Can You Forgive Her?

  CHAPTER LXIV.

  The Rocks and Valleys.

  During these days Mrs. Greenow was mistress of the old Hall down inWestmoreland, and was nursing Kate assiduously through the calamityof her broken arm. There had come to be a considerable amount ofconfidence between the aunt and the niece. Kate had acknowledged toher aunt that her brother had behaved badly,--very badly; and theaunt had confessed to the niece that she regarded Captain Bellfieldas a fit subject for compassion.

  "And he was violent to you, and broke your arm? I always knew it wasso," Mrs. Greenow had said, speaking with reference to her nephew. Butthis Kate had denied. "No," said she; "that was an accident. When hewent away and left me, he knew nothing about it. And if he had brokenboth my arms I should not have cared much. I could have forgiven himthat." But that which Kate could not forgive him was the fault whichshe had herself committed. For his sake she had done her best toseparate Alice and John Grey, and George had shown himself to beunworthy of the kindness of her treachery. "I would give all I havein the world to bring them together again," Kate said. "They'll cometogether fast enough if they like each other," said Mrs. Greenow."Alice is young still, and they tell me she's as good looking asever. A girl with her money won't have far to seek for a husband,even if this paragon from Cambridgeshire should not turn up again."

  "You don't know Alice, aunt."

  "No, I don't. But I know what young women are, and I know what youngmen are. All this nonsense about her cousin George,--what differencewill it make? A man like Mr. Grey won't care about that,--especiallynot if she tells him all about it. My belief is that a girl can haveanything forgiven her, if she'll only tell it herself."

  But Kate preferred the other subject, and so, I think, did Mrs.Greenow herself. "Of course, my dear," she would say, "marriage withme, if I should marry again, would be a very different thing to yourmarriage, or that of any other young person. As for love, that hasbeen all over for me since poor Greenow died. I have known nothingof the softness of affection since I laid him in his cold grave, andnever can again. 'Captain Bellfield,' I said to him, 'if you were tokneel at my feet for years, it would not make me care for you in theway of love.'"

  "And what did he say to that?"

  "How am I to tell you what he said? He talked nonsense about mybeauty, as all the men do. If a woman were hump-backed, and had onlyone eye, they wouldn't be ashamed to tell her she was a Venus."

  "But, aunt, you are a handsome woman, you know."

  "Laws, my dear, as if I didn't understand all about it; as if Ididn't know what makes a woman run after? It isn't beauty,--and itisn't money altogether. I've seen women who had plenty of both, andnot a man would come nigh them. They didn't dare. There are some ofthem, a man would as soon think of putting his arm round a poplartree, they are so hard and so stiff. You know you're a little thatway yourself, Kate, and I've always told you it won't do."

  "I'm afraid I'm too old to mend, aunt."

  "Not at all, if you'll only set your wits to work and try. You'veplenty of money now, and you're good-looking enough, too, when youtake the trouble to get yourself up. But, as I said before, it isn'tthat that's wanted. There's a stand-off about some women,--what themen call a 'nollimy tangere,' that a man must be quite a furiousOrlando to attempt to get the better of it. They look as thoughmatrimony itself were improper, and as if they believed that littlebabies were found about in the hedges and ditches. They talk of womenbeing forward! There are some of them a deal too backward, accordingto my way of thinking."

  "Yours is a comfortable doctrine, aunt."

  "That's just what I want it to be. I want things to be comfortable.Why shouldn't things be nice about one when one's got the means?Nobody can say it's a pleasant thing to live alone. I always thoughtthat man in the song hit it off properly. You remember what he says?'The poker and tongs to each other belongs.' So they do, and thatshould be the way with men and women."

  "But the poker and tongs have but a bad life of it sometimes."

  "Not so often as the people say, my dear. Men and women ain't likelumps of sugar. They don't melt because the water is sometimes warm.Now, if I do take Bellfield,--and I really think I shall; but if Ido he'll give me a deal of trouble. I know he will. He'll alwaysbe wanting my money, and, of course, he'll get more than he ought.I'm not a Solomon, nor yet a Queen of Sheba, no more than anybodyelse. And he'll smoke too many cigars, and perhaps drink morebrandy-and-water than he ought. And he'll be making eyes, too, atsome of the girls who'll be fools enough to let him."

