The Castle Inn

  CHAPTER XV

  AMORIS INTEGRATIO

  During the early days of the Minister's illness, when, as we have seen,all the political world of England were turning their coaches and sixtowards the Castle Inn, it came to be the custom for Julia to go everymorning to the little bridge over the Kennet, thence to watch thepanorama of departures and arrivals; and for Sir George to join herthere without excuse or explanation, and as if, indeed, nothing in theworld were more natural. As the Earl's illness continued to detain allwho desired to see him--from the Duke of Grafton's parliamentarysecretary to the humblest aspirant to a tide-waitership--Soane was notthe only one who had time on his hands and sought to while it away inthe company of the fair. The shades of Preshute churchyard, which liesin the bosom of the trees, not three bowshots from the Castle Inn andhard by the Kennet, formed the chosen haunt of one couple. A second pairfavoured a seat situate on the west side of the Castle Mound, and wellprotected by shrubs from the gaze of the vulgar. And there were others.

  These Corydons, however, were at ease; they basked free from care in thesmiles of their Celias. But Soane, in his philandering, had to do withblack care that would be ever at his elbow; black care, that always whenhe was not with Julia, and sometimes while he talked to her, would joghis thoughts, and draw a veil before the future. The prospect of losingEstcombe, of seeing the family Lares broken and cast out, and thefamily stem, tender and young, yet not ungracious, snapped off short,wrung a heart that belied his cold exterior. Moreover, when all thesehad been sacrificed, he was his own judge how far he could without meanspursue the life which he was living. Suspense, anxiety, sordidcalculation were ever twitching his sleeve, and would have hisattention. Was the claim a valid claim, and must it prevail? If itprevailed, how was he to live; and where, and on what? Would theMinister grant his suit for a place or a pension? Should he prefer thatsuit, or might he still by one deep night and one great hand at hazardwin back the thirty thousand guineas he had lost in five years?

  Such questions, troubling him whether he would or no, and forcingthemselves on his attention when they were least welcome, ruffled atlast the outward composure on which as a man of fashion he plumedhimself. He would fall silent in Julia's company, and turning his eyesfrom her, in unworthy forgetfulness, would trace patterns in the dustwith his cane, or stare by the minute together at the quiet stream thatmoved sluggishly beneath them.

  On these occasions she made no attempt to rouse him. But when he againawoke to the world, to the coach passing in its cloud of dust, or thegaping urchin, or the clang of the distant dinner-bell, he would findher considering him with an enigmatical smile, that lay in the regionbetween amusement and pity; her shapely chin resting on her hand, andthe lace falling from the whitest wrist in the world. One day the smilelasted so long, was so strange and dubious, and so full of a weirdintelligence, that it chilled him; it crept to his bones, disconcertedhim, and set him wondering. The uneasy questions that had haunted him atthe first, recurred. Why was this girl so facile, who had seemed soproud, and whose full lips curved so naturally? Was she really won, orwas she with some hidden motive only playing with him? The notion wasnot flattering to a fine gentleman's vanity; and in any other case hewould have given himself credit for conquest. But he had discovered thatthis girl was not as other girls; and then there was that puzzlingsmile. He had surprised it half a dozen times before.

  'What is it?' he said abruptly, holding her eyes with his. This time hewas determined to clear up the matter.

  'What?' she asked in apparent innocence. But she coloured, and he sawthat she understood.

  'What does your smile mean, Pulcherrima?'

  'Only--that I was reading your thoughts, Sir George,' she answered. 'Andthey were not of me.'

  'Impossible!' he said. I vow, Julia--'

  'Don't vow,' she answered quickly, 'or when you vow--some other time--Imay not be able to believe you! You were not thinking of me, Sir George,but of your home, and the avenue of which you told me, and the elms inwhich the rooks lived, and the river in which you used to fish. You werewondering to whom they would go, and who would possess them, and whowould be born in the room in which you were born, and who would die inthe room in which your father died.'

  'You are a witch!' he said, a spasm of pain crossing his face.

  'Thank you,' she answered, looking at him over her fan. 'Last time yousaid, "D--n the girl!" It is clear I am improving your manners, SirGeorge. You are now so polite, that presently you will consult me.'

  So she could read his very thoughts! Could set him on the rack! Couldperceive when pain and not irritation underlay the oath or thecompliment. He was always discovering something new in her; somethingthat piqued his curiosity, and kept him amused. 'Suppose I consult younow?' he said.

  She swung her fan to and fro, playing with it childishly, looking at thelight through it, and again dropping it until it hung from her wrist bya ribbon. 'As your highness pleases,' she said at last. 'Only I warnyou, that I am not the Bottle Conjuror.'

  'No, for you are here, and he was not there,' Sir George answered,affecting to speak in jest. 'But tell me; what shall I do in this case?A claim is made against me.'

  'It's the bomb,' she said, 'that burst, Sir George, is it not?'

  'The same. The point is, shall I resist the claim, or shall I yield toit? What do you say, ma'am?'

