CHAPTER V.
CALF-LOVE.
One day, for some reason or other, Mr. Gibson came home unexpectedly.He was crossing the hall, having come in by the garden-door--thegarden communicated with the stable-yard, where he had left hishorse--when the kitchen door opened, and the girl who was underlingin the establishment, came quickly into the hall with a note in herhand, and made as if she was taking it upstairs; but on seeing hermaster she gave a little start, and turned back as if to hide herselfin the kitchen. If she had not made this movement, so conscious ofguilt, Mr. Gibson, who was anything but suspicious, would never havetaken any notice of her. As it was, he stepped quickly forwards,opened the kitchen door, and called out "Bethia" so sharply that shecould not delay coming forwards.
"Give me that note," he said. She hesitated a little.
"It's for Miss Molly," she stammered out.
"Give it to me!" he repeated more quickly than before. She looked asif she would cry; but still she kept the note tight held behind herback.
"He said as I was to give it into her own hands; and I promised as Iwould, faithful."
"Cook, go and find Miss Molly. Tell her to come here at once."
He fixed Bethia with his eyes. It was of no use trying to escape: shemight have thrown it into the fire, but she had not presence of mindenough. She stood immovable, only her eyes looked any way rather thanencounter her master's steady gaze. "Molly, my dear!"
"Papa! I did not know you were at home," said innocent, wonderingMolly.
"Bethia, keep your word. Here is Miss Molly; give her the note."
"Indeed, miss, I couldn't help it!"
Molly took the note, but before she could open it, her fathersaid,--"That's all, my dear; you needn't read it. Give it to me. Tellthose who sent you, Bethia, that all letters for Miss Molly must passthrough my hands. Now be off with you, goosey, and go back to whereyou came from."
A LOVE LETTER.]
"Papa, I shall make you tell me who my correspondent is."
"We'll see about that, by-and-by."
She went a little reluctantly, with ungratified curiosity, upstairsto Miss Eyre, who was still her daily companion, if not hergoverness. He turned into the empty dining-room, shut the door,broke the seal of the note, and began to read it. It was a flaminglove-letter from Mr. Coxe; who professed himself unable to go onseeing her day after day without speaking to her of the passion shehad inspired--an "eternal passion," he called it; on reading whichMr. Gibson laughed a little. Would she not look kindly at him? wouldshe not think of him whose only thought was of her? and so on, with avery proper admixture of violent compliments to her beauty. She wasfair, not pale; her eyes were loadstars, her dimples marks of Cupid'sfinger, &c.
Mr. Gibson finished reading it; and began to think about it in hisown mind. "Who would have thought the lad had been so poetical? but,to be sure, there's a 'Shakspeare' in the surgery library: I'll takeit away and put 'Johnson's Dictionary' instead. One comfort is theconviction of her perfect innocence--ignorance, I should rathersay--for it's easy to see it's the first 'confession of his love,' ashe calls it. But it's an awful worry--to begin with lovers so early.Why, she's only just seventeen,--not seventeen, indeed, till July;not for six weeks yet. Sixteen and three-quarters! Why, she's quitea baby. To be sure--poor Jeanie was not so old, and how I did loveher!" (Mrs. Gibson's name was Mary, so he must have been referring tosome one else.) Then his thoughts wandered back to other days, thoughhe still held the open note in his hand. By-and-by his eyes fell uponit again, and his mind came back to bear upon the present time. "I'llnot be hard upon him. I'll give him a hint; he's quite sharp enoughto take it. Poor laddie! if I send him away, which would be thewisest course, I do believe he's got no home to go to."
After a little more consideration in the same strain, Mr. Gibson wentand sat down at the writing-table and wrote the following formula:--
_Master Coxe._
("That 'master' will touch him to the quick," said Mr. Gibson tohimself as he wrote the word.)
Rx. Verecundiae i oz. Fidelitatis Domesticae i oz. Reticentiae gr. iij. M. Capiat hanc dosim ter die in aqua pura.
R. GIBSON, _Ch._
Mr. Gibson smiled a little sadly as he re-read his words. "PoorJeanie," he said aloud. And then he chose out an envelope, enclosedthe fervid love-letter, and the above prescription sealed it withhis own sharply-cut seal-ring, R. G., in old English letters, andthen paused over the address.
