CHAPTER XXVII.
The Priory Ruins.
Lady Midlothian went away on her road to London on the Wednesdaymorning, and Alice was to follow her on the next day. It was nowDecember, and the weather was very clear and frosty, but at nightthere was bright moonlight. On this special night the moon would befull, and Lady Glencora had declared that she and Alice would go outamidst the ruins. It was no secret engagement, having been canvassedin public, and having been met with considerable discouragementby some of the party. Mr. Palliser had remarked that the night airwould be very cold, and Mr. Bott had suggested all manner of evilconsequences. Had Mr. Palliser alone objected, Lady Glencora mighthave given way, but Mr. Bott's word riveted her purpose.
"We are not going to be frightened," Lady Glencora said.
"People do not generally walk out at night in December," Mr. Palliserobserved.
"That's just the reason why we want to do it," said Lady Glencora."But we shall wrap ourselves up, and nobody need be afraid. Jeffrey,we shall expect you to stand sentinel at the old gate, and guard usfrom the ghosts."
Jeffrey Palliser, bargaining that he might be allowed a cigar,promised that he would do as he was bidden.
The party at Matching Priory had by this time become very small.There were indeed no guests left, not counting those of the Palliserfamily, excepting Miss Vavasor, Mr. Bott, and an old lady who hadbeen a great friend of Mr. Palliser's mother. It was past ten in theevening when Lady Glencora declared that the time had arrived forthem to carry out their purpose. She invited the two Miss Pallisersto join her, but they declined, urging their fear of the night air,and showing by their manner that they thought the proposition a veryimprudent one. Mr. Bott offered to accompany them, but Lady Glencoradeclined his attendance very stoutly.
"No, indeed, Mr. Bott; you were one of those who preached a sermonagainst my dissipation in the morning, and I'm not going to allow youto join it, now the time for its enjoyment has come."
"My dear Lady Glencora, if I were you, indeed I wouldn't," said theold lady, looking round towards Mr. Palliser.
"My dear Mrs. Marsham, if you were me, indeed you would," and LadyGlencora also looked at her husband.
"I think it a foolish thing to do," said Mr. Palliser, sternly.
"If you forbid it, of course we won't go," said Lady Glencora.
"Forbid it:--no; I shall not forbid it."
"Allons donc," said Lady Glencora.
She and Alice were already muffled in cloaks and thick shawls, andAlice now followed her out of the room. There was a door which openedfrom the billiard-room out on to the grand terrace, which ran infront of the house, and here they found Jeffrey Palliser alreadyarmed with his cigar. Alice, to tell the truth, would much havepreferred to abandon the expedition, but she had felt that it wouldbe cowardly in her to desert Lady Glencora. There had not arisen anyvery close intimacy between her and Mr. Palliser, but she entertaineda certain feeling that Mr. Palliser trusted her, and liked her tobe with his wife. She would have wished to justify this supposedconfidence, and was almost sure that Mr. Palliser expected her todo so in this instance. She did say a word or two to her cousinup-stairs, urging that perhaps her husband would not like it.
"Let him say so plainly," said Lady Glencora, "and I'll give itup instantly. But I'm not going to be lectured out of my purposessecondhand by Mr. Bott or old Mother Marsham. I understand all thesepeople, my dear. And if you throw me over, Alice, I'll never forgiveyou," Lady Glencora added.
After this Alice resolved that she would not throw her friend over.She was afraid to do so. But she was also becoming a little afraid ofher friend,--afraid that she would be driven some day either to throwher over, or to say words to her that would be very unpalatable.
"Now, Jeffrey," said Lady Glencora as they walked abreast along thebroad terrace towards the ruins, "when we get under the old gatewayyou must let me and Alice go round the dormitory and the chapelalone. Then we'll come back by the cloisters, and we'll take anotherturn outside with you. The outside is the finest by this light,--onlyI want to show Alice something by ourselves."
"You're not afraid, I know, and if Miss Vavasor is not--"
"Miss Vavasor,--who, I think, would have allowed you to call her byher other name on such an occasion as this,--is never afraid."
"Glencora, how dare you say so?" said Alice. "I really think we hadbetter go back."
She felt herself to be very angry with her cousin. She almostbegan to fear that she had mistaken her, and had thought better ofher than she had deserved. What she had now said struck Alice asbeing vulgar,--as being premeditated vulgarity, and her annoyancewas excessive. Of course Mr. Palliser would think that she was aconsenting party to the proposition made to him.
"Go back!" said Glencora. "No, indeed. We'll go on, and leave himhere. Then he can call nobody anything. Don't be angry with me," shesaid, as soon as they were out of hearing. "The truth is this;--ifyou choose to have him for your husband, you may."
"But if I do not choose."