  She tossed up her fan and caught it deftly, and looked to him foradmiration. Then, 'It depends,' she said. 'Is it a large claim?'

  'It is a claim--for all I have,' he answered slowly. It was the firsttime he had confessed that to any one, except to himself in thenight watches.

  If he thought to touch her, he succeeded. If he had fancied herunfeeling before, he did so no longer. She was red one minute and palethe next, and the tears came into her eyes. 'Oh,' she cried, her breastheaving, 'you should not have told me! Oh, why did you tell me?' And sherose hurriedly as if to leave him; and then sat down again, the fanquivering in her hand.

  'But you said you would advise me!' he answered in surprise.

  'I! Oh, no! no!' she cried.

  'But you must!' he persisted, more deeply moved than he would show. 'Iwant your advice. I want to know how the case looks to another. It is asimple question. Shall I fight, Julia, or shall I yield to the claim?'

  'Fight or yield?' she said, her voice broken by agitation. 'Shall youfight or yield? You ask me?'

  'Yes.'

  'Then fight! Fight!' she answered, with surprising emotion: and she roseagain to her feet. And again sat down. 'Fight them to the last, SirGeorge!' she cried breathlessly. 'Let the creatures have nothing! Not apenny! Not an acre!'

  'But--if it is a righteous claim?' he said, amazed at her excitement.

  'Righteous?' she answered passionately. 'How can a claim be righteousthat takes all that a man has?'

  He nodded, and studied the road awhile, thinking less of her advice thanof the strange fervour with which she had given it. At the end of aminute he was surprised to hear her laugh. He felt hurt, and looked upto learn the reason; and was astounded to find her smiling at him aslightly and gaily as if nothing had occurred to interrupt her mostwhimsical mood; as if the question he had put to her had not been put,or were a farce, a jest, a mere pastime!

  'Sho, Sir George,' she said, 'how silly you must think me to proffer youadvice; and with an air as if the sky were falling? Do you forgive me?'

  'I forgive you _that_,' Sir George answered. But, poor fellow, he wincedunder her sudden change of tone.

  'That is well,' she said confidently. 'And there again, do you know youare changed; you would not have said that a week ago. I have mostcertainly improved your manners.'

  Sir George made an effort to answer her in the same strain. 'Well, Ishould improve,' he said. 'I come very regularly to school. Do you knowhow many days we have sat here, _ma belle_?'

  A faint colour tinged her cheek. 'If I do not, that dreadful Mr.Thomasson does,' she answered. 'I believe he never lets me go out of hissight. And for
what you say about days--what are days, or even weeks,when it is a question of reforming a rake, Sir George? Who was it younamed to me yesterday,' she continued archly, but with her eyes on thetoe of her shoe which projected from her dress, 'who carried thegentleman into the country when he had lost I don't know how manythousand pounds? And kept him there out of harm's way?'

  'It was Lady Carlisle,' Sir George answered drily; 'and the gentlemanwas her husband.'

  It was Julia's turn to draw figures in the dust of the roadway, whichshe did very industriously; and the two were silent for quite a longtime, while some one's heart bumped as if it would choke her. Atlength--'He was not quite ruined, was he?' she said, with elaboratecarelessness; her voice was a little thick--perhaps by reason ofthe bumping.

  'Lord, no!' said Sir George. 'And I am, you see.'

  'While I am not your wife!' she answered; and flashed her eyes on him insudden petulance; and then, 'Well, perhaps if my lady had her choice--tobe wife to a rake can be no bed of roses, Sir George! While to be wifeto a ruined rake--perhaps to be wife to a man who, if he were notruined, would treat you as the dirt beneath his feet, beneath hisnotice, beneath--'

  She did not seem to be able to finish the sentence, but rose choking,her face scarlet. He rose more slowly. 'Lord!' he said humbly, lookingat her in astonishment, 'what has come to you suddenly? What has madeyou angry with me, child?'

  'Child?' she exclaimed. 'Am I a child? You play with me as if I were!'

  'Play with you?' Sir George said, dumfounded; he was quite taken abackby her sudden vehemence. 'My dear girl, I cannot understand you. I amnot playing with you. If any one is playing, it is you. Sometimes--Iwonder whether you hate me or love me. Sometimes I am happy enough tothink the one; sometimes--I think the other--'

  'It has never struck you,' she said, speaking with her head high, and inher harshest and most scornful tone, 'that I may do neither the one northe other, but be pleased to kill my time with you--since I must stayhere until my lawyer has done his business?'

  'Oh!' said Soane, staring helplessly at the angry beauty, 'if that beall--'

  'That is all!' she cried. 'Do you understand? That is all.'

  He bowed gravely. 'Then I am glad that I have been of use to you. Thatat least,' he said.

  'Thank you,' she said drily. 'I am going into the house now. I need nottrouble you farther.'