"He'll not like _Master Coxe_ outside; no need to put him tounnecessary shame." So the direction on the envelope was--
_Edward Coxe, Esq._
Then Mr. Gibson applied himself to the professional business whichhad brought him home so opportunely and unexpectedly, and afterwardshe went back through the garden to the stables; and just as he hadmounted his horse, he said to the stable-man,--"Oh! by the way,here's a letter for Mr. Coxe. Don't send it through the women; takeit round yourself to the surgery-door, and do it at once."
The slight smile upon his face, as he rode out of the gates, diedaway as soon as he found himself in the solitude of the lanes. Heslackened his speed, and began to think. It was very awkward, heconsidered, to have a motherless girl growing up into womanhood inthe same house with two young men, even if she only met them atmeal-times; and all the intercourse they had with each other wasmerely the utterance of such words as, "May I help you to potatoes?"or, as Mr. Wynne would persevere in saying, "May I assist you topotatoes?"--a form of speech which grated daily more and more uponMr. Gibson's ears. Yet Mr. Coxe, the offender in this affair whichhad just occurred, had to remain for three years more as a pupil inMr. Gibson's family. He should be the very last of the race. Stillthere were three years to be got over; and if this stupid passionatecalf-love of his lasted, what was to be done? Sooner or later Mollywould become aware of it. The contingencies of the affair were soexcessively disagreeable to contemplate, that Mr. Gibson determinedto dismiss the subject from his mind by a good strong effort. Heput his horse to a gallop, and found that the violent shaking overthe lanes--paved as they were with round stones, which had beendislocated by the wear and tear of a hundred years--was the very bestthing for the spirits, if not for the bones. He made a long roundthat afternoon, and came back to his home imagining that the worstwas over, and that Mr. Coxe would have taken the hint conveyed inthe prescription. All that would be needed was to find a safe placefor the unfortunate Bethia, who had displayed such a daring aptitudefor intrigue. But Mr. Gibson reckoned without his host. It was thehabit of the young men to come in to tea with the family in thedining-room, to swallow two cups, munch their bread or toast, andthen disappear. This night Mr. Gibson watched their countenancesfurtively from under his long eye-lashes, while he tried against hiswont to keep up a degage manner, and a brisk conversation on generalsubjects. He saw that Mr. Wynne was on the point of breaking outinto laughter, and that red-haired, red-faced Mr. Coxe was redderand fiercer than ever, while his whole aspect and ways betrayedindignation and anger.
"He will have it, will he?" thought Mr. Gibson to himself; and hegirded up his loins for the battle. He did not follow Molly and MissEyre into the drawing-room as he usually did. He remained where hewas, pretending to read the newspaper, while Bethia, her face swelledup with crying, and with an aggrieved and offended aspect, removedthe tea-things. Not five minutes after the room was cleared, camethe expected tap at the door. "May I speak to you, sir?" said theinvisible Mr. Coxe, from outside.
"To be sure. Come in, Mr. Coxe. I was rather wanting to talk to youabout that bill of Corbyn's. Pray sit down."
"It is about nothing of that kind, sir, that I wanted--that Iwished--No, thank you--I would rather not sit down." He, accordingly,stood in offended dignity. "It is about that letter, sir--that letterwith the insulting prescription, sir."
"Insulting prescription! I am surprised at such a word being appliedto any prescription of mine--though, to be sure, patients aresometimes offended at being told the nature of their illnesses; and,I dar
esay, they may take offence at the medicines which their casesrequire."
"I did not ask you to prescribe for me."
"Oh, ho! Then you were the Master Coxe who sent the note throughBethia! Let me tell you it has cost her her place, and was a verysilly letter into the bargain."
"It was not the conduct of a gentleman, sir, to intercept it, and toopen it, and to read words never addressed to you, sir."
"No!" said Mr. Gibson, with a slight twinkle in his eye and a curl onhis lips, not unnoticed by the indignant Mr. Coxe. "I believe I wasonce considered tolerably good-looking, and I daresay I was as greata coxcomb as any one at twenty; but I don't think that even then Ishould quite have believed that all those pretty compliments wereaddressed to myself."
