CHAPTER III
DAY DREAMS: A PHILOSOPHER'S FATE
Le beau temps de ma jeunesse ... quand j'etais si malheureux.
The borderland between adolescence and manhood, in the life of men ofrefined aspirations and enthusiastic mettle, is oftener than not anunconsciously miserable period--one which more mature years recall ashollow, deceiving, bitterly unprofitable.
Yet there is always that about the memories of those far-off youngdays, their lofty dreams long since scattered, their virgin delightslong since lost in the drudgery of earthly experience, which ever andanon seizes the heart unawares and fills it with that infiniteweakness: that mourning for the dead and gone past, which yet is notregret.
In the high days of the Revolutionary movement across the water,Adrian Landale was a dreamy student living in one of those venerableColleges on the Cam, the very atmosphere of which would seemsufficient to glorify the merits of past ages and past institutions.
Amidst such peaceful surroundings this eldest scion of an ancient,north-country race--which had produced many a hardy fighter, thoughnever yet a thinker nor even a scholar--amid a society as prejudicedand narrow-minded as all privileged communities are bound to become,had nevertheless drifted resistlessly towards that unfathomable seawhither a love for the abstract beautiful, a yearning forsuper-earthly harmony and justice, must inevitably waft a youngintelligence.
As the academical years glided over him, he accumulated much classicallore, withal read much latter-day philosophy and developed a fineyouthful, theoretical love for the new humanitarianism. He dippedaesthetically into science, wherein he found a dim kind of helptowards a more recondite appreciation of the beauties of nature. Hiswas not a mind to delight in profound knowledge, but rather in"intellectual cream."
He solaced himself with essays that would have been voted brillianthad they dealt with things less extravagant than Universal Harmony andFraternal Happiness; with verses that all admitted to be highlypolished and melodious, but something too mystical in meaning for theunderstanding of an every-day world; with music, whereof he wasconceded an interpreter of no mean order.
In fact the worship of his soul might have been said to be theBeautiful in the abstract--the Beautiful in all its manifestationswhich include Justice, Harmony, Truth, and Kindliness--the oneindispensable element of his physical happiness, the Beautiful in theconcrete.
This is saying that Adrian Landale, for all his array of definiteaccomplishments, which might have been a never-failing source ofinterest in an easy existence, was fitted in a singularly unfortunatemanner for the life into which one sudden turn of fortune's wheelunexpectedly launched him.
During the short halcyon days of his opening independence, however, hewas able to make himself the centre of such a world as he would haveloved to live in. He was not, of course, generally popular, either atcollege or at home; nor yet in town, except among that small set inwhose midst he inevitably found his way wherever he went; hisinferiors in social status perhaps, these chosen friends of his; buttheir lofty enthusiasms were both appreciative of and congenial to hisown. Most of them, indeed, came in after-life to add their names toEngland's roll of intellectual fame, partly because they had that inthem which Adrian loathed as unlovely--the instinct and will ofstrife, partly; it must be added, because they remained free in theircircumstances to follow the lead of their nature. Which freedom wasnot allotted to him.
* * * * *
On one magnificent frosty afternoon, early in the year 1794, theLondon coach deposited Adrian Landale in front of the best hostelry inLancaster, after more than a year's separation from his family.
This separation was not due to estrangement, but rather to theinstigation of his own sire, Sir Thomas--a gentleman of the "fine oldschool"--who, exasperated by the, to him, incomprehensible andinsupportable turn of mind developed by his heir (whom he loved wellenough, notwithstanding, in his own way), had hoped, in goodutilitarian fashion, that a prolonged period of contact with theworld, lubricated by a plentiful supply of money, might shake his "bigsawney of a son" out of his sickly-sentimental views; that it wouldshow him that _gentlemen's_ society--and, "by gad, ladies' too"--wasnot a thing to be shunned for the sake of "wild-haired poets, dirtyfirebrands, and such cattle."
The downright old baronet was even prepared, in an unformed sort ofway, to see his successor that was to be return to the paternal hearththe richer for a few gentlemanly vices, provided he left his nonsensebehind him.