  "Dear me, aunt, if I thought all that ill of him, I'm sure I wouldn'tmarry him;--especially as you say you don't love him."

  "As for love, my dear, that's gone,--clear gone!" Whereupon Mrs.Greenow put up her handkerchief to her eyes. "Some women can lovetwice, but I am not one of them. I wish I could,--I wish I could!"These last words were spoken in a tone of solemn regret, which,however, she contrived to change as quickly as she had adopted it."But my dear, marriage is a comfortable thing. And then, thoughthe Captain may be a little free, I don't doubt but what I shallget the upper hand with him at last. I shan't stop his cigars andbrandy-and-water you know. Why shouldn't a man smoke and have aglass, if he don't make a beast of himself? I like to see a man enjoyhimself. And then," she added, speaking tenderly of her absent lover,"I do think he's fond of me,--I do, indeed."

  "So is Mr. Cheesacre for the matter of that."

  "Poor Cheesy! I believe he was, though he did talk so much aboutmoney. I always like to believe the best I can of them. But thenthere was no poetry about Cheesy. I don't care about saying it now,as you've quite made up your mind not to have him."

  "Quite, aunt."

  "Your grandfather's will does make a difference, you know. But, asI was saying, I do like a little romance about them,--just a sniff,as I call it, of the rocks and valleys. One knows that it doesn'tmean much; but it's like artificial flowers,--it gives a littlecolour, and takes off the dowdiness. Of course, bread-and-cheese isthe real thing. The rocks and valleys are no good at all, if youhaven't got that, But enough is as good as a feast. Thanks to dearGreenow,"--here the handkerchief was again used--"Thanks to dearGreenow, I shall never want. Of course I shan't let any of the moneygo into his hands,--the Captain's, I mean. I know a trick worth twoof that, my dear. But, lord love you! I've enough for him and me.What's the good of a woman's wanting to keep it all to herself?"

  A sniff of the rocks and valleys.]

  "And you think you'll really take him, aunt, and pay hiswasherwoman's bills for him? You remember what you told me when Ifirst saw him?"

  "Oh, yes; I remember. And if he can't pay his own washerwoman, isn'tthat so much more of a reason that I should do it for him? Well; yes;I think I will take him. That is, if he lets me take him just as Ichoose. Beggars mustn't be choosers, my dear."

  In this way the aunt and niece became very confidential, and Mrs.Greenow whispered into Kate's ears her belief that Captain Bellfieldmight possibly make his way across the country to Westmoreland."There would be no harm in offering him a bed, would there?" Mrs.Greenow asked. "You see the inn at Shap is a long way off for morningcalls." Kate could not take upon herself to say that there would beany harm, but she did not like the idea of having Captain Bellfieldas a visitor. "After all, perhaps he mayn't come," said the widow. "Idon't see where he is to raise the money for such a journey, now thathe has quarrelled with Mr. Cheesacre."

  "If Captain Bellfield must come to Vavasor Hall, at any rate let himnot come till Alice's visit had been completed." That was Kate'spresent wish, and so much she ventured to confide to her aunt. Butthere seemed to be no way of stopping him. "I don't in the least knowwhere he is, my dear, and as for writing to him, I never did such athing in my life, and I shouldn't know how to begin." Mrs. Greenowdeclared that she had not positively invited the Captain; but on thispoint Kate hardly gave full credit to her aunt's statement.

  Alice arrived, and, for a day or two, the three ladies lived verypleasantly together. Kate still wore her arm in a sling; bu
t she wasable to walk out, and would take long walks in spite of the doctor'sprohibition. Of course, they went up on the mountains. Indeed, allthe walks from Vavasor Hall led to the mountains, unless one chose totake the road to Shap. But they went up, across the beacon hill, asthough by mutual consent. There were no questions asked between themas to the route to be taken; and though they did not reach the stoneon which they had once sat looking over upon Haweswater, they didreach the spot upon which Kate had encountered her accident. "It washere I fell," she said; "and the last I saw of him was his back, ashe made his way down into the valley, there. When I got upon my legsI could still see him. It was one of those evenings when the cloudsare dark, but you can see all objects with a peculiar clearnessthrough the air. I stood here ever so long, holding my arm, andwatching him; but he never once turned to look back at me. Do youknow, Alice, I fancy that I shall never see him again."

