull pain, which clung to him, though he must danceand smile and joke all the same. Hetty would look so, when he told herwhat he had to tell her; and he should never be able to bear it--heshould be a fool and give way again. Hetty's look did not really meanso much as he thought: it was only the sign of a struggle between thedesire for him to notice her and the dread lest she should betray thedesire to others. But Hetty's face had a language that transcended herfeelings. There are faces which nature charges with a meaning and pathosnot belonging to the single human soul that flutters beneath them, butspeaking the joys and sorrows of foregone generations--eyes that tell ofdeep love which doubtless has been and is somewhere, but not paired withthese eyes--perhaps paired with pale eyes that can say nothing; just asa national language may be instinct with poetry unfelt by the lips thatuse it. That look of Hetty's oppressed Arthur with a dread which yet hadsomething of a terrible unconfessed delight in it, that she loved himtoo well. There was a hard task before him, for at that moment he felthe would have given up three years of his youth for the happiness ofabandoning himself without remorse to his passion for Hetty.
These were the incongruous thoughts in his mind as he led Mrs. Poyser,who was panting with fatigue, and secretly resolving that neither judgenor jury should force her to dance another dance, to take a quiet restin the dining-room, where supper was laid out for the guests to come andtake it as they chose.
"I've desired Hetty to remember as she's got to dance wi' you, sir,"said the good innocent woman; "for she's so thoughtless, she'd be likeenough to go an' engage herself for ivery dance. So I told her not topromise too many."
"Thank you, Mrs. Poyser," said Arthur, not without a twinge. "Now, sitdown in this comfortable chair, and here is Mills ready to give you whatyou would like best."
He hurried away to seek another matronly partner, for due honour must bepaid to the married women before he asked any of the young ones; andthe country-dances, and the stamping, and the gracious nodding, and thewaving of the hands, went on joyously.
At last the time had come for the fourth dance--longed for by thestrong, grave Adam, as if he had been a delicate-handed youth ofeighteen; for we are all very much alike when we are in our first love;and Adam had hardly ever touched Hetty's hand for more than a transientgreeting--had never danced with her but once before. His eyes hadfollowed her eagerly to-night in spite of himself, and had taken indeeper draughts of love. He thought she behaved so prettily, so quietly;she did not seem to be flirting at all she smiled less than usual; therewas almost a sweet sadness about her. "God bless her!" he said inwardly;"I'd make her life a happy 'un, if a strong arm to work for her, and aheart to love her, could do it."
And then there stole over him delicious thoughts of coming home fromwork, and drawing Hetty to his side, and feeling her cheek softlypressed against his, till he forgot where he was, and the music and thetread of feet might have been the falling of rain and the roaring of thewind, for what he knew.
But now the third dance was ended, and he might go up to her andclaim her hand. She was at the far end of the hall near the staircase,whispering with Molly, who had just given the sleeping Totty into herarms before running to fetch shawls and bonnets from the landing. Mrs.Poyser had taken the two boys away into the dining-room to give themsome cake before they went home in the cart with Grandfather and Mollywas to follow as fast as possible.
"Let me hold her," said Adam, as Molly turned upstairs; "the childrenare so heavy when they're asleep."
Hetty was glad of the relief, for to hold Totty in her arms, standing,was not at all a pleasant variety to her. But this second transfer hadthe unfortunate effect of rousing Totty, who was not behind any childof her age in peevishness at an unseasonable awaking. While Hetty wasin the act of placing her in Adam's arms, and had not yet withdrawn herown, Totty opened her eyes, and forthwith fought out with her left fistat Adam's arm, and with her right caught at the string of brown beadsround Hetty's neck. The locket leaped out from her frock, and the nextmoment the string was broken, and Hetty, helpless, saw beads and locketscattered wide on the floor.
"My locket, my locket!" she said, in a loud frightened whisper to Adam;"never mind the beads."
Adam had already seen where the locket fell, for it had attracted hisglance as it leaped out of her frock. It had fallen on the raised woodendais where the band sat, not on the stone floor; and as Adam picked itup, he saw the glass with the dark and light locks of hair under it. Ithad fallen that side upwards, so the glass was not broken. He turned itover on his hand, and saw the enamelled gold back.
"It isn't hurt," he said, as he held it towards Hetty, who was unable totake it because both her hands were occupied with Totty.
"Oh, it doesn't matter, I don't mind about it," said Hetty, who had beenpale and was now red.
"Not matter?" said Adam, gravely. "You seemed very frightened about it.I'll hold it till you're ready to take it," he added, quietly closinghis hand over it, that she might not think he wanted to look at itagain.
By this time Molly had come with bonnet and shawl, and as soon as shehad taken Totty, Adam placed the locket in Hetty's hand. She took itwith an air of indifference and put it in her pocket, in her heart vexedand angry with Adam because he had seen it, but determined now that shewould show no more signs of agitation.
"See," she said, "they're ta
king their places to dance; let us go."