"It was not the conduct of a gentleman, sir," repeated Mr. Coxe,stammering over his words--he was going on to say something more,when Mr. Gibson broke in,--
"And let me tell you, young man," replied Mr. Gibson, with a suddensternness in his voice, "that what you have done is only excusablein consideration of your youth and extreme ignorance of what areconsidered the laws of domestic honour. I receive you into my houseas a member of my family--you induce one of my servants--corruptingher with a bribe, I have no doubt--"
"Indeed, sir! I never gave her a penny."
"Then you ought to have done. You should always pay those who do yourdirty work."
"Just now, sir, you called it corrupting with a bribe," muttered Mr.Coxe.
Mr. Gibson took no notice of this speech, but went on--"Inducing oneof my servants to risk her place, without offering her the slightestequivalent, by begging her to convey a letter clandestinely to mydaughter--a mere child."
"Miss Gibson, sir, is nearly seventeen! I heard you say so only theother day," said Mr. Coxe, aged twenty. Again Mr. Gibson ignored theremark.
"A letter which you were unwilling to have seen by her father, whohad tacitly trusted to your honour, by receiving you as an inmate ofhis house. Your father's son--I know Major Coxe well--ought to havecome to me, and have said out openly, 'Mr. Gibson, I love--or I fancythat I love--your daughter; I do not think it right to conceal thisfrom you, although unable to earn a penny; and with no prospect of anunassisted livelihood, even for myself, for several years, I shallnot say a word about my feelings--or fancied feelings--to the veryyoung lady herself.' That is what your father's son ought to havesaid; if, indeed, a couple of grains of reticent silence wouldn'thave been better still."
"And if I had said it, sir--perhaps I ought to have said it," saidMr. Coxe, in a hurry of anxiety, "what would have been your answer?Would you have sanctioned my passion, sir?"
"I would have said, most probably--I will not be certain of my exactwords in a suppositional case--that you were a young fool, but nota dishonourable young fool, and I should have told you not to letyour thoughts run upon a calf-love until you had magnified it intoa passion. And I daresay, to make up for the mortification I shouldhave given you, I might have prescribed your joining the HollingfordCricket Club, and set you at liberty as often as I could on theSaturday afternoons. As it is, I must write to your father's agent inLondon, and ask him to remove you out of my household, repaying thepremium, of course, which will enable you to start afresh in someother doctor's surgery."
"It will so grieve my father," said Mr. Coxe, startled into dismay,if not repentance.
"I see no other course open. It will give Major Coxe some trouble(I shall take care that he is at no extra expense), but what I thinkwill grieve him the most is the betrayal of confidence; for I trustedyou, Edward, like a son of my own!" There was something in Mr.Gibson's voice when he spoke seriously, especially when he referredto any feeling of his own--he who so rarely betrayed what was passingin his heart--that was irresistible to most people: the change fromjoking and sarcasm to tender gravity.
Mr. Coxe hung his head a little, and meditated.
"I do love Miss Gibson," said he, at length. "Who could help it?"
"Mr. Wynne, I hope!" said Mr. Gibson.
"His heart is pre-engaged," replied Mr. Coxe. "Mine was free as airtill I saw her."
"Would it tend to cure your--well! passion, we'll say--if she woreblue spectacles at meal-times? I observe you dwell much on the beautyof her eyes."
"You are ridiculing my feelings, Mr. Gibson. Do you forget that youyourself were young once?"
"Poor Jeanie" rose before Mr. Gibson's eyes; and he felt a littlerebuked.
"Come, Mr. Coxe, let us see if we can't make a bargain," said he,after a minute or so of silence. "You have done a really wrong thing,and I hope you are convinced of it in your heart, or that you willbe when the heat of this discussion is over, and you come to think alittle about it. But I won't lose all respect for your father's son.If you will give me your word that, as long as you remain a member ofmy family--pupil, apprentice, what you will--you won't again try todisclose your passion--you see I am careful to take your view of whatI should call a mere fancy--by word or writing, looks or acts, in anymanner whatever, to my daughter, or to talk about your feelings toany one else, you shall remain here. If you cannot give me your word,I must follow out the course I named, and write to your father'sagent."