As the great lumbering vehicle, upon the box seat of which sat theyoung traveller, lost in dreamy speculation according to his wont,drew clattering to a halt, he failed at first to notice the centralfigure in the midst of the usual expectant crowd of inn guests and innretainers, called forward by the triumphant trumpeting which heraldsthe approach of the mail. There, however, stood the Squire of Pulwick,"Sir Tummus" himself, in portly and jovial importance.
The father's eyes, bright and piercing under his bushy white brows,had already detected his boy from a distance; and they twinkled as hetook note, with all the pride of an author in his work, of thesymmetry of limb and shoulders set forth by the youth's faultlessattire--and the dress of men in the old years of the century wasindeed calculated to display a figure to advantage--of the lightnessand grace of his frame as he dismounted from his perch; in short ofthe increased manliness of his looks and bearing.
But a transient frown soon came to overshade Sir Thomas's ruddycontent as he descried the deep flush (an old weakness) which mantledthe young cheeks under the spur of unexpected recognition.
And when, later, the pair emerged from the inn after an hour'sconversation over a bottle of burnt sherry--conversation which, uponthe father's side, had borne, in truth, much the character ofcross-examination--to mount the phaeton with which a pair ofhigh-mettled bays were impatiently waiting the return homewards, therewas a very definite look of mutual dissatisfaction to be read upontheir countenances.
Whiling away the time in fitful constrained talk, parcelled out bylong silences, they drove again through the gorgeous, frost-speckledscenery of rocky lands until the sheen of the great bay suddenlypeered between two distant scars, proclaiming the approach to thePulwick estate. The father then broke a long spell of muteness, andthus to his son, in his ringing country tones, as if pursuing aloudthe tenor of his thoughts:
"Hark'ee, Master Adrian," said he, "that you are now a man of parts,as they say, I can quite see. You seem to have read a powerful lot ofthings that do not come our way up here. But let us understand eachother. I cannot make head or tail of these far-fetched new-fanglenotions you, somehow or other, have fallen in love with--your JamesFox, your Wilberforce, your Adam Smith, they may be very fine fellows,but to my humble thinking they're but a pack of traitors to king andcountry, when all is said and done. All this does not suit an Englishgentleman. You think differently; or perhaps you do not care whetherit does or not. I admit I can't hold forth as you do; nor string a lotof fine words together. I am only an old nincompoop compared to aclever young spark like you. But I request you to keep off thesetopics in the company I like to see round my table. They don't likeJacobins, you know, no more do I!"
"Nor do I," said Adrian fervently.
"Nor do you? Don't you, sir, don't you? Why, then what the devil haveyou been driving at?"
"I am afraid, sir, you do not understand my views."
"Well, never mind; I don't like 'em, that's short, and if you bringthem out before your cousin, little Madame Savenaye, you will come offsecond best, my lad, great man as you are, and so I warn you!"
In tones as unconcerned as he could render them the young man soughtto turn the intercourse to less personal topics, by inquiring furtheranent this unknown cousin whose very name was strange to him.
Sir Thomas, easily placable if easily roused, started willingly enoughon a congenial topic. And thus Adrian conceived his first impressionof that romantic being whose deeds have remained legendary in theFrench west country, and who was
destined to exercise so strong aninfluence upon his own life.
"Who is she?" quoth the old gentleman, with evident zest. "Ay. Allthis is news to you, of course. Well: she _was_ Cecile de Kermelegan.You know your mother's sister Mary Donoghue (murthering Moll, theycalled her on account of her killing eyes) married a M. de Kermelegan,a gentleman of Brittany. Madame de Savenaye is her daughter (firstcousin of yours), that means that she has good old English blood inher veins and Irish to boot. She speaks English as well as you or I,her mother's teaching of course, but she is French all the same; and,by gad, of the sort which would reconcile even an Englishman with thebreed!"
Sir Thomas's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm; his son examined him withgrave wonder.
"The very sight of her, my boy, is enough to make a man's heart warm.Wait till you see her and she begins to talk of what the red-caps aredoing over there--those friends of yours, who are putting in practiceall your fine theories! And, bookworm as you are, I'll warrant she'llwarm your sluggish blood for you. Ha! she's a rare little lady. Shemarried last year the Count of Savenaye."
