Squire Arden; volume 2 of 3. Маргарет Олифант

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СКАЧАТЬ Clare had all the advantage, whereas he had only the comfort of feeling that he had made himself look like a fool in everybody’s eyes.

      “I think the young lady has come to see Jeanie,” said Clare.

      “But Jeanie is no a show, that folk should come to see her,” said the grandmother. “She is as much thought of and as precious to her own folk as any young lady. It’s no that I would be uncivil to them that mean no harm, but my Jeanie is as sacred to me as any lady’s bairn.”

      “Oh, Mr. Arden!” said poor Alice Pimpernel.

      At this moment there was heard in the distance the sound of rustling robes and heavy feet upon the stair, a sound which carried confusion to all bosoms except that of Alice, whose relief when she heard the approach of her maternal guardian was great. Mrs. Pimpernel’s cheerful voice was heard before she could be seen. “Well,” she said, “have you seen her, and is she as wonderful as you thought? Poor thing! I am sure I am sorry for her, with this stair to go up and down; and the poor old lady–”

      The poor old lady stood confronting Mrs. Pimpernel, who came in very red and heated, and almost fell into her arms. “My good woman, do give me a chair,” she cried. “I am nearly suffocated. Oh, Alice and Mr. Arden, what are you doing here? Give me a chair, please. Miss Arden, I declare! How nice it is to meet like this, when one is trying to do the little good one can among the poor! It is so charming of you to take such trouble with your people, Miss Arden. There is really next to nothing left for any one else to do. Might I ask you for a glass of water, my good woman? and wipe the glass first, please. Everything looks very clean, but one never can get quite rid of dust in a cottage. Wipe it well, please.”

      Clare stood looking on with consternation while these ejaculations were uttered. She had very little sympathy with Mrs. Murray, but yet there was something about her which made Mrs. Pimpernel’s easy “my good woman” sound extraordinary enough. “What will she do? Will she scold, or turn her out?” was Clare’s question to herself. What Mrs. Murray did was to laugh—a low, soft laugh—which brightened her face as Clare had never seen it, and to bring from a side-table a bottle of water, a glass, and a snow-white napkin. She rubbed the glass for full three minutes, always with a smile upon her face. “Do you think it clean now?” she said, holding it up with amused demonstration. “If I were at home I would give you better than water; and if you should ever come to Loch Arroch I will be glad to see you—you and yours. Miss Arden, the lady means no harm,” the old woman added, turning to Clare, “and she’s simple and kind. Why should I no make clean the glass and serve her to drink? She kens no better. I take that easy, easy; but them that would make an exhibition of my poor bairn–”

      “I don’t think any one meant to offend you,” said Clare; and then she turned and bowed to Mrs. Pimpernel, who started from her seat to detain her. “I must go, thank you; I am busy,” she said, with another stately gesture of leave-taking to where Arthur and Alice stood together. “Bring Jeanie to see me to-morrow,” she added, pausing as she went away. It was an impulse she could not restrain, though Jeanie’s part in it was very small. She lingered that there might be a chance for some one else to say something—a possibility. And then she made that chance impossible. “Come up as early as twelve o’clock, please, if she is well enough. I have a great deal to talk to you about.” And with these words she hurried away. She would not look at him, or permit any sympathetic glance to open the way for a word. And yet she had lingered that a look or word might come. Strange inconsistency! She ran downstairs, leaving them above, leaving them together, and went out alone, without saying a word to Sarah or her myrmidons, feeling so lonely, so sad, so solitary, so deserted by heaven and earth! It was right, quite right, of Arthur Arden to make some provision for himself; she had no fault to find with him, not a word to say. But she was very solitary, and very sad. If she only had been spared the sight of it! But no; all her fortitude would be required. He would probably live here in the neighbourhood somewhere after he had married Alice Pimpernel; and he would be well off at least, if not happy! Oh! surely not happy with that insipid creature, who buttoned her gloves and trembled to hear her own name.

      Clare hurried along the village street at a pace quite unusual to her; but she had not gone far when she found that she was pursued. She would not look back for the first moment; but, notwithstanding the repugnance in her own mind to turn and speak to him, it was inconsistent to her dignity to be thus followed by her cousin, whom everybody knew. She turned round with the best grace she could muster, and addressed him with her usual manner. “Did you want me?” she said, and slackened her pace that he might come up.

      “It seems so strange that you should ask,” said Arthur, “Want you? As if I dared tell you half how much– But never mind! I went to the Pimpernels’ thinking I should be at hand and might have opportunities– I did not know you were so prejudiced against them. May not I even come to see you while I am there?”

      “Being there does not matter much,” said Clare, hastily, and then she corrected herself. “Of course, you think me prejudiced and disagreeable,” she said; “but I am as I was brought up. Edgar thinks me dreadfully prejudiced. I dare say they are very nice, and all that; but perhaps it would be as well that you did not come to Arden while you were there.”

      “Why?” said Arthur, in a low voice.

      “Why? Oh, I can’t tell why. Because I don’t like it. Because I am cross and testy, and like to contradict you. Because– But you know it is no use asking. If a woman is not to chose who she will call on, she must be oppressed and trampled down indeed.”

      “You are concealing your real objection,” said Arthur; and I, who went because I thought– Why, I met Edgar there! But never mind; of course, it must be as you please. I said I would stay a fortnight. Must I never come near you all that time? It is very hard. And it is harder still that Edgar should have gone away as he did, breaking all our party up. Do you know, I have never been so happy, not all my life?”

      “I am sure you must be quite as happy now,” said Clare; “and I hope you will be prosperous in everything you may undertake. Edgar, I am sure, would be very glad to hear, and I– I do so hope, Mr. Arden, that everything you wish will thrive—as you wish–” And here Clare stopped short, breathing quickly, almost overcome by mixture of despite, and self-restraint, and sorrow for herself, which was in her mind.

      “Do you, indeed?” he said. “That is very, very kind of you. It would be kinder still if you knew—but you don’t care to know. If I should ever remind you of your good wishes—not now, because I dare not, but afterwards—some time—if I should pluck up courage–”

      “I don’t think there is any great courage required,” said Clare. “Trust me, I shall always be glad to hear that you have done—well for yourself. There could be no more agreeable news. Neither Edgar nor I could have any desire but to see you—happy. Excuse me, I am going to see Miss Somers. I should ask you to come in too, but she is such an invalid, and I am keeping you from your friends. You may be sure you have my very best wishes—good-bye–”

      And Clare held out her hand to him, and smiled a smile which was very proud and uncomfortable. She had not in the least intended to visit Miss Somers, but it would have been utterly impossible for her (she thought) to have walked up all the length of the avenue by Arthur Arden’s side. Most likely he would have told her of his progress with Alice. And how could she bear that? It was better to part thus abruptly as long as she was capable of smiling and uttering those good wishes which, she had some faint perception, were gall and wormwood to the recipient. She could see that her benevolent hopes and desires were bitter to him, and it pleased her to see it. Yet, notwithstanding, she still believed in Alice Pimpernel. Why should he be there otherwise? He might not like it to be known until everything was settled—it might be galling to his pride. But still, why should he be there but for that? It was the only possible attraction. And no doubt it was a very sensible thing to do. She hurried across to СКАЧАТЬ