Mr. Coxe stood irresolute.
"Mr. Wynne knows all I feel for Miss Gibson, sir. He and I have nosecrets from each other."
"Well, I suppose he must represent the reeds. You know the story ofKing Midas's barber, who found out that his royal master had the earsof an ass beneath his hyacinthine curls. So the barber, in defaultof a Mr. Wynne, went to the reeds that grew on the shores of aneighbouring lake, and whispered to them, 'King Midas has the ears ofan ass.' But he repeated it so often that the reeds learnt the words,and kept on saying them all day long, till at last the secret was nosecret at all. If you keep on telling your tale to Mr. Wynne, are yousure he won't repeat it in his turn?"
"If I pledge my word as a gentleman, sir, I pledge it for Mr. Wynneas well."
"I suppose I must run the risk. But remember how soon a young girl'sname may be breathed upon, and sullied. Molly has no mother, and forthat very reason she ought to move among you all, as unharmed as Unaherself."
"Mr. Gibson, if you wish it, I'll swear it on the Bible," cried theexcitable young man.
"Nonsense. As if your word, if it's worth anything, wasn't enough!We'll shake hands upon it, if you like."
Mr. Coxe came forward eagerly, and almost squeezed Mr. Gibson's ringinto his finger.
As he was leaving the room, he said, a little uneasily, "May I giveBethia a crown-piece?"
"No, indeed! Leave Bethia to me. I hope you won't say another word toher while she's here. I shall see that she gets a respectable placewhen she goes away."
Then Mr. Gibson rang for his horse, and went out on the last visitsof the day. He used to reckon that he rode the world around in thecourse of the year. There were not many surgeons in the county whohad so wide a range of practice as he; he went to lonely cottages onthe borders of great commons; to farm-houses at the end of narrowcountry lanes that led to nowhere else, and were overshadowed by theelms and beeches overhead. He attended all the gentry within a circleof fifteen miles round Hollingford; and was the appointed doctor tothe still greater families who went up to London every February--asthe fashion then was--and returned to their acres in the early weeksof July. He was, of necessity, a great deal from home, and on thissoft and pleasant summer evening he felt the absence as a great evil.He was startled at discovering that his little one was growing fastinto a woman, and already the passive object of some of the stronginterests that affect a woman's life; and he--her mother as well asher father--so much away that he could not guard her as he wouldhave wished. The end of his cogitations was that ride to Hamley thenext morning, when he proposed to allow his daughter to accept Mrs.Hamley's last invitation--an invitation that had been declined at thetime.
"You may quote against me the proverb, 'He that will not when hemay, when he will he shall have nay.' And I shall have no reason tocomplain," he had said. r />
But Mrs. Hamley was only too much charmed with the prospect of havinga young girl for a visitor; one whom it would not be a trouble toentertain; who might be sent out to ramble in the gardens, or toldto read when the invalid was too much fatigued for conversation andyet one whose youth and freshness would bring a charm, like a waftof sweet summer air, into her lonely shut-up life. Nothing could bepleasanter, and so Molly's visit to Hamley was easily settled.
"I only wish Osborne and Roger had been at home," said Mrs. Hamley,in her low soft voice. "She may find it dull, being with old people,like the squire and me, from morning till night. When can she come?the darling--I am beginning to love her already!"
Mr. Gibson was very glad in his heart that the young men of the housewere out of the way; he did not want his little Molly to be passingfrom Scylla to Charybdis; and, as he afterwards scoffed at himselffor thinking, he had got an idea that all young men were wolves inchase of his one ewe-lamb.
"She knows nothing of the pleasure in store for her," he replied;"and I'm sure I don't know what feminine preparations she may thinknecessary, or how long they may take. You'll remember she is a littleignoramus, and has had no ... training in etiquette; our ways athome are rather rough for a girl, I'm afraid. But I know I could notsend her into a kinder atmosphere than this."
