CHAPTER LXX.
At Lucerne.
I am inclined to think that Mr. Palliser did not much enjoy thispart of his tour abroad. When he first reached Lucerne there was noone there with whom he could associate pleasantly, nor had he anyoccupation capable of making his time run easily. He did not care forscenery. Close at his elbow was the finest to be had in Europe; butit was nothing to him. Had he been simply journeying through Lucerneat the proper time of the year for such a journey, when the businessof the Session was over, and a little change of air needed, he couldhave enjoyed the thing in a moderate way, looking about him, passingon, and knowing that it was good for him to be there at that moment.But he had none of that passion for mountains and lakes, none ofthat positive joy in the heather, which would have compensated manyanother man for the loss of all that Mr. Palliser was losing. His mindwas ever at home in the House of Commons, or in that august assemblywhich men call the Cabinet, and of the meetings of which he read fromweek to week the simple records. Therein were mentioned the names ofthose heroes to whom Fortune had been so much kinder than she hadbeen to him; and he envied them. He took short, solitary walks, aboutthe town, over the bridges, and along the rivers, making to himselfthe speeches which he would have made to full houses, had not hiswife brought ruin upon all his hopes. And as he pictured to himselfthe glorious successes which probably never would have been his hadhe remained in London, so did he prophesy to himself an absolute andirremediable downfall from all political power as the result of hisabsence,--having, in truth, no sufficient cause for such despair. Asyet, he was barely thirty, and had he been able to judge his own caseas keenly as he could have judged the case of another, he would haveknown that a short absence might probably raise his value in theestimation of others rather than lower it. But his personal annoyancewas too great to allow of his making such calculations aright. So hebecame fretful and unhappy; and though he spoke no word of rebuketo his wife, though he never hinted that she had robbed him of hisglories, he made her conscious by his manner that she had brought himto this miserable condition.
Lady Glencora herself had a love for the mountains and lakes, but itwas a love of that kind which requires to be stimulated by society,and which is keenest among cold chickens, picnic-pies, and the flyingof champagne corks. When they first entered Switzerland she was veryenthusiastic, and declared her intention of climbing up all themountains, and going through all the passes. She endeavoured toinduce her husband to promise that she should be taken up Mont Blanc.And I think she would have carried this on, and would have been takenup Mont Blanc, had Mr. Palliser's aspirations been congenial. But theywere not congenial, and Lady Glencora soon lost all her enthusiasm.By the time that they were settled at Lucerne she had voted themountains to be bores, and had almost learned to hate the lake, whichshe declared always made her wet through when she got into a smallboat, and sea-sick when she put her foot in a large one. At Lucernethey made no acquaintances, Mr. Palliser being a man not apt to newfriendships. They did not even dine at the public table, though LadyGlencora had expressed a wish to do so. Mr. Palliser did not like it,and of course Lady Glencora gave way. There were, moreover, somemarital passages which were not pleasant to a third person. They didnot scold each other; but Lady Glencora would make little speeches ofwhich her husband disapproved. She would purposely irritate him bycontinuing her tone of badinage, and then Mr. Palliser would becomefretful, and would look as though the cares of the world were toomany for him. I cannot, therefore, say that Alice had much to makethe first period of her sojourn at Lucerne a period of enjoyment.
But when they had been there about a fortnight, a stranger arrived,whose coming at any rate lent the grace of some excitement to theirlives. Their custom was to breakfast at nine,--or as near nine asLady Glencora could be induced to appear,--and then Mr. Palliser wouldread till three. At that hour he would walk forth by himself, afterhaving handed the two ladies into their carriage, and they wouldbe driven about for two hours. "How I do hate this carriage," LadyGlencora said one day. "I do so wish it would come to grief, and bebroken to pieces. I wonder whether the Swiss people think that we aregoing to be driven about here for ever." There were moments, however,which seemed to indicate that Lady Glencora had something to tellher cousin, which, if told, would alter the monotony of their lives.Alice, however, would not press her for her secret.
"If you have anything to tell, why don't you tell it?" Alice oncesaid.
"You are so hard," said Lady Glencora.
"So you tell me very often," Alice replied; "and it is notcomplimentary. But hard or soft, I won't make a petition for yourconfidence." Then Lady Glencora said something savage, and thesubject was dropped for a while.
But we must go back to the stranger. Mr. Palliser had put the ladiesinto their carriage, and was standing between the front door of thehotel and the lake on a certain day, doubting whether he would walkup the hill to the left or turn into the town on the right, when hewas accosted by an English gentleman, who, raising his hat, said thathe believed that he spoke to Mr. Palliser.