  "Do you suppose that he means to quarrel with you altogether?"

  "I can hardly tell you what I mean! He seemed to me to be going awayfrom me, as though he went into another world. His figure against thelight was quite clear, and he walked quickly, and on he went, tillthe slope of the hill hid him from me. Of course, I thought that hewould return to the Hall. At one time I almost feared that he wouldcome upon me through the woods, as I went back myself. But yet, I hada feeling,--what people call a presentiment, that I should never seehim again."

  "He has never written?"

  "No; not a word. You must remember that he did not know that I hadhurt myself. I am sure he will not write, and I am sure, also, that Ishall not. If he wanted money I would send it to him, but I would notwrite to him."

  "I fear he will always want money, Kate."

  "I fear he will. If you could know what I suffered when he made mewrite that letter to you! But, of course, I was a beast. Of course,I ought not to have written it."

  "I thought it a very proper letter."

  "It was a mean letter. The whole thing was mean! He should havestarved in the street before he had taken your money. He should havegiven up Parliament, and everything else! I had doubted much abouthim before, but it was that which first turned my heart againsthim. I had begun to fear that he was not such a man as I had alwaysthought him,--as I had spoken of him to you."

  "I had judged of him for myself," said Alice.

  "Of course you did. But I had endeavoured to make you judge kindly.Alice, dear! we have both suffered for him; you more than I, perhaps;but I, too, have given up everything for him. My whole life hasbeen at his service. I have been his creature, to do his bidding,just as he might tell me. He made me do things that I knew to bewrong,--things that were foreign to my own nature; and yet I almostworshipped him. Even now, if he were to come back, I believe that Ishould forgive him everything."

  "I should forgive him, but I could never do more."

  "But he will never come back. He will never ask us to forgive him, oreven wish it. He has no heart."

  "He has longed for money till the Devil has hardened his heart," saidAlice.

  "And yet how tender he could be in his manner when he chose it;--howsoft he could make his words and his looks! Do you remember how hebehaved to us in Switzerland? Do you remember that balcony at Basle,and the night we sat there, when the boys were swimming down theriver?"

  "Yes;--I remember."

  "So do I! So do I! Alice, I would give all I have in the world, if Icould recall that journey to Switzerland."

  "If you mean for my sake, Kate--"

  "I do mean for your sake. It made no difference to me. Whether Istayed in Westmoreland or went abroad, I must have found out that mygod was made of bricks and clay instead of gold. But there was noneed for you to be crushed in the ruins."

  "I am not crushed, Kate!"

  "Of course, you are too proud to own it?"

  "If you mean about Mr. Grey, that would have happened just the same,whether I had gone abroad or remained at home."

  "Would it, dear?"

  "Just the same."

  There was nothing more than this said between them about Mr. Grey.Even to her cousin, Alice could not bring herself to talk freely onthat subject. She would never allow herself to think, for a moment,that she had been persuaded by others to treat him as she had treatedhim. She was sure that she had acted on her own convictions of whatwas right and wrong; and now, though she had begun to feel that shehad been wrong, she would hardly confess as much even to herself.

  They walked back, down the hill, to the Hall in silence for thegreater part of the way. Once or twice Kate repeated her convictionthat she should never again see her brother. "I do not know what mayhappen to him," she said in answer to her cousin's questions; "butwhen he was passing out of my sight into the valley, I felt that Iwas looking at him for the last time."

  "That is simply what people call a presentiment," Alice replied.

  "Exactly so; and presentiments, of course, mean nothing," said Kate.