When the Squire heard from his wife of Mr. Gibson's proposal, he wasas much pleased as she at the prospect of their youthful visitor;for he was a man of a hearty hospitality, when his pride did notinterfere with its gratification and he was delighted to think ofhis sick wife's having such an agreeable companion in her hours ofloneliness. After a while he said,--"It's as well the lads are atCambridge; we might have been having a love-affair if they had beenat home."
"Well--and if we had?" asked his more romantic wife.
"It wouldn't have done," said the Squire, decidedly. "Osbornewill have had a first-rate education--as good as any man in thecounty--he'll have this property, and he's a Hamley of Hamley; not afamily in the shire is as old as we are, or settled on their groundso well. Osborne may marry where he likes. If Lord Hollingford had adaughter, Osborne would have been as good a match as she could haverequired. It would never do for him to fall in love with Gibson'sdaughter--I shouldn't allow it. So it's as well he's out of the way."
"Well! perhaps Osborne had better look higher."
"Perhaps! I say he must." The Squire brought his hand down with athump on the table, near him, which made his wife's heart beat hardfor some minutes. "And as for Roger," he continued, unconscious ofthe flutter he had put her into, "he'll have to make his own way,and earn his own bread; and, I'm afraid, he's not getting on verybrilliantly at Cambridge. He mustn't think of falling in love forthese ten years."
"Unless he marries a fortune," said Mrs. Hamley, more by way ofconcealing her palpitation than anything else; for she was unworldlyand romantic to a fault.
"No son of mine shall ever marry a wife who is richer than himselfwith my good will," said the Squire again, with emphasis, but withouta thump.
"I don't say but what if Roger is gaining five hundred a year bythe time he's thirty, he shall not choose a wife with ten thousandpounds down; but I do say, if a boy of mine, with only two hundred ayear--which is all Roger will have from us, and that not for a longtime--goes and marries a woman with fifty thousand to her portion,I'll disown him--it would be just disgusting."
"Not if they loved each other, and their whole happiness dependedupon their marrying each other," put in Mrs. Hamley, mildly.
"Pooh! away with love! Nay, my dear, we loved each other so dearlywe should never have been happy with any one else; but that's adifferent thing. People aren't like what they were when we wereyoung. All the love nowadays is just silly fancy, and sentimentalromance, as far as I can see."
Mr. Gibson thought that he had settled everything about Molly's goingto Hamley before he spoke to her about it, which he did not do, untilthe morning of the day on which Mrs. Hamley expected her. Then hesaid,--"By the way, Molly! you're to go to Hamley this afternoonMrs. Hamley wants you to go to her for a week or two, and it suits mecapitally that you should accept her invitation just now."
"Go to Hamley! This afternoon! Papa, you've got some odd reason atthe back of your head--some mystery, or something. Please, tell mewhat it is. Go to Hamley for a week or two! Why, I never was fromhome before this without you in all my life."
"Perhaps not. I don't think you ever walked before you put your feetto the ground. Everything must have a beginning."
"It has something to do with that letter that was directed to me, butthat you took out of my hands before I could even see the writing ofthe direction." She fixed her grey eyes on her father's face, as ifshe meant to pluck out his secret.
He only smiled and said,--"You're a witch, goosey!"
"Then it had! But if it was a note from Mrs. Hamley, why might Inot see it? I have been wondering if you had some plan in your headever since that day.--Thursday, wasn't it? You've gone about in akind of thoughtful, perplexed way, just like a conspirator. Tell me,papa"--coming up to him, and putting on a beseeching manner--"whymightn't I see that note? and why am I to go to Hamley all on asudden?"
"Don't you like to go? Would you rather not?" If she had said thatshe did not want to go he would have been rather pleased thanotherwise, although it would have put him into a great perplexity;but he was beginning to dread the parting from her even for so shorta time. However, she replied directly,--
"I don't know--I daresay I shall like it when I have thought a littlemore about it. Just now I'm so startled by the suddenness of theaffair, I haven't considered whether I shall like it or not. I shan'tlike going away from you, I know. Why am I to go, papa?"