Adrian assumed a look of polite interest.
"Emigre, I presume?" he said, quietly.
"Emigre? No, sir. He is even now fighting the republican rapscallions,d--n them, and thrashing them, too, yonder in his country. She stuckby his side; ay, like a good plucked one she did, until it becamepalpable that, if there was to be a son and heir to the name, she hadbetter go and attend to its coming somewhere else, in peace. Ho, ho,ho! Well, England was the safest place, of course, and, for her, thenatural one. She came and offered herself to us on the plea ofrelationship. I was rather taken aback at first, I own; but, gad, boy,when I saw the woman, after hearing what she had had to go through toreach us at all, I sang another song. Well, she is a finecreature--finer than ever now that the progeny has been satisfactorilyhatched; a brace of girls instead of the son and heir, after all! Twoof them; no less. Ho, ho, ho! And she was furious, the pretty dear!However, you'll soon see for yourself. You will see a woman, sir, whohas loaded and fired cannon with her own hands, when the last man toserve it had been shot. Ay, and more than that, my lad--she's braineda hulking sans-culotte that was about to pin her servant to the floor.The lad has told me so himself, and I daresay he can tell you more ifyou care to practise your French with master Rene L'Apotre, that's thefellow! A woman who sticks to her lord and master in mud andpowder-smoke until there is precious little time to spare, when shemakes straight for a strange land, in a fishing-smack, with no otherprotector than a peasant; and now, with an imp of a black-eyed infantto her breast (Sally Mearson's got the other; you remember Sally, yourown nurse's daughter?), looks like a chit of seventeen. That's whatyou'll see, sir. And when she sails downstairs for dinner, dressed up,powdered and high-heeled, she might be a princess, a queen who hasnever felt a crumpled roseleaf in her life. Gad! I'm getting poetical,I declare."
In this strain did the Squire, guiding his horses with strong,dexterous hand, expatiate to his son; the crisp air rushing past them,making their faces glow with the tingling blood until, burning theground, they dashed up the avenue that leads to the white mansion ofPulwick, and halted amidst a cloud of steam before its Palladianportico.
What happened to Adrian the moment after happens, as a rule, only oncein a man's lifetime.
Through the opening portals the guest, whose condensed biography theSquire had been imparting to his son (all unconsciously elicitingthereby more repulsion than admiration in the breast of thatfastidious young misogynist), appeared herself to welcome the returnof her host.
Adrian, as he retired a pace to let his father ascend the steps, firstcaught a glimpse of a miraculously small and arched foot, clad in pinksilk, and, looking suddenly up, met fully the flash of great darkeyes, set in a small white face, more brilliant in their immenseblackness than even the glinting icicles pendant over the lintel thatnow shot back the sun's sinking glory.
The spell was of the kind that the reason of man can never sanction,and yet that have been ever and will be while man is. This youth,virgin of heart, dreamy of head who had drifted to his twentiethyear, all unscathed by passion or desire, because he had never metaught in flesh and blood answering to his unconscious ideal, wasstruck to the depth of his soul by the presence of one, as unlike thissame ideal as any living creature could be; struck with fantasticsuddenness, and in that all-encompassing manner which seizes theinnermost fibres of the being.
It was a pang of pain, but a revelation of glory.
He stood for some moments, with paling cheeks and hotly-beating heart,gazing back into the wondrous eyes. She, yielding her cheek carelesslyto the Squire's hearty kiss, examined the new-comer curiously thewhile:
"Why--how now, tut, tut, what's this?" thundered the father, who,following the direction of her eyes, wheeled round suddenly todiscover his son's strange bearing, "Have you lost all the manners aswell as the notions of a gentleman, these last two years? Speak toMadame de Savenaye, sir!--Cecile, this is my son; pray forgive him, mydear; the fellow's shyness before ladies is inconceivable. It makes aperfect fool of him, as you see."
But Madame de Savenaye's finer wits had already perceived somethingdifferent from the ordinary display of English shyness in the youngman, whose eyes remained fixed on her face with an intentness thatsavoured in no way, of awkwardness. She now broke the spell with abroader smile and a word of greeting.