"Then there can be no harm done, and I will tell him so. But,Alice,--think of this. Whom will you meet that would suit you better?And you need not decide now. You need not say a word, but leave me totell him, that if it is to be thought of at all, it cannot be thoughtof till he meets you in London. Trust me, you will be safe with me."
"You shall tell him nothing of the kind," said Alice. "I believe youto be joking throughout, and I think the joke is a bad one."
"No; there you wrong me. Indeed I am not joking. I know that in whatI am saying I am telling you the simple truth. He has said enoughto me to justify me in saying so. Alice, think of it all. It wouldreconcile me to much, and it would be something to be the mother ofthe future Duke of Omnium."
"To me it would be nothing," said Alice; "less than nothing. I meanto say that the temptation is one so easily resisted that it acts inthe other way. Don't say anything more about it, Glencora."
"If you don't wish it, I will not."
"No;--I do not wish it. I don't think I ever saw moonlight so brightas this. Look at the lines of that window against the light. They areclearer than you ever see them in the day."
They were now standing just within the gateway of the old cruciformchapel, having entered the transept from a ruined passage which wassupposed to have connected the church with the dormitory. The churchwas altogether roofless, but the entire walls were standing. Thesmall clerestory windows of the nave were perfect, and the largewindows of the two transepts and of the west end were nearly so. Ofthe opposite window, which had formed the back of the choir, verylittle remained. The top of it, with all its tracery, was gone, andthree broken upright mullions of uneven heights alone remained. Thiswas all that remained of the old window, but a transom or cross-barof stone had been added to protect the carved stone-work of thesides, and save the form of the aperture from further ruin. That thistransom was modern was to be seen from the magnificent height andlight grace of the workmanship in the other windows, in which thelong slender mullions rose from the lower stage or foundation of thewhole up into the middle tracery of the arch without protection orsupport, and then lost themselves among the curves, not running upinto the roof or soffit, and there holding on as though unable tostand alone. Such weakness as that had not as yet shown itself inEnglish church architecture when Matching Priory was built.
The Priory Ruins.]
"Is it not beautiful!" said Glencora. "I do love it so! And there isa peculiar feeling of cold about the chill of the moon, differentfrom any other cold. It makes you wrap yourself up tight, but it doesnot make your teeth chatter; and it seems to go into your sensesrather than into your bones. But I suppose that's nonsense," sheadded, after a pause.
"Not more so than what people are supposed to talk by moonlight."
"That's unkind. I'd like what I say on such an occasion to be morepoetical or else more nonsensical than what other people say underthe same circumstances. And now I'll tell you why I always think ofyou when I come here by moonli
ght."
"But I suppose you don't often come."
"Yes, I do; that is to say, I did come very often when we had thefull moon in August. The weather wasn't like this, and I used to runout through the open windows and nobody knew where I was gone. I madehim come once, but he didn't seem to care about it. I told him thatpart of the refectory wall was falling; so he looked at that, andhad a mason sent the next day. If anything is out of order he hasit put to rights at once. There would have been no ruins if all thePallisers had been like him."
"So much the better for the world."
"No;--I say no. Things may live too long. But now I'm going to tellyou. Do you remember that night I brought you home from the play toQueen Anne Street?"
"Indeed I do,--very well."
Alice had occasion to remember it, for it had been in the carriage onthat evening that she had positively refused to give any aid to hercousin in that matter relating to Burgo Fitzgerald.
"And do you remember how the moon shone then?"
"Yes, I think I do."
"I know I do. As we came round the corner out of Cavendish Square hewas standing there,--and a friend of yours was standing with him."
"What friend of mine?"
"Never mind that; it does not matter now."
"Do you mean my cousin George?"
"Yes, I do mean your cousin; and oh, Alice! dear Alice! I don't knowwhy I should love you, for if you had not been hardhearted thatnight,--stony cruel in your hard propriety, I should have gone withhim then, and all this icy coldness would have been prevented."
She was standing quite close to Alice, and as she spake she shookwith shivering and wrapped her furs closer and still closer abouther.
"You are very cold," said Alice. "We had better go in."
"No, I am not cold,--not in that way. I won't go in yet. Jeffrey willcome to us directly. Yes;--we should have escaped that night if youwould have allowed him to come into your house. Ah, well! we didn't,and there's an end of it."
"But Glencora,--you cannot regret it."
"Not regret it! Alice, where can your heart be? Or have you a heart?Not regret it! I would give everything I have in the world to havebeen true to him. They told me that he would spend my money. Thoughhe should have spent every farthing of it, I regret it; though heshould have made me a beggar, I regret it. They told me that he wouldill-use me, and desert me,--perhaps beat me. I do not believe it; buteven though that should have been so, I regret it. It is better tohave a false husband than to be a false wife."