"There are three old ladies sitting somewhere, and thinking aboutyou just at this very minute; one has a distaff in her hands, and isspinning a thread; she has come to a knot in it, and is puzzled whatto do with it. Her sister has a great pair of scissors in her hands,and wants--as she always does, when any difficulty arises in thesmoothness of the thread--to cut it off short; but the third, who hasthe most head of the three, plans how to undo the knot; and she it iswho has decided that you are to go to Hamley. The others are quiteconvinced by her arguments; so, as the Fates have decreed that thisvisit is to be paid, there is nothing left for you and me but tosubmit."
"That's all nonsense, papa, and you're only making me more curious tofind out this hidden reason."
Mr. Gibson changed his tone, and spoke gravely now. "There is areason, Molly, and one which I do not wish to give. When I tell youthis much, I expect you to be an honourable girl, and to try and noteven conjecture what the reason may be,--much less endeavour to putlittle discoveries together till very likely you may find out what Iwant to conceal."
"Papa, I won't even think about your reason again. But then I shallhave to plague you with another question. I've had no new gown thisyear, and I've outgrown all my last summer frocks. I've only threethat I can wear at all. Betty was saying only yesterday that I oughtto have some more."
"That'll do that you have got on, won't it? It's a very prettycolour."
"Yes; but, papa" (holding it out as if she was going to dance), "it'smade of woollen, and so hot and heavy; and every day it will begetting warmer."
"I wish girls could dress like boys," said Mr. Gibson, with a littleimpatience. "How is a man to know when his daughter wants clothes?and how is he to rig her out when he finds it out, just when sheneeds them most and hasn't got them?"
"Ah, that's the question!" said Molly, in some despair.
"Can't you go to Miss Rose's? Doesn't she keep ready-made frocks forgirls of your age?"
"Miss Rose! I never had anything from her in my life," replied Molly,in some surprise; for Miss Rose was the great dressmaker and millinerof the little town, and hitherto Betty had made the girl's frocks.
"Well, but it seems people consider you as a young woman now, andso I suppose you must run up milliners' bills like the rest of yourkind. Not that you're
to get anything anywhere that you can't pay fordown in ready money. Here's a ten-pound note; go to Miss Rose's, orMiss anybody's, and get what you want at once. The Hamley carriageis to come for you at two, and anything that isn't quite ready, caneasily be sent by their cart on Saturday, when some of their peoplealways come to market. Nay, don't thank me! I don't want to have themoney spent, and I don't want you to go and leave me: I shall missyou, I know; it's only hard necessity that drives me to send youa-visiting, and to throw away ten pounds on your clothes. There, goaway; you're a plague, and I mean to leave off loving you as fast asI can."
"Papa!" holding up her finger as in warning, "you're gettingmysterious again; and though my honourableness is very strong, Iwon't promise that it shall not yield to my curiosity if you go onhinting at untold secrets."
"Go away and spend your ten pounds. What did I give it you for but tokeep you quiet?"
Miss Rose's ready-made resources and Molly's taste combined, did notarrive at a very great success. She bought a lilac print, becauseit would wash, and would be cool and pleasant for the mornings; andthis Betty could make at home before Saturday. And for high-days andholidays--by which was understood afternoons and Sundays--Miss Rosepersuaded her to order a gay-coloured flimsy plaid silk, which sheassured her was quite the latest fashion in London, and which Mollythought would please her father's Scotch blood. But when he saw thescrap which she had brought home as a pattern, he cried out that theplaid belonged to no clan in existence, and that Molly ought to haveknown this by instinct. It was too late to change it, however, forMiss Rose had promised to cut the dress out as soon as Molly left hershop.
Mr. Gibson had hung about the town all the morning instead of goingaway on his usual distant rides. He passed his daughter once or twicein the street, but he did not cross over when he was on the oppositeside--only gave her a look or a nod, and went on his way, scoldinghimself for his weakness in feeling so much pain at the thought ofher absence for a fortnight or so.
"And, after all," thought he, "I'm only where I was when she comesback; at least, if that foolish fellow goes on with his imaginatingfancy. She'll have to come back some time, and if he chooses toimagine himself constant, there's still the devil to pay." Presentlyhe began to hum the air out of the "Beggar's Opera"--
I wonder any man alive Should ever rear a daughter.