The Gipsy: A Tale (Vols I & II). G. P. R. James

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CHAPTER VI.

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      When Lord Dewry quitted Colonel Manners at the end of the flower-garden, as we have shown in a preceding chapter, the gallant soldier had turned back towards the house, but with steps much less rapid than those of the peer, from the simple fact of no violent passion moving in his breast. In truth, it would seem, after all, that man, notwithstanding his great pretensions, his reasonings about his own existence, and his conceit in his painted jacket, is not at all unlike one of those figures that children buy at fairs, with his arms and legs, and even his head, hung on by wires; and with the passions to pull the string at the back, not only without his volition, but often against his will. Wrath pulls, and he kicks; revenge pulls, and he strikes; jealousy pulls, and he writhes; fear pulls, and he runs; love pulls, and he dances; and, as no one of these passions was behind Colonel Manners at the time, he had walked on slowly and deliberately towards the house, sometimes turning to look at the landscape, sometimes trifling with a flower, but doing neither one nor the other, perhaps, quite so often as when he set out that day upon his morning's walk.

      Still, it is not to be supposed that, though no very violent affection of the mind followed Lord Dewry's departure, Colonel Manners remained perfectly indifferent to what had occurred: on the contrary, it threw him into a fit of musing, if not of deep thought, and produced reflections which ended in resolutions, such as Colonel Manners might be expected to form. At the peer's wrath he laughed, and laughed at his menaces equally, secure in that calm, self-confident courage, which, not knowing what fear is, never dreams that it can be attributed to us; but at the uncomfort that his dispute with De Vaux's father might and would produce in the family he had come to visit, Colonel Manners did not laugh. He had assented on the preceding night, in words which, with him, amounted to a promise, to forget the baron's rudeness, and not to suffer it to abridge his stay; but, at present, new provocation had been given, and he had every reason to believe that his visit could not be prolonged to the period he had at first proposed, without material uncomfort to the family at Morley House, however strongly their kindness or their politeness might urge his stay.

      "Doubtless," thought Colonel Manners,--for we must put his private cogitations into the form of that necessary folly, a soliloquy,--"doubtless, the worthy peer will not go and expose himself so much to his own family, as to tell them what has occurred between us this morning; but equally, without doubt, he will contrive, by his demeanour towards me, to render the house, not only very unpleasant to me, but also to all its occupants; and, therefore, as this is a field where honour is neither to be gained nor supported, I must even beat a retreat. Yet De Vaux will, I know, feel very much mortified, if he fancies that his father is the cause of my departure; and therefore I suppose that the best plan be, to wait a day or two, and then, with the first letters that arrive,--and I must receive some soon, to plead important business, and set out. I suppose I must bear with this ill-tempered old gentleman's behaviour as best I may for eight and forty hours, though I am afraid it will be a struggle to avoid retorting a little of his bitterness upon himself."

      Such had been the substance of Colonel Manners' thoughts upon this subject, as he walked back, and such the determination he formed; but as he did form them, there was something like a sigh escaped from his bosom. The reception he had met with from Mrs. Falkland and her family, on his first arrival, had been so warm and kind, that all the best feelings of his heart had been enlisted on their side. He had completely made up his mind to spend a happy three weeks with people who seemed, in every respect, so amiable; and although he felt that it might be a little dangerous,--by making him feel more acutely, from comparison, the want of domestic ties and comforts,--although he felt it might be a little dangerous, yet he had experienced a pleasure at the idea of thus dwelling, even for a short space, in the midst of a true old English family, that made him bitterly regret the necessity of foregoing what he had set his heart upon. As he thought of going forth again alone, it seemed as if it were the voice of fate that forbade him to expose himself to the sight of feelings and enjoyments that he was never to know personally, and sent him back imperiously to the solitary state of existence which was to be his portion; and although Colonel Manners was accustomed to the contemplation, and had nerved his mind, not only to bear the uncomforts of his lot, but to resist every thought that would teach him to repine, yet there were times--and this was one--when he could not but feel the chill wind of solitude blow from the dreary prospect of the future, and blight even the enjoyment of the present. A dissertation on the moral and physical nature of man might be given to prove to a demonstration, that domestic ties are a necessity of his existence: and let any man gaze forward into future years, and fancy that some cold barrier is placed between him and domestic affection; that no kindred eye is to brighten at his presence, no affectionate lip smile at his happiness, no tear of sympathy to wash away one half of his griefs, no cheerful voice to dispel the thoughts of care, no assiduous hand to smooth the pillow of sickness, and close the eye of death,--let him picture his being solitary, his joys unshared, his sorrows undivided, his misfortunes unaided but by general compassion, his sickness tended by the slow hand of mercenaries, and his eyes closed, while the light has scarce departed, by the rude touch of some weary and indifferent menial,--let him fancy all this, and then he will feel, indeed, that domestic ties are a necessity of our existence; at least, if he be not either drunk with licentious passions, or a mere calculating machine.

      We do not mean to say that all these ideas, or any one of them, presented themselves to the mind of Colonel Manners. Far be it from us to insinuate that he was foolish enough to give a vivid form and painful minuteness to the evils of a state that he believed he could not avoid. He struggled even against the general impression; but, as we have said, there were moments in his life--and this was one--when, notwithstanding reason and resolution, he would feel bitterly that it is sad and sorrowful to pass through life alone, to spend one's days in solitude, and to go down into the grave without a tie. The impression was so strongly raised, and clung so firmly to his mind, at the moment we speak of, that he took a turn of a hundred yards back upon the walk, to give the thoughts full range. Then remembering himself, he broke out into an involuntary exclamation of, "This is folly!" and turned quickly back to the house.

      In the breakfast-room he found Miss Falkland alone, and was not sorry so to find her; for there was in her conversation a pleasant and good-humoured sparkling, a frank and fearless liveliness, which amused and interested him. Besides, Colonel Manners was by no means a man to object to the society of a very beautiful girl: on that score he was quite fearless; for he had so guarded his heart by rampart, and bastion, and half-moon, that he feared no attack, either by siege or storm. The thing that he feared was, the sight of a state of happiness which he coveted, but did not hope for; and therefore he could enjoy the gay conversation and pleasing presence of Isadore Falkland without alloy, though he might apprehend that a lengthened stay, in the midst of a cheerful family circle, might deepen his regret at his own loneliness.

      Now, although the house of Mrs. Falkland, like most other houses of its date, had a certain ramblingness of construction, midway between the Gothic of Henry the Seventh's and the anomalous architecture of the nineteenth century, yet the rooms were sufficiently proximate to allow Colonel Manners to hear every now and then, as the servant opened and shut the door of the breakfast-room, the voice of Lord Dewry, in tones more sharp than was becoming. Nor was he slack in attributing the acerbity of the sounds he heard to their right cause; so that, as we have before shown, when Mrs. Falkland and her nephew spoke of the departure of the noble lord as a thing that had taken place in the ordinary course of affairs, Manners had very nearly smiled.

      However, СКАЧАТЬ