"I am Mr. Palliser," said our friend, very courteously, returning thesalute, and smiling as he spoke. But though he smiled, and thoughhe was courteous, and though he raised his hat, there was somethingin his look and voice which would not have encouraged any ordinarystranger to persevere. Mr. Palliser was not a man with whom it waseasy to open an acquaintance.
"My name is John Grey," said the stranger.
Then the smile was dropped, the look of extreme courtesy disappeared,the tone of Mr. Palliser's voice was altered, and he put out hishand. He knew enough of Mr. John Grey's history to be aware thatMr. John Grey was a man with whom he might permit himself to becomeacquainted. After the interchange of a very few words, the two menstarted off for a walk together.
"Perhaps you don't wish to meet the carriage?" said Mr. Palliser. "Ifso, we had better go through the town and up the river."
They went through the town, and up the river, and when Mr. Palliser,on his return, was seen by Alice and Lady Glencora, he was alone.They dined together, and nothing was said. Together they saunteredout in the evening, and together came in and drank their tea; butstill nothing was said. At last, Alice and her cousin took theircandles from Mr. Palliser's hands and left the sitting-room for thenight.
"Alice," said Lady Glencora, as soon as they were in the passagetogether, "I have been dying for this time to come. I could not speakbefore, or I should have made blunders, and so would you. Let us gointo your room at once. Who do you think is here, at Lucerne, in thishouse, at this very moment?"
Alice knew at once who it was. She knew, immediately, that Mr. Greyhad followed her, though no word had been written to her or spoken toher on the subject since that day on which he himself had told herthat they would meet abroad. But though she was quite sure, she didnot mention his name. "Who is it, Glencora?" she asked, very calmly.
"Whom in all the world would you best like to see?" said Glencora.
"My cousin Kate, certainly," said Alice.
"Then it is not your cousin Kate. And I don't believe you;--or elseyou're a fool."
Alice was accustomed to Lady Glencora's mode of talking, andtherefore did not think much of this. "Perhaps I am a fool," shesaid.
"Only I know you are not. But I am not at all so sure as to yourbeing no hypocrite. The person I mean is a gentleman, of course. Whydon't you show a little excitement, at any rate? When Plantagenettold me, just before dinner, I almost jumped out of my shoes. He wasgoing to tell you himself after dinner, in the politest way in theworld, no doubt, and just as the servants were carrying away theapples. I thought it best to save you from that; but, I declare, Ibelieve I might have left him to do it; it would have had no effectupon you. Who is it that has come, do you suppose?"
"Of course I know now," said Alice, very calmly, "that Mr. John Greyhas come."
"Yes, Mr. John Grey has come. He is here in this house at thisminute;--or, more probably, waiting outside by the lake till he shallsee a l
ight in your bedroom." Then Lady Glencora paused for a moment,waiting that Alice might say something. But Alice said nothing."Well?" said Lady Glencora, rising up from her chair. "Well?"
"Well?" said Alice.
"Have you nothing to say? Is it the same to you as though Mr. Smithhad come?"
"No; not exactly the same. I am quite alive to the importance of Mr.Grey's arrival, and shall probably lie awake all night thinking aboutit,--if it will do you any good to know that; but I don't feel that Ihave much to say about it."
"I wish I had let Mr. Palliser tell you, in an ordinary way, beforeall the servants. I do indeed."
"It would not have made much difference."
"Not the least, I believe. I wonder whether you ever did care foranybody in your life,--for him, or for that other one, or foranybody. For nobody, I believe;--except your cousin Kate. Stillwaters, they say, run deep; and sometimes I think your waters runtoo deep for me to fathom. I suppose I may go now, if you have gotnothing more to say?"
"What do you want me to say? Of course I know why he has come here.He told me he should come."
"And you have never said a word about it."
"He told me he should come, and I thought it better not to say a wordabout it. He might change his mind, or anything might happen. I toldhim not to come; and it would have been much better that he shouldhave remained away."
"Why;--why;--why would it be better?"
"Because his being here will do no good to any one."
"No good! It seems to me impossible but that it should do all thegood in the world. Look here, Alice. If you do not altogether makeit up with him before to-morrow evening, I shall believe you to beutterly heartless. Had I been you I should have been in his armsbefore this. I'll go now, and leave you to lie awake, as you sayyou will." Then she left the room, but returned in a moment to askanother question. "What is Plantagenet to say to him about seeing youto-morrow? Of course he has asked permission to come and call."
"He may come if he pleases. You don't think I have quarrelled withhim, or would refuse to see him!"
"And may we ask him to dine with us?"