"You are surprised," said she in tripping words, tinged with adistinct foreign intonation, "to see a strange face here, Mr.Adrian--or, shall I say cousin? for that is the style I should adoptin my Brittany. Yes, you see in me a poor foreign cousin, fleeing forprotection to your noble country. How do you do, my cousin?"
She extended a slender, white hand, one rosy nail of which, bendinglow, Adrian gravely kissed.
"_Mais, comment donc!_" exclaimed the lady, "my dear uncle did youchide your son just now? Why, but these are Versailles manners--sogallant, so courtly!"
And she gave the boy's fingers, as they lingered under hers, first adiscreet little pressure, and then a swift flip aside.
"Ah! how cold you are!" she exclaimed; and then, laughing, addedsweetly: "Cold hands, warm heart, of course."
And with rapping heels she turned into the great hall and into thedrawing-room whither the two men--the father all chuckles, and the sonstill struck with wonder--followed her.
She was standing by the hearth holding each foot alternately to thegreat logs flaming on the tiles, ever and anon looking over her shoulderat Adrian, who had advanced closer, without self-consciousness, butstill in silence.
"Now, cousin," she remarked gaily, "there is room for you here, big asyou are, to warm yourself. You must be cold. I know already all aboutyour family, and I must know all about you, too! I am very curious, Ifind them all such good, kind, handsome people here, and I am told toexpect in you something quite different from any of them. Now, wheredoes the difference come in? You are as tall as your father, but inface--no, I believe it is your pretty sisters you are like in face."
Here the Squire interrupted with his loud laugh, and, clapping hishand on his stalwart son's head:
"You have just hit it, Cecile, it's here the difference lies. Adrian,I really believe, is a little mistake of Dame Nature; his brain wasmeant for a girl and was tacked on to that big body by accident, ho,ho, ho! He is quite lady-like in his accomplishments--loves music, andplays, by gad, better than our organist. Writes poetry, too. I foundsome devilish queer things on his writing-table once, which were not_all_ Latin verses, though he would fain I thought so. And as fordeportment, Madame Cecile, why there is more propriety, in thathobbedehoy, at least, more blushing in him, than in all thebread-and-butter misses in the county!"
Adrian said nothing; but, when not turned towards the ground, his gazestill sought the Countess, who now returned the look with a ripeningsmile open to any interpretation.
"Surely," she remarked, glancing then at the elder for an instant withsome archness, "surely you English gentlemen, who h
ave so muchpropriety, would not rather ... there was young Mr. Bradbury, we heardtalked of yesterday, whom every farmer with a red-cheeked lass of hisown--"
"No, no!" hastily interrupted the baronet, with a blush himself, whileAdrian's cheek in spite of the recent indictment preserved its smoothpallor--in truth, the boy, lost in his first love-dream, had notunderstood the allusion. "No, I don't want a Landale to be ablackguard, you know, but--" And the father, unable to split thisethical hair, to logical satisfaction, stopped and entered anotherchannel of grumbling vituperation, whilst the Countess, very muchamused by her private thoughts, gave a little rippling laugh, andresumed her indulgent contemplation of the accused.
"What a pity, now, school-boy Rupert is not the eldest; there would bea country gentleman for you! Whereas, this successor that is to be ofmine is a man of books and a philosopher. Forsooth, a first-classbookworm; by gad, I believe the first of our race! And he might make aname for himself, I've been told, among that lot, though the pack o'nonsense he treats us to at times cannot, I'm thinking, really go downeven among those college fuzzle-heads. But I am confounded if thatchap will ever be of any use as a landlord whenever he steps into myshoes. He hates a gun, and takes more pleasure--what was it he saidlast time he was here?--oh, yes, more pleasure in watching a bird dartin the blue than bringing it down, be it never so neat a shot. Ho, ho!did ye ever hear such a thing? And though he can sit a horse--I willsay that for him (I should like to see a Landale that could not!)--Ihave seen this big boy of mine positively sicken, ay! and scandalisethe hunt by riding away from the death. Moreover, I believe that, whenI am gone, he will always let off any poaching scoundrel on the pleathat the vermin only take for their necessity what we preserve forsport."