Adam assented silently. A puzzled alarm had taken possession of him. HadHetty a lover he didn't know of? For none of her relations, he was sure,would give her a locket like that; and none of her admirers, with whomhe was acquainted, was in the position of an accepted lover, as thegiver of that locket must be. Adam was lost in the utter impossibilityof finding any person for his fears to alight on. He could only feelwith a terrible pang that there was something in Hetty's life unknown tohim; that while he had been rocking himself in the hope that she wouldcome to love him, she was already loving another. The pleasure of thedance with Hetty was gone; his eyes, when they rested on her, had anuneasy questioning expression in them; he could think of nothing to sayto her; and she too was out of temper and disinclined to speak. Theywere both glad when the dance was ended.
Adam was determined to stay no longer; no one wanted him, and no onewould notice if he slipped away. As soon as he got out of doors, hebegan to walk at his habitual rapid pace, hurrying along without knowingwhy, busy with the painful thought that the memory of this day, so fullof honour and promise to him, was poisoned for ever. Suddenly, whenhe was far on through the Chase, he stopped, startled by a flash ofreviving hope. After all, he might be a fool, making a great misery outof a trifle. Hetty, fond of finery as she was, might have bought thething herself. It looked too expensive for that--it looked like thethings on white satin in the great jeweller's shop at Rosseter. But Adamhad very imperfect notions of the value of such things, and he thoughtit could certainly not cost more than a guinea. Perhaps Hetty had had asmuch as that in Christmas boxes, and there was no knowing but she mighthave been childish enough to spend it in that way; she was such a youngthing, and she couldn't help loving finery! But then, why had she beenso frightened about it at first, and changed colour so, and afterwardspretended not to care? Oh, that was because she was ashamed of hisseeing that she had such a smart thing--she was conscious that itwas wrong for her to spend her money on it, and she knew that Adamdisapproved of finery. It was a proof she cared about what he liked anddisliked. She must have thought from his silence and gravity afterwardsthat he was very much displeased with her, that he was inclined to beharsh and severe towards her foibles. And as he walked on more quietly,chewing the cud of this new hope, his only uneasiness was that he hadbehaved in a way which might chill Hetty's feeling towards him. For thislast view of the matter must be the true one. How could Hetty havean accepted lover, quite unknown to him? She was never away from heruncle's house for more than a day; she could have no acquaintances thatdid not come there, and no intimacies unknown to her uncle and aunt. Itwould be folly to believe that the locket was given to her by a lover.The little ring of dark hair he felt sure was her own; he could formno guess about the light hair under it, for he had not seen it verydistinctly. It might be a bit of her father's or mother's, who had diedwhen she was a child, and she would naturally put a bit of her own alongwith it.
And so Adam went to bed comforted, having woven for himself an ingeniousweb of probabilities--the surest screen a wise man can place betweenhimself and the truth. His last waking thoughts melted into a dream thathe was with Hetty again at the Hall Farm, and that he was asking her toforgive him for being so cold and silent.
And while he was dreaming this, Arthur was leading Hetty to the danceand saying to her in low hurried tones, "I shall be in the wood the dayafter to-morrow at seven; come as early as you can." And Hetty's foolishjoys and hopes, which had flown away for a little space, scared by amere nothing, now all came fluttering back, unconscious of the realperil. She was happy for the first time this long day, and wishedthat dance would last for hours. Arthur wished it too; it was thelast weakness he meant to indulge in; and a man never lies with moredelicious languor under the influence of a passion than when he haspersuaded himself that he shall subdue it to-morrow.
But Mrs. Poyser's wishes were quite the reverse of this, for her mindwas filled with dreary forebodings as to the retardation of to-morrowmorning's cheese in consequence of these late hours. Now that Hetty haddone her duty and danced one dance with the young squire, Mr. Poysermust go out and see if the cart was come back to fetch them, for it washalf-past ten o'clock, and notwithstanding a mild suggestion on his partthat it would be bad manners for them to be the first to go, Mrs. Poyserwas resolute on the point, "manners or no manners."
"What! Going already, Mrs. Poyser?" said old Mr. Donnithorne, as shecame to curtsy and take leave; "I thought we should not part with any ofour guests till eleven. Mrs. Irwine and I, who are elderly people, thinkof sitting out the dance till then."
"Oh, Your Honour, it's all right and proper for gentlefolks to stay upby candlelight--they've got no cheese on their minds. We're late enoughas it is, an' there's no lettin' the cows know as they mustn't want tobe milked so early to-morrow mornin'. So, if you'll please t' excuse us,we'll take our leave."
"Eh!" she said to her husband, as they set off in the cart, "I'd soonerha' brewin' day and washin' day together than one o' these pleasurin'days. There's no work so tirin' as danglin' about an' starin' an' notrightly knowin' what you're goin' to do next; and keepin' your face i'smilin' order like a grocer o' market-day for fear people shouldna thinkyou civil enough. An' you've nothing to show for't when it's done, if itisn't a yallow face wi' eatin' things as disagree."
"Nay, nay," said Mr. Poyser, who was in his merriest mood, and felt thathe had had a great day, "a bit o' pleasuring's good for thee sometimes.An' thee danc'st as well as any of 'em, for I'll back thee against allthe wives i' the parish for a light foot an' ankle. An' it was a greathonour for the young squire to ask thee first--I reckon it was becauseI sat at th' head o' the table an' made the speech. An' Hetty too--shenever had such a partner before--a fine young gentleman in reg'mentals.It'll serve you to talk on, Hetty, when you're an old woman--how youdanced wi' th' young squire the day he come o' age."
Book Four