"Oh, yes."
"And make up a picnic, and all the rest of it. In fact, he is tobe regarded as only an ordinary person. Well;--good night. I don'tunderstand you, that's all."
It may be doubted whether Alice understood herself. As soon as herfriend was gone, she put out her candle and seated herself at theopen window of her room, looking out upon the moonlight as it playedupon the lake. Would he be there, thinking of her, looking up,perhaps, as Glencora had hinted, to see if he could distinguish herlight among the hundred that would be flickering across the longfront of the house. If it were so, at any rate he should not see her,so she drew the curtain, and sat there watching the lake. It wasa pity that he should have come, and yet she loved him dearly forcoming. It was a pity that he should have come, as his coming couldlead to no good result. Of this she assured herself over and overagain, and yet she hardly knew why she was so sure of it. Glencorahad called her hard; but her conviction on that matter had not comefrom hardness. Now that she was alone, her heart was full of love, ofthe soft romance of love towards this man; and yet she felt that sheought not to marry him, even though he might still be willing to takeher. That he was still willing to take her, that he desired to haveher for his wife in spite of all the injury she had done him, therecould be no doubt. Why else had he followed her to Switzerland? Andshe remembered, now at this moment, how he had told her at Cheltenhamthat he would never consider her to be lost to him, unless sheshould, in truth, become the wife of another man. Why, then, shouldit not be as he wished it?
Alice.]
She asked herself the question, and did not answer it; but still shefelt that it might not be so. She had no right to such happinessafter the evil that she had done. She had been driven by a frenzy todo that which she herself could not pardon and having done it, shecould not bring herself to accept the position which should have beenthe reward of good conduct. She could not analyse the causes whichmade her feel that she must still refuse the love that was profferedto her; she could not clearly read her own thoughts; but the causeswere as I have said, and such was the true reading of her thoughts.Had she simply refused his hand after she had once accepted it,--hadshe refused it, and then again changed her mind, she could havebrought herself to ask him to forgive her. But she had done so muchmore than this, and so much worse! She had affianced herself toanother man since she had belonged to him,--since she had been his,as his future wife. What must he not think of her, and what notsuspect? Then she remembered those interviews which she had had withher cousin since she had written to him, accepting his offer. Whenhe had been with her in Queen Anne Street she had shrunk from alloutward signs of a love which she did not feel. There had been nocaress between them. She had not allowed him to touch her with hislips. But it was impossible that the nature of that mad engagementbetween her and her cousin George should ever be made known to Mr.Grey. She sat there wiping the tears from her eyes as she looked forhis figure among the figures by the lake-side; but, as she sat there,she promised herself no happiness from his coming. Oh! reader, canyou forgive her in that she had sinned against the softness of herfeminine nature? I think that she may be forgiven, in that she hadnever brought herself to think lightly of her own fault.
If he were there, by the lake-side, she did not see him. I think wemay say that John Grey was not a man to console himself in his loveby looking up at his lady's candle. He was one who was capable ofdoing as much as most men in the pursuit of his love,--as he provedto be the case when he followed Alice to Cheltenham, and again toLondon, and now again to Lucerne; but I doubt whether a glimmer fromher bedroom-window, had it been unmistakably her own glimmer, and notthat of some ugly old French woman who might chance to sleep next toher, would have done him much good. He had come to Lucerne with apurpose, which purpose, if it might be possible, he meant to carryout; but I think he was already in bed, being tired with long travel,before Lady Glencora had left Alice's room.
At breakfast the next morning nothing was said for a while about thenew arrival. At last Mr. Palliser ventured to speak. "Glencora hastold you, I think, that Mr. Grey is here? Mr. Grey is an old friend ofyours, I believe?"
Alice, keeping her countenance as well as she was able, said Mr. Greyhad been, and, indeed, was, a very dear friend of hers. Mr. Palliserknew the whole story, and what was the use of any little attempt atdissimulation? "I shall be glad to see him,--if you will allow me?"she went on to say.
"Glencora suggests that we should ask him to dinner," said Mr.Palliser; and then that matter was settled.
But Mr. Grey did not wait till dinner-time to see Alice. Early in themorning his card was brought up, and Lady Glencora, as soon as shesaw the name, immediately ran away.
"Indeed you need not go," said Alice.
"Indeed I shall go," said her ladyship. "I know what's proper onthese occasions, if you don't."
So she went, whisking herself along the passages with a little run;and Mr. Grey, as he was shown into her ladyship's usual sitting-room,saw the skirt of her ladyship's dress as she whisked herself offtowards her husband.