The little foreign lady, smiling no longer, eyed her big cousin withwondering looks.
"Strange, indeed," she remarked, "that a man should fail to appreciatethe boon of man's existence, the strength and freedom to dominate, tobe up and doing, to _live_ in fact. How I should long to be a manmyself, if I ever allowed myself to long for anything; but I am awoman, as you see," she added, rising to the full height of herexquisite figure, "and must submit to woman's lot--and that is justnow to the point, for I must leave you to go and see to the wants ofthat _mioche_ of mine which I hear whining upstairs. But I do notbelieve my uncle's account of you is a complete picture after all,cousin Adrian. I shall get it out of you anon, catechise you in my ownway, and, if needs be, convert you to a proper sense of the gloriousprivileges of your sex."
And she ran out of the room.
"Well, my lad," said Sir Thomas, that evening, when the ladies hadleft the two men to their decanter, "I thought my Frenchwoman wouldwake you up, but, by George, I hardly expected she would knock you allof a heap so quick. Hey! you're winged, Adrian, winged, or this is notport."
"I cannot say, sir," answered Adrian, musing.
The old man caught up the unsatisfactory reply in an exasperatedburlesque of mimicry: "I cannot say, sir--you cannot say? Pooh, pooh,there is no shame in being in love with her. We all are more or less;pass the bottle. As for you, since you clapped eyes on her you havebeen like a man in the moon, not a word to throw to a dog, no eyes, noears but for your own thoughts, so long as madam is not there. Entermadam, you're alive again, by George, and pretty lively, too! Gad, Inever thought I'd ever see _you_ do the lady's man, all in your ownqueer way, of course; but, hang it all, she seems to like it, thelittle minx! Ay, and if she has plenty of smiles for the old man she'sready to give her earnest to you--I saw her, I saw her. But don't youforget she's married, sir, very much married, too. She don't forget iteither, I can tell you, though you may think she does. Now, what sortof game is she making of you? What were you talking about in thepicture gallery for an hour before dinner, eh?"
"To say the truth," answered the son, simply, "it was about myselfalmost the whole time."
"And she flattered you finely, I'll be bound, of course," said hiselder, with a knowing look. "Oh, these women, these women!"
"On the contrary, sir, she thinks even less of me than you do. Thatwoman has the soul of a savage; we have not one thought in common."
The father burst into a loud laugh. "A pretty savage to look at,anyhow; a well-polished one in the bargain, ho, ho, ho! Well, well, Imust make up my mind, I suppose, that my eldest son is a lunatic inlove with a savage."
Adrian remained silent for a while, toying with his glass, his youngbrow contracted under a painful frown. At length, checking a sigh, heanswered with deliberation:
"Since it is so palpable to others, I suppose it must be love, as yousay. I had thought hitherto that love of which people talk so much wasa feeling of sweetness. What I feel in this lady's presence is muchmore kin to anguish; for all that, as you have noticed, I appear tolive only when she is nigh."
The father looked at his son and gaped. The latter went on, afteranother pause:
"I suppose it is so, and may as well own it to myself and to you,though nothing can come of it, good or bad. She is married, and she isyour guest; and even if any thought concerning me could enter herheart, the merest show of love on my part would be an insult to herand treason to you. But trust me, I shall now be on my guard, since mybehaviour has already appeared strange."
"Tut, tut," said the Baronet, turning to his wine in some dudgeon, hisrubicund face clouding as he looked with disfavour at this strangeheir of his, who could not even fall in love like the rest of hisrace. "What are you talking about? Come, get out of that and see whatthe little lady's about, and let me hear no more of this. She'll notcompromise herself with a zany like you, anyhow, that I'll warrant."
But Adrian with all the earnestness of his nature and his very youngfears was strenuously resolved to watch himself narrowly in hisintercourse with his too fascinating relative; little recking howinfinitesimal is the power of a man's free-will upon the conduct ofhis life.