  And sweeping him a curtsey that might have done honour to a duchess, sheturned and sailed away, the picture of disdain. But when her face wassafe from his gaze and he could no longer see them, her eyes filled withtears of shame and vexation; she had to bite her trembling lip to keepthem back. Presently she slackened her speed and almost stopped--thenhurried on, when she thought that she heard him following. But he didnot overtake her, and Julia's step grew slow again, and slower until shereached the portico.

  Between love and pride, hope and shame, she had a hard fight; happily acoach was unloading, and she could stand and feign interest in thepassengers. Two young fellows fresh from Bath took fire at her eyes; butone who stared too markedly she withered with a look, and, if the truthbe told, her fingers tingled for his ears. Her own ears were on thealert, directed backwards like a hare's. Would he never come? Was hereally so simple, so abominably stupid, so little versed in woman'sways? Or was he playing with her? Perhaps, he had gone into the town? Ortrudged up the Salisbury road; if so, and if she did not see him now,she might not meet him until the next morning; and who could say whatmight happen in the interval? True, he had promised that he would notleave Marlborough without seeing her; but things had altered betweenthem since then.

  At last--at last, when she felt that her pride would allow her to stayno longer, and she was on the point of going in, the sound of his stepcut short her misery. She waited, her heart beating quickly, to hear hisvoice at her elbow. Presently she heard it, but he was speaking toanother; to a coarse rough man, half servant half loafer, who had joinedhim, and was in the act of giving him a note. Julia, outwardly cool,inwardly on tenterhooks, saw so much out of the corner of her eye, andthat the two, while they spoke, were looking at her. Then the man fellback, and Sir George, purposely averting his gaze and walking like a manheavy in thought, went by her; he passed through the little crowd aboutthe coach, and was on the point of disappearing through the entrance,when she hurried after him and called his name.

  He turned, between the pillars, and saw her. 'A word with you, if youplease,' she said. Her tone was icy, her manner freezing.

  Sir George bowed. 'This way, if you please,' she continued imperiously;and preceded him across the hall and through the opposite door and downthe steps to the gardens, that had once been Lady Hertford's delight.Nor did she pause or look at him until they were halfway across thelawn; then she turned, and with a perfect change of face and manner,smiling divinely in the sunlight,

  'Easy her motion seemed, serene her air,'

  she held out her hand.

  'You have come--to beg my pardon, I hope?' she said.

  The smile she bestowed on him was an April smile, the brighter for thetears that lurked behind it; but Soane did not know that, nor, had heknown it, would it have availed him. He was utterly dazzled, conquered,subjugated by her beauty. 'Willingly,' he said. 'But for what?'

  'Oh, for--everything!' she answered with supreme assurance.

  'I ask your divinity's pardon for everything,' he said obediently.

  'It is granted,' she answered. 'And--I shall see you to-morrow, SirGeorge?'

  'To-morrow?' he said. 'Alas, no; I shall be away to-morrow.'

  He had eyes; and the startling fashion in which the light died out ofher face, and left it grey and colourless, was not lost on him. But hervoice remained steady, almost indifferent. 'Oh!' she said, 'you aregoing?' And she raised her eyebrows.

  'Yes,' he answered; 'I have to go to Estcombe.'

  She tried to force a laugh, but failed. 'And you do not return? We shallnot see you again?' she said.

  'It lies with you,' he answered slowly. 'I am returning to-morrowevening by the Bath road. Will you come and meet me, Julia--say, as faras the Manton turning? It's on your favourite road. I know you strollthere every evening. I shall be there a little after five. If you cometo-morrow, I shall know that, notwithstanding your hard words, you willtake in hand the reforming of a rake--and a ruined rake, Julia. If youdo not come--'

  He hesitated. She had to turn away her head that he might not see thelight that had returned to her eyes. 'Well, what then?' she said softly.

  'I do not know.'

  'But Lady Carlisle was his wife,' she whispered, with a swift sidelongshot from eyes instantly averted. 'And--you remember what you said tome--at Oxford? That if I were a lady, you would make me your wife. I amnot a lady, Sir George.'

  'I did not say that,' Sir George answered quickly.

  'No! What then?'

  'You know very well,' he retorted with malice.

  All of her cheek and neck that he could see turned scarlet. 'Well, atany rate,' she said, 'let us be sure now that you are talking not toClarissa but to Pamela?'

  'I am talking to neither,' he answered manfully. And he stood erect, hishat in his hand; they were almost of a height. 'I am talking to the mostbeautiful woman in the world,' he said, 'whom I also believe to be themost virtuous--and whom I hope to make my wife. Shall it be so, Julia?'

  She was trembling excessively; she used her fan that he might not seehow her hand shook. 'I--I will tell you to-morrow,' she murmuredbreathlessly. 'At Manton Corner.'

  'Now! Now!' he said.

  But she cried 'No, to-morrow,' and fled from him into the house, deaf,as she passed through the hall, to the clatter of dishes and the criesof the waiters and the rattle of orders; for she had the singing oflarks in her ears, and her heart rose on the throb of the song, roseuntil she felt that she must either cry or die--of very happiness.