  Then they walked on towards the house without further speech; butwhen they reached the end of the little path which led out of thewood, on to the gravelled sweep before the front door, they were botharrested by a sight that met their eyes. There was a man standing,with a cigar in his mouth, before them, swinging a little cane,and looking about him up at the wood. He had on his head a jauntylittle straw-hat, and he wore a jacket with brass buttons, and whitetrousers. It was now nearly the middle of May, but the summer doesnot come to Westmoreland so early as that, and the man, as he stoodthere looking about him, seemed to be cold and almost uncomfortable.He had not as yet seen the two girls, who stood at the end of thewalk, arrested by the sight of him. "Who is it?" asked Alice, in awhisper.

  "Captain Bellfield," said Kate, speaking with something very likedismay in her voice.

  "What! aunt Greenow's Captain?"

  "Yes; aunt Greenow's Captain. I have been fearing this, and now, whaton earth are we to do with him? Look at him. That's what aunt Greenowcalls a sniff of the rocks and valleys."

  The Captain began to move,--just to move, as though it were necessaryto do something to keep the life in his limbs. He had finished hiscigar, and looked at the end of it with manifest regret. As he threwit away among a tuft of shrubs his eye fell upon the two ladies, andhe uttered a little exclamation. Then he came forward, waving hislittle straw-hat in his hand, and made his salutation. "Miss Vavasor,I am delighted," he said. "Miss Alice Vavasor, if I am not mistaken?I have been commissioned by my dear friend Mrs. Greenow to go out andseek you, but, upon my word, the woods looked so black that I did notdare to venture;--and then, of course, I shouldn't have found you."

  Kate put out her left hand, and then introduced her cousin to theCaptain. Again he waved his little straw-hat, and strove to bearhimself as though he were at home and comfortable. But he failed,and it was manifest that he failed. He was not the Bellfield who hadconquered Mr. Cheesacre on the sands at Yarmouth, though he wore thesame jacket and waistcoat, and must now have enjoyed the internalsatisfaction of feeling that his future maintenance in life wasassured to him. But he was not at his ease. His courage had sufficedto enable him to follow his quarry into Westmoreland, but it did notsuffice to make him comfortable while he was there. Kate instantlyperceived his condition, and wickedly resolved that she would make noeffort to assist him. She went through some ceremony of introduction,and then expressed her surprise at seeing him so far north.

  "Well," said he; "I am a little surprised myself;--I am, indeed! ButI had nothing to do in Norwich,--literally nothing; and your aunt hadso often talked to me of the beauties of this place,"--and he wavedhis hand round at the old house and the dark trees,--"that I thoughtI'd take the liberty of paying you a flying visit. I didn't mean tointrude in the way of sleeping; I didn't indeed, Miss Vavasor; onlyMrs. Greenow has been so kind as to say--"

  "We are so very far out of the world, Captain Bellfield, that wealways give our visitors beds."

  "I didn't intend it; I didn't indeed, miss!" Poor Captain Bellfieldwas becoming very uneasy
in his agitation. "I did just put my bag,with a change of things, into the gig, which brought me over, notknowing quite where I might go on to."

  "We won't send you any further to-day, at any rate," said Kate.

  "Mrs. Greenow has been very kind,--very kind, indeed. She has asked meto stay till--Saturday!"

  Kate bit her lips in a momentary fit of anger. The house was herhouse, and not her aunt's. But she remembered that her aunt had beenkind to her at Norwich and at Yarmouth, and she allowed this feelingto die away. "We shall be very glad to see you," she said. "We arethree women together here, and I'm afraid you will find us ratherdull."

  "Oh dear, no,--dull with you! That would be impossible!"

  "And how have you left your friend, Mr. Cheesacre?"

  "Quite well;--very well, thank you. That is to say, I haven't seenhim much lately. He and I did have a bit of a breeze, you know."

  "I can't say that I did know, Captain Bellfield."

  "I thought, perhaps, you had heard. He seemed to think that I was tooparticular in a certain quarter! Ha--ha--ha--ha! That's only my joke,you know, ladies."