"I told you I should come," he said, with his ordinary sweet smile."I told you that I should follow you, and here I am."
He took her hand, and held it, pressing it warmly. She hardly knewwith what words first to address him, or how to get her hand backfrom him.
"I am very glad to see you,--as an old friend," she said; "but Ihope--"
"Well;--you hope what?"
"I hope you have had some better cause for travelling than a desireto see me?"
"No, dearest; no. I have had no better cause, and, indeed, noneother. I have come on purpose to see you; and had Mr. Pallisertaken you off to Asia or Africa, I think I should have felt myselfcompelled to follow him. You know why I follow you?"
"Hardly," said she,--not finding at the moment any other word thatshe could say.
"Because I love
you. You see what a plain-spoken John Bull I am, andhow I come to the point at once. I want you to be my wife; and theysay that perseverance is the best way when a man has such a want asthat."
"You ought not to want it," she said, whispering the words as thoughshe were unable to speak them out loud.
"But I do, you see. And why should I not want it?"
"I am not fit to be your wife."
"I am the best judge of that, Alice. You have to make up your mindwhether I am fit to be your husband."
"You would be disgraced if you were to take me, after all that haspassed;--after what I have done. What would other men say of you whenthey knew the story?"
"Other men, I hope, would be just enough to say, that when I had madeup my mind, I was tolerably constant in keeping to it. I do not thinkthey could say much worse of me than that."
"They would say that you had been jilted, and had forgiven the jilt."
"As far as the forgiveness goes, they would tell the truth. But,indeed, Alice, I don't very much care what men do say of me."
"But I care, Mr. Grey;--and though you may forgive me, I cannotforgive myself. Indeed I know now, as I have known all along, thatI am not fit to be your wife. I am not good enough. And I have donethat which makes me feel that I have no right to marry anyone."These words she said, jerking out the different sentences almost inconvulsions; and when she had come to the end of them, the tearswere streaming down her cheeks. "I have thought about it, and Iwill not. I will not. After what has passed, I know that it will bebetter,--more seemly, that I should remain as I am."
Soon after that she left him, not, however, till she had told himthat she would meet him again at dinner, and had begged him to treather simply as a friend. "In spite of everything, I hope that we mayalways be friends,--dear friends," she said.
"I hope we may," he answered;--"the very dearest." And then he lefther.
In the afternoon he again encountered Mr. Palliser, and having thoughtover the matter since his interview with Alice, he resolved to tellhis whole story to his new acquaintance,--not in order that he mightask for counsel from him, for in this matter he wanted no man'sadvice,--but that he might get some assistance. So the two menwalked off together, up the banks of the clear-flowing Reuss, and Mr.Palliser felt the comfort of having a companion.
"I have always liked her," said Mr. Palliser, "though, to tell thetruth, I have twice been very angry with her."
"I have never been angry with her," said the lover.
"And my anger was in both instances unjust. You may imagine howgreat is my confidence in her, when I have thought she was thebest companion my wife could have for a long journey, taken undercircumstances that were--that were--; but I need not trouble you withthat."
So great had been the desolation of Mr. Palliser's life since hisbanishment from London that he almost felt tempted to tell the storyof his troubles to this absolute stranger. But he bethought himselfof the blood of the Pallisers, and refrained. There are comfortswhich royalty may never enjoy, and luxuries in which such men asPlantagenet Palliser may not permit themselves to indulge.
"About her and her character I have no doubt in the world," saidGrey. "In all that she has done I think that I have seen her motives;and though I have not approved of them, I have always known them tobe pure and unselfish. She has done nothing that I did not forgive assoon as it was done. Had she married that man, I should have forgivenher even that,--though I should have known that all her future lifewas destroyed, and much of mine also. I think I can make her happy ifshe will marry me, but she must first be taught to forgive herself.Living as she is with you, and with your wife, she may, perhaps,just now be more under your influence and your wife's than she canpossibly be under mine." Whereupon, Mr. Palliser promised that hewould do what he could. "I think she loves me," said Mr. Grey.
Mr. Palliser said that he was sure she did, though what ground hehad for such assurance I am quite unable to surmise. He was probablydesirous of saying the most civil thing which occurred to him.
The little dinner-party that evening was pleasant enough, and nothingmore was said about love. Lady Glencora talked nonsense to Mr. Grey,and Mr. Palliser contradicted all the nonsense which his wife talked.But this was all done in such a way that the evening passed awaypleasantly. It was tacitly admitted among them that Mr. Grey was to beallowed to come among them as a friend, and Lady Glencora managed tosay one word to him aside, in which she promised to give him her mostcordial cooperation.