"Glencora, do not speak like that. Do not try to make me think thatanything could tempt you to be false to your vows."
"Tempt me to be false! Why, child, it has been all false throughout.I never loved him. How can you talk in that way, when you know thatI never loved him? They browbeat me and frightened me till I did asI was told;--and now;--what am I now?"
"You are his honest wife. Glencora, listen to me." And Alice tookhold of her arm.
"No," she said, "no; I am not honest. By law I am his wife; but thelaws are liars! I am not his wife. I will not say the thing that Iam. When I went to him at the altar, I knew that I did not love theman that was to be my husband. But him,--Burgo,--I love him with allmy heart and soul. I could stoop at his feet and clean his shoes forhim, and think it no disgrace!"
"Oh, Cora, my friend, do not say such words as those! Remember whatyou owe your husband and yourself, and come away."
"I do know what I owe him, and I will pay it him. Alice, if I had achild I think I would be true to him. Think! I know I would;--thoughI had no hour of happiness left to me in my life. But what now is theonly honest thing that I can do? Why, leave him;--so leave him thathe may have another wife and be the father of a child. What injuryshall I do him by leaving him? He does not love me; you know yourselfthat he does not love me."
"I know that he does."
"Alice, that is untrue. He does not; and you have seen clearly thatit is so. It may be that he can love no woman. But another womanwould give him a son, and he would be happy. I tell you that everyday and every night,--every hour of every day and of every night,--Iam thinking of the man I love. I have nothing else to think of. Ihave no occupation,--no friends,--no one to whom I care to say aword. But I am always talking to Burgo in my thoughts; and he listensto me. I dream that his arm is round me--"
"Oh, Glencora!"
"Well!--Do you begrudge me that I should tell you the truth? You havesaid that you would be my friend, and you must bear the burden of myfriendship. And now,--this is what I want to tell you.--Immediatelyafter Christmas, we are to go to Monkshade, and he will be there.Lady Monk is his aunt."
"You must not go. No power should take you there."
"That is easily said, child; but all the same I must go. I told Mr.Palliser that he would be there, and he said it did not signify.He actually said that it did not signify. I wonder whether heunderstands what it is for people to love each other;--whether he hasever thought about it."
"You must tell him plainly that you will not go."
"I did. I told him plainly as words could tell him. 'Glencora,' hesaid,--and you know the way he looks when he means to be lord andmaster, and put on the very husband indeed,--'This is an annoyancewhich you must bear and overcome. It suits me that we should go toMonkshade, and it does not suit me that there should be any one whomyou are afraid to meet.' Could I tell him that he would lose his wifeif I did go? Could I threaten him that I would throw myself intoBurgo's arms if that opportunity were given to me? You are very wise,and very prudent. What would you have had me say?"
"I would have you now tell him everything, rather than go to thathouse."
"Alice, look here. I know what I am, and what I am like to become. Iloathe myself, and I loathe the thing that I am thinking of. I couldhave clung to the outside of a man's body, to his very trappings,and loved him ten times better than myself!--ay, even though hehad ill-treated me,--if I had been allowed to choose a husband formyself. Burgo would have spent my money,--all that it would have beenpossible for me to give him. But there would have been somethingleft, and I think that by that time I could have won even him to carefor me. But with that man--! Alice you are very wise. What am I todo?"
Alice had no doubt as to what her cousin should do. She should betrue to her marriage-vow, whether that vow when made were true orfalse. She should be true to it as far as truth would now carry her.And in order that she might be true, she should tell her husband asmuch as might be necessary to induce him to spare her the threatenedvisit to Monkshade. All that she said to Lady Glencora, as theywalked slowly across the chapel. But Lady Glencora was more occupiedwith her own thoughts than with her friend's advice. "Here'sJeffrey!" she said. "What an unconscionable time we have kept him!"
"Don't mention it," he said. "And I shouldn't have come to you now,only that I thought I should find you both freezing into marble."
"We are not such cold-blooded creatures as that,--are we, Alice?"said Lady Glencora. "And now we'll go round the outside; only we mustnot stay long, or we shall frighten those two delicious old duennas,Mrs. Marsham and Mr. Bott."
These last words were said as it were in a whisper to Alice; but theywere so whispered that there was no real attempt to keep them fromthe ears of Mr. Jeffrey Palliser. Glencora, Alice thought, should nothave allowed the word duenna to have passed her lips in speaking toany one; but, above all, she should not have done so in the hearingof Mr. Palliser's cousin.
They walked all round the ruin, on a raised gravel-path which hadbeen made there; and Alice, who could hardly bring herself tospeak,--so full was her mind of that which had just been said toher,--was surprised to find that Glencora could go on, in her usuallight humour, chatting as though there were no weight within her todepress her spirits.