  They then went into the house, and the Captain straggled in afterthem. Mrs. Greenow was in neither of the two sitting-rooms whichthey usually occupied. She, too, had been driven somewhat out of theordinary composure of her manner by the arrival of her lover,--eventhough she had expected it, and had retired to her room, thinkingthat she had better see Kate in private before they met in thepresence of the Captain. "I suppose you have seen my aunt since youhave been here?" said Kate.

  "Oh dear, yes. I saw her, and she suggested that I had better walkout and find you. I did find you, you know, though I didn't walk veryfar."

  "And have you seen your room?"

  "Yes;--yes. She was kind enough to show me my room. Very nice indeed,thank you;--looking out into the front, and all that kind of thing."The poor fellow was no doubt thinking how much better was his lot atVavasor Hall than it had been at Oileymead. "I shan't stay long, MissVavasor,--only just a night or so; but I did want to see your auntagain,--and you, too, upon my word."

  "My aunt is the attraction, Captain Bellfield. We all know that."

  He actually simpered,--simpered like a young girl who is half elatedand half ashamed when her lover is thrown in her teeth. He fidgetedwith the things on the table, and moved himself about uneasily fromone leg to the other. Perhaps he was remembering that though he hadcontrived to bring himself to Vavasor Hall he had not money enoughleft to take him back to Norwich. The two girls left him and went totheir rooms. "I will go to my aunt at once," said Kate, "and find outwhat is to be done."

  "I suppose she means to marry him?"

  "Oh, yes; she means to marry him, and the sooner the better now. Iknew this was coming, but I did so hope it would not be while youwere here. It makes me feel so ashamed of myself that you should seeit."

  Kate boldly knocked at her aunt's door, and her aunt received herwith a conscious smile. "I was waiting for you to come," said Mrs.Greenow.

  "Here I am, aunt; and, what is more to the purpose, there is CaptainBellfield in the drawing-room."

  "Stupid man! I told him to take himself away about the place tilldinner-time. I've half a mind to send him back to Shap at once;--uponmy word I have."

  "Don't do that, aunt; it would be inhospitable."

  "But he is such an oaf. I hope you understand, my dear, that Icouldn't help it?"

  "But you do mean to--to marry him, aunt; don't you?"

  "Well, Kate, I really think I do. Why shouldn't I? It's a lonely sortof life being by myself; and, upon my word, I don't think there'svery much harm in him."

  "I am not saying anything against him; only in that case you can'tvery well turn him out of the house."

  "Could not I, though? I could in a minute; and, if you wish it, youshall see if I can't do it."

  "The rocks and valleys would not allow that, aunt."

  "It's all very well for you to laugh, my dear. If laughing wouldbreak my bones I shouldn't be as whole as I am now. I might have hadCheesacre if I liked, who is a substantial man, and could have kepta carriage for me; but it was the rocks and valleys that preventedthat;--and perhaps a little feeling that I might do some good toa poor fellow who has nobody in the world to look after him." Mrs.Greenow, as she said this, put her handkerchief up to her eyes, andwiped away the springing moisture. Tears were always easy with her,but on this occasion Kate almost respected her tears. "I'm sure Ihope you'll be happy, aunt."

  "If he makes me unhappy he shall pay for it;" and Mrs. Greenow, havingdone with the tears, shook her head, as though upon this occasion shequite meant all that she said.

  At dinner they were not very comfortable. Either the gloomy air ofthe place and the neighbourhood of the black pines had depressed theCaptain, or else the glorious richness of the prospects before himhad made him thoughtful. He had laid aside the jacket with the brassbuttons, and had dressed himself for dinner very soberly. And hebehaved himself at dinner and after dinner with a wonderful sobriety,being very unlike the Captain who had sat at the head of the tableat Mrs. Greenow's picnic. When left to himself after dinner hebarely swallowed two glasses of the old Squire's port wine before hesauntered out into the garden to join the ladies, whom he had seenthere; and when pressed by Kate to light a cigar he positivelydeclined.

  On the following morning Mrs. Greenow had recovered her composure,but Captain Bellfield was still in a rather disturbed state of mind.He knew that his efforts were to be crowned with success, and thathe was sure of his wife, but he did not know how the preliminarydifficulties were to be overcome, and he did not know what to dowith himself at the Hall. After breakfast he fidgeted about in theparlour, being unable to contrive for himself a mode of escape, andwas absolutely thrown upon his beam-ends when the widow asked himwhat he meant to do with himself between that and dinner.