The next morning found the little Countess in the highest spirits.Particularly good news had arrived from her land with the earlycourier. True, the news were more than ten days old, but she had thatinsuperable buoyancy of hopefulness which attends active and healthynatures.
The Breton peasants (she explained to the company round the breakfasttable), headed by their lords (among whom was her own _Seigneur etMaitre_) had again crushed the swarms of ragged brigands that calledthemselves soldiers. From all accounts there was no hope for thelatter, their atrocities had been such that the whole land, fromNormandy to Guyenne, was now in arms against them.
And in Paris, the hot pit whence had issued the storm of foulness thatblasted the fair kingdom of France after laying low the hallowed headsof a good king and a beautiful queen, in Paris, leaders and led werenow chopping each other's heads off, _a qui mieux mieux_. "Thosethinkers, those lofty patriots, _hein, beau cousin_, for whom, itseems, you have an admiration," commented the lady, interrupting heraccount to sip her cup of cream and chocolate, with a little fingerdaintily cocked, and shoot a mocking shaft at the young philosopherfrom the depth of her black eyes.
"Like demented wolves they are destroying each other--Pray the God ofJustice," quoted she from her husband's letter, "that it may onlylast; in a few months, then, there will be none of them left, and thepeople, relieved from this rule of blood, will all clamour for thetrue order of things, and the poor country may again know peace andhappiness. Meanwhile, all has yet to be won, by much devotion andself-sacrifice in the cause of God and King; and afterwards will comethe reward!...
"And the revenge," added Madame de Savenaye, with a little, fiercelaugh, folding the sanguine budget of news. "Oh! they must leave us afew for revenge! How we shall make the hounds smart when the Kingreturns to his own! And then for pleasures and for life again. And wemay yet meet at the mansion of Savenaye, in Paris," she went on gaily,"my good uncle and fair cousins, for the King cannot fail to recallhis faithful supporter. And there will be feasts and balls. And there,maybe, we shall be able to repay in part some of your kindness andhospitality. And you, cousin
Adrian, you will have to take me throughpavanne and gavotte and minuet; and I shall be proud of my northerncavalier. What! not know how one dances the gavotte? _Fi donc!_ whatignorance! I shall have to teach you. Your hand, monsieur," slippingthe missive from the seat of war into her fair bosom. "La! not thatway; with a _grace_, if you please," making a profound curtsey. "Ah,still that cold hand; your great English heart must be a veryfurnace. Come, point your right foot--so. And look round at yourpartner with--what shall I say--_admiration serieuse_!"
That she saw admiration, serious enough in all conscience in Adrian'seyes, there was little doubt. With sombre heart he failed not to markevery point of this all-human grace, but to him goddess-like beauty,the triumph and glory of youth. The coy, dainty poise of the adorablefoot--pointed _so_--and treading the ground with the softness of akitten at play; the maddening curve of her waist, which a sacque,depending from an exquisite nape, partly concealed, only to enhanceits lithe suppleness; the divinely young throat and bust; and aboveall the dazzling black rays from eyes alternately mocking, fierce orcaressing.
Well might his hand be cold with all his young untried blood, bitingat his heart, singing in his head. Why did God place such creatures onHis earth to take all savour from aught else under the sun?
"Fair cousin, fair cousin, though I said serious admiration, I did notmean you to look as if you were taking me to a funeral. You aresupposed to be enjoying yourself, you know!"
The youth struggled with a ghastly smile; and the father laughedoutright. But Madame de Savenaye checked herself into gravity oncemore.
"Alas! _Nous n'en sommes pas encore la_," she said, and relinquishedher adorer's hand. "We have still to fight for it.... Oh! that I werefree to be up and doing!"
The impatient exclamation was wrung out of her, apparently, by theappearance of two nurses, each bearing an infant in long, white robesfor the mother's inspection; a preliminary to the daily outing.
The elder of these matrons was Adrian's own old nurse who, muchoccupied with her new duties of attendant to Madame de Savenaye andone of her babies, now beheld her foster-son again for the first timesince his return.
