Squire Arden; volume 2 of 3. Маргарет Олифант

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СКАЧАТЬ watch anxiously all his relations with her brother, and keep all her wits about her to counteract his schemes against Edgar, if he had any. But all these original intentions had floated away from her, she could not tell how. The whole condition of affairs was changed. He had no schemes against Edgar: on the contrary, he heartily liked and thought well of the strange, generous, open-hearted soul, who was so very unlike all the Ardens had ever been, and yet was the head of the Ardens, and master of the family destiny. Arthur did not understand him any more than Clare did, but had given in his declaration of loyalty and support. So that the great obstacle—was it the only obstacle between them?—was swept away at once. And then there had been the doubt of her cousin’s motives, the uncertainty as to his meaning, whether he loved her for herself, or whether—but this Clare had been very reluctant to think of—he had contemplated enriching himself by her means. It would have been quite natural that he should have done so by means of any other lady. It was not the mere mercenary pretence at love which revolted his young kinswoman, but simply a personal aversion to be herself the subject of such a commercial transaction. This dread had also floated away. How could it withstand the influence of his presence—of his looks and words, and the absolute devotion he threw into his manner towards her? They had been together for long days, spending, with little meetings and partings, hours in each other’s society—not alone, indeed, but almost better than alone; for a skilful and experienced hunter like Arthur Arden has it in his power to isolate his victim, and to make her feel herself the one object of interest—the one being in the room and in the world, with almost a more subtle certainty than could be given by downright words. All this Clare had come through, and it had wrought a great change upon her. She had been penetrated with Arthur Arden’s influence through and through. She had grown to feel that everything she had, or anybody else had, would be better spent in his service than in any other—that it was natural to devote her possessions to him—that he had a right to appropriate what he would. This was never breathed into words, even in her own mind, but it had come to be her fixed, half-conscious principle. Mercenary!—how could it be mercenary? The world had done him the huge injustice of leaving him, a born prince, without any due provision, and was it not some one’s duty—every one’s duty—to neutralise that horrible injustice? Clare no longer thought of it as a desire on his part, but as a necessity on her own. And now he must go away, as poor, as unfriended, as lonely as ever, without either money in his purse, or companion to make his life go easier! She too grew furious with Edgar as she thought it all over. For a caprice! It must be a caprice. He said it was not for Gussy Thornleigh, which would have been a feasible reason, though frivolous. And what then was it for? A foolish boyish fancy, an inclination towards pleasure-seeking and the follies of London society. Nothing more! And to risk two lives for that! To break up all the combinations that were daily growing into shape and becoming practicable—all for a vulgar fancy to go to town! Clare was very angry with her brother. She thought more meanly of him than she had ever done before. “It is his education,” she said to herself. “He must have been used to all kinds of junketing, as people are abroad, and he has tried to get into our quiet English ways without effect. And he feels he must get back to his natural element. Oh, heavens, my brother!” This was how poor Edgar was judged in the midst of his self-denial—the usual fate of those who think more of others than of themselves.

      It was not till the very day before her brother’s departure that Clare acquired a clearer light upon the subject. She had gone to visit Miss Somers, which was a duty she had much neglected of late. The village too had been neglected; she could scarcely tell why. “I have been so busy,” she said, “with visitors in the house. Visitors are so rare in Arden, one gets out of the way of them; but now Edgar is going away, of course I shall be quiet enough.”

      This she said with a sigh; but Miss Somers was not quick enough at the first moment to understand that Clare had sighed. She was full of other subjects, and anxious for information on her own account.

      “Dear Edgar, he is so nice,” she said. “A young man, you know, who must have so many things—but just as pleased– Do you know, I think he is—a little—fond of me, Clare! Of course I don’t mean anything but what is right. I am old enough to be– And then to think he should ask in that nice way–Fancy, Clare, my advice! If it had been my brother, you know—or anybody—but my advice!”

      “Did Edgar ask your advice?” said Clare, with a smile; and she said to herself what a deceiver he is—he will do anything to please people. As if anybody could be the better of Miss Somers’s advice!

      “It was not for himself, my dear. Of course it can’t be very– I may tell you. That friend of his, Clare, and the sister, you know– And then somebody that was fond of her—and what was he to do? It was as good as a novel—indeed, I think it was rather better. Don’t you remember that story where there was– Oh, my dear child, I am sure you remember! There was such a sweet girl—Helena was her name—or no—I think it was Adela, or something—and she had a lover. Just the same– And then the good brother in such distress. Clare, why do you turn so red? I am sure you know–”

      “About a brother and a sister and a gentleman who loved her,” said Clare, colouring high. “Oh, no—I mean yes—I think I do recollect. And did you say the brother wanted your advice?”

      This was said in a tone which chilled poor Miss Somers through and through to her very heart.

      “I told him so,” she said, faltering. “Of course I never pretended to set up to be very– And how could I give advice? But then the poor dear brother was so– And I suppose he thought a lady, you know—and old enough to be—or perhaps it was only to please me. I told him oh, no! never, never! And I told him some things that were too—– Dear Edgar was quite affected, Clare.”

      “Did you advise him to go away?” asked Clare, with a smouldering fire in her eyes.

      “Oh, my dear, could I take upon me to– And then he never said anything about– It was the poor girl I was thinking of. I said oh, no! never, never!—rather anything than that. You know what I have said to you so often, Clare? When a girl has a disappointment, you never can tell. It may be consumption, or it may be—oh, my dear, the unlikeliest things!—bilious fever I have known, or even rheumatism. I told dear Edgar, and he was so nice; he was sure his friend would never think– And fancy, dear, of its being my advice!”

      “It must be very flattering to you,” said Clare; but she rose instantly, and took a very summary leave, avoiding Miss Somers’s kiss. She went home, glowing with anger and mortified pride. It was but too easy to see through so simple a veil. Edgar, who met her on the way home, could not understand her glowing cheek and angry eye. He turned and walked with her, feeling quite concerned about his sister. “What has happened?” he said. “Something disagreeable at the village? Can I set it right for you, Clare?”

      “No,” she said; “it is nothing disagreeable in the village. It is much nearer than the village. Edgar, I have found out why you are going away. You are going for my sake; you think I am not able to manage my own affairs—to take care of myself. You think so poorly of your sister as that!”

      “What do you mean?” he said. “I think anything that is disagreeable or distasteful to you? You cannot believe it for a moment–”

      “It is that Arthur Arden may go,” she said firmly, but with flaming cheeks. And Edgar looked at her confused, not knowing what to say. But after the first moment he recovered himself.

      “I think he has paid us a sufficiently long visit, I confess,” he said. “I think, as it cannot be his while I live, that perhaps he had better not remain longer at Arden. But why should this be a matter of offence to you?”

      Clare was silent; her blush grew hotter, her eyes were glowing still, but she faltered, and drooped her head as she went on.

      “If that was all! if you had no other meaning! Edgar, do you think I am so frivolous, СКАЧАТЬ