  "I suppose I'd better take a walk," he said; "and perhaps the youngladies--"

  "If you mean my two nieces," said Mrs. Greenow, "I'm afraid you'llfind they are engaged. But if I'm not too old to walk with--" TheCaptain assured her that she was just of the proper age for a walkingcompanion, as far as his taste went, and then attempted some apologyfor the awkwardness of his expression, at which the three womenlaughed heartily. "Never mind, Captain," said Mrs. Greenow. "We'llhave our walk all the same, and won't mind those young girls. Comealong." They started, not up towards the mountains, as Kate alwaysdid when she walked in Westmoreland, but mildly, and at a gentlepace, as beseemed their years, along the road towards Shap. TheCaptain politely opened the old gate for the widow, and thencarefully closed it again,--not allowing it to swing, as he wouldhave done at Yarmouth. Then he tripped up to his place beside her,suggested his arm, which she declined, and walked on for some pacesin silence. What on earth was he to say to her? He had done hislove-making successfully, and what was he to do next?

  "Well, Captain Bellfield," said she. They were walking very slowly,and he was cutting the weeds by the roadside with his cane. He knewby her voice that something special was coming, so he left theweeds and ranged himself close up alongside of her. "Well, CaptainBellfield,--so I suppose I'm to be good-natured; am I?"

  "Arabella, you'll make me the happiest man in the world."

  "That's all fudge." She would have said, "all rocks and valleys,"only he would not have understood her.

  "Upon my word, you will."

  "I hope I shall make you respectable?"

  "Oh, yes; certainly. I quite intend that."

  "It is the great thing that you should intend. Of course I am goingto make a fool of myself."

  "No, no; don't say that."

  "If I don't say it, all my friends will say it for me. It's lucky foryou that I don't much care what people say."

  "It is lucky;--I know that I'm lucky. The very first day I saw you Ithought what a happy fellow I was to meet you. Then, of course, I wasonly thinking of your beauty."

  "Get along with you!"

  "Upon my word, yes. Come
, Arabella, as we are to be man and wife, youmight as well." At this moment he had got very close to her, and hadrecovered something of his usual elasticity; but she would not allowhim even to put his arm round her waist. "Out in the high road!" shesaid. "How can you be so impertinent,--and so foolish?"

  "You might as well, you know,--just once."

  "Captain Bellfield, I brought you out here not for such fooling asthat, but in order that we might have a little chat about business.If we are to be man and wife, as you say, we ought to understand onwhat footing we are to begin together. I'm afraid your own privatemeans are not considerable?"

  "Well, no; they are not, Mrs. Greenow."

  "Have you anything?" The Captain hesitated, and poked the groundwith his cane. "Come, Captain Bellfield, let us have the truth atonce, and then we shall understand each other." The Captain stillhesitated, and said nothing. "You must have had something to liveupon, I suppose?" suggested the widow. Then the Captain, by degrees,told his story. He had a married sister by whom a guinea a week wasallowed to him. That was all. He had been obliged to sell out of thearmy, because he was unable to live on his pay as a lieutenant. Theprice of his commission had gone to pay his debts, and now,--yes,it was too true,--now he was in debt again. He owed ninety poundsto Cheesacre, thirty-two pounds ten to a tailor at Yarmouth, overseventeen pounds at his lodgings in Norwich. At the present momenthe had something under thirty shillings in his pocket. The tailor atYarmouth had lent him three pounds in order that he might make hisjourney into Westmoreland, and perhaps be enabled to pay his debtsby getting a rich wife. In the course of the cross-examination Mrs.Greenow got much information out of him; and then, when she wassatisfied that she had learned, not exactly all the truth, butcertain indications of the truth, she forgave him all his offences.

  "And now you will give a fellow a kiss,--just one kiss," said theecstatic Captain, in the height of his bliss.

  "Hush!" said the widow, "there's a carriage coming on the road--closeto us."