"Eh--but you've grown a gradely mon, Mester Adrian!" she cried, in herlong-drawn Lancastrian, dandling her bundle energetically from side toside in the excess of her admiration, and added with a laugh oftender delight: "Eh, but you're my own lad still, as how 'tis!" when,blushing, the young man crossed the room and stooped to kiss her,glancing shyly the while at the white bundle in her arms.
"Well, and how are the little ones?" quoth Madame de Savenaye,swinging her dainty person up to the group and halting by beamingSally--the second nurse, who proudly held forth her charge--merely tolay a finger lightly on the infant's little cheek.
"Ah, my good Sally, your child does you credit!--Now Margery, when youhave done embracing that fine young man, perhaps you will give me mychild, _hein_?"
Both the nurses blushed; Margery at the soft impeachment as shedelivered over the minute burden; her daughter in honest indignationat the insulting want of interest shown for her foster-babe.
"No, I was not made to play with puppets like you, mademoiselle," saidthe comtesse, addressing herself to the unconscious little being asshe took it in her arms, but belying her words by the grace andinstinctive maternal expertness with which she handled and soothed theinfant. "Yes, you can go, Sarah--_au revoir_, Mademoiselle Madeleine.Fie the little wretch, what faces she pulls! And you, Margery, youneed not wait either; I shall keep this creature for a while. Poorlittle one!" sang the mother, walking up and down, and patting thesmall back with her jewelled hand as she held the wee thing againsther shoulder, "indeed I shall have soon to leave you----"
"What's this--what's this?" exclaimed the master of the house withsudden sharpness. He had been surveying the scene from the hearthrug,chuckling in benevolent amusement at little Madam's ways.
Yes, it was her intention to return to her place by the side of herlord, she explained, halting in her walk to face him gravely; she hadcome to that resolution. No doubt her uncle would take the childrenunder his care until better times--those good times that were so fastapproaching. Buxom Sally could manage them both--and to spare, too!
Adrian felt his heart contract at the unexpected announcement; a lookof dismay overspread Sir Thomas's face.
"Why--what? what nonsense, child!" cried he again in rueful tones."_You_, return to that place now ... what good do you think you coulddo--eh?" But here recollecting himself, he hesitated and started upona more plausible line of expostulation. "Pooh, pooh! You can't leavethe little ones, your husband does not ask you to come back and leavethem, does he? In any case," with assumed authority, "I shall not letyou go."
She looked up with a smile.
"Would _you_ allow your friends to continue fighting alone for all youlove, because you happened to be in safe and pleasant circumstancesyourself?" she asked. Then she added ingenuously: "I have heard yousay of one that was strong of will and staunch to his purpose, that hewas a regular Briton. I thought that flattering: I am a Briton, ofBrittany, you know, myself, uncle: would you have _me_ be a worthlessBriton? As to what a woman can do there--ah, you have no idea what itmeans for all these poor peasants of ours to see their lords remainamong them, sharing their hardship in defence of their cause.Concerning the children," kissing the one she held and gazing into itsface with wistful look, "they can better afford to do without me thanmy husband and our men. A strong woman to tend them till we come back,is all that is wanted, since a good relative is willing to give themshelter. Rene cannot be long in returning now, with the last news.Indeed, M. de Savenaye says that he will only keep him a few dayslonger, and, according to the tidings he brings must I fix the datefor my departure."
Sir Thomas, with an inarticulate growl, relapsed into silence; and sheresumed her walk with bent head, lost in thought, up and down thegreat room, out of the pale winter sunshine into the shadow, and backagain, to the tune of "Malbrook s'en va t'en guerre," which she hummedbeneath her breath, while the baby's foolish little head, in its whitecap from which protruded one tiny straight wisp of brown hair, withits beady, unseeing black eyes and its round mouth dribblingpeacefully, bobbed over her shoulder as she went.
Adrian stood in silence too, following her with his eyes, while thepicture, so sweet to see, so strange to one who knew all that wasbrewing in the young mother's head and heart, stamped itself upon hisbrain.
At the door, at length, she halted a moment, and looked at them both.
"Yes, my friends," she said, and her eyes shot flame; "I must gosoon." The baby bobbed its head against her cheek as if inaffirmative; then the great door closed upon the pair.