Mr Gilfil's Love Story

and as I shall let her have her own way, her temper won't signify much. I wish

  the wedding was over and done with, for this fuss doesn't suit me at all. I

  haven't been half so well lately. That scene about Tina this morning quite upset

  me. Poor little Tina! What a little simpleton it was, to set her heart on me in

  that way! But she ought to see how impossible it is that things should be

  different. If she would but understand how kindly I feel towards her, and make

  up her mind to look on me as a friend;�but that it what one never can get a

  woman to do. Beatrice is very good-natured; I'm sure she would be kind to the

  little thing. It would be a great comfort if Tina would take to Gilfil, if it

  were only in anger against me. He'd make her a capital husband, and I should

  like to see the little grass-hopper happy. If I had been in a different

  position, I would certainly have married her myself: hut that was out of the

  question with my responsibilities to Sir Christopher. I think a little

  persuasion from my uncle would bring her to accept Gilfil; I know she would

  never be able to oppose my uncle's wishes. And if they were once married, she's

  such a loving little thing, she would soon be billing and cooing with him as if

  she had never known me. It would certainly be the best thing for her happiness

  if that marriage were hastened. Heigho! Those are lucky fellows that have no

  women falling in love with them. It's a confounded responsibility.'

  At this point in his meditations he turned his head a little, so as to get a

  three-quarter view of his face. Clearly it was the 'dono infelice della

  bellezza' that laid these onerous duties upon him�an idea which naturally

  suggested that he should ring for his valet.

  For the next few days, however, there was such a cessation of threatening

  symptoms as to allay the anxiety both of Captain Wybrow and Mr Gilfil. All

  earthly things have their lull: even on nights when the most unappeasable wind

  is raging, there will be a moment of stillness before it crashes among the

  boughs again, and storms against the windows, and howls like a thousand lost

  demons through the key-holes.

  Miss Assher appeared to be in the highest good-humour; Captain Wybrow was more

  assiduous than usual, and was very circumspect in his behaviour to Caterina, on

  whom Miss Assher bestowed unwonted attentions. The weather was brilliant; there

  were riding excursions in the mornings and dinner-parties in the evenings.

  Consultations in the library between Sir Christopher and Lady Assher seemed to

  be leading to a satisfactory result; and it was understood that this visit at

  Cheverel Manor would terminate in another fortnight, when the preparations for

  the wedding would be carried forward with all despatch at Farleigh. The Baronet

  seemed every day more radiant. Accustomed to view people who entered into his

  plans by the pleasant light which his own strong will and bright hopefulness

  were always casting on the future, he saw nothing hut personal charms and

  promising domestic qualities in Miss Assher, whose quickness of eye and taste in

  externals formed a real ground of sympathy between her and Sir Christopher. Lady

  Cheverel's enthusiasm never rose above the temperate mark of calm satisfaction,

  and, having quite her share of the critical acumen which characterizes the

  mutual estimates of the fair sex, she had a more moderate opinion of Miss

  Assher's qualities. She suspected that the fair Beatrice had a sharp and

  imperious temper; and being herself, on principle and by habitual self-command,

  the most deferential of wives, she noticed with disapproval Miss Assher's

  occasional air of authority towards Captain Wybrow. A proud woman who has

  learned to submit, carries all her pride to the reinforcement of her submission,

  and looks down with severe superiority on all feminine assumption as

  'unbecoming'. Lady Cheverel, however, confined her criticisms to the privacy of

  her own thoughts, and, with a reticence which I fear may seem incredible, did

  not use them as a means of disturbing her husband's complacency.

  And Caterina? How did she pass these sunny autumn days, in which the skies

  seemed to be smiling on the family gladness? To her the change in Miss Assher's

  manner was unaccountable. Those compassionate attentions, those smiling

  condescensions, were torture to Caterina, who was constantly tempted to repulse

  them with anger. She thought, 'Perhaps Anthony has told her to be kind to poor

  old Tina.' This was an insult. He ought to have known that the mere presence of

  Miss Assher was painful to her, that Miss Assher's smiles scorched her, that

  Miss Assher's kind words were like poison stings inflaming her to madness. And

  he�Anthony�he was evidently repenting of the tenderness he had been betrayed

  into that morning in the drawing-room. He was cold and distant and civil to her,

  to ward off Beatrice's suspicions, and Beatrice could be so gracious now,

  because she was sure of Anthony's entire devotion. Well! and so it ought to

  be�and she ought not to wish it otherwise. And yet�oh, he was cruel to her. She

  could never have behaved so to him. To make her love him so�to speak such tender

  words�to give her such caresses, and then to behave as if such things had never

  been. He had given her the poison that seemed so sweet while she was drinking

  it, and now it was in her blood, and she was helpless.

  With this tempest pent up in her bosom, the poor child went up to her room every

  night, and there it all burst forth. There, with loud whispers and sobs,

  restlessly pacing up and down, lying on the hard floor, courting cold and

  weariness, she told to the pitiful listening night the anguish which she could

  pour into no mortal ear. But always sleep came at last, and always in the

  morning the reactive calm that enabled her to live through the day.

  It is amazing how long a young frame will go on battling with this sort of

  secret wretchedness, and yet show no traces of the conflict for any but

  sympathetic eyes. The very delicacy of Caterina's usual appearance, her natural

  paleness and habitually quiet mouse-like ways, made any symptoms of fatigue and

  suffering less noticeable. And her singing�the one thing in which she ceased to

  be passive, and became prominent�lost none of its energy. She herself sometimes

  wondered how it was that, whether she felt sad or angry, crushed with the sense

  of Anthony's indifference, or burning with impatience under Miss Assher's

  attentions, it was always a relief to her to sing. Those full deep notes she

  sent forth seemed to be lifting the pain from her heart�seemed to be carrying

  away the madness from her brain.

  Thus Lady Cheverel noticed no change in Caterina, and it was only Mr Gilfil who

  discerned with anxiety the feverish spot that sometimes rose on her cheek, the

  deepening violet tint under her eyes, and the strange absent glance, the

  unhealthy glitter of the beautiful eyes themselves.

  But those agitated nights were producing a more fatal effect than was

  represented by these slight outward changes.

  Chapter 11

  THE following Sunday, the morning being rainy, it was determined that
the family

  should not go to Cumbermoor Church as usual, but that Mr Gilfil, who had only an

  afternoon service at his curacy, should conduct the morning service in the

  chapel.

  Just hefore the appointed hour of eleven, Caterina came down into the

  drawing-room, looking so unusually ill as to call forth an anxious inquiry from

  Lady Cheverel, who, on learning that she had a severe headache, insisted that

  she should not attend service, and at once packed her up comfortably on a sofa

  near the fire, putting a volume of Tillotson's Sermons39 into her hands�as

  appropriate reading, if Caterina should feel equal to that means of edification.

  Excellent medicine for the mind are the good Archbishop's sermons, but a

  medicine, unhappily, not suited to Tina's case. She sat with the book open on

  her knees, her dark eyes fixed vacantly on the portrait of that handsome Lady

  Cheverel, wife of the notable Sir Anthony. She gazed at the picture without

  thinking of it, and the fair blonde dame seemed to look down on her with that

  benignant unconcern, that mild wonder, with which happy self-possessed women are

  apt to look down on their agitated and weaker sisters.

  Caterina was thinking of the near future�of the wedding that was so soon to

  come�of all she would have to live through in the next months.

  'I wish I could be very ill, and die before then,' she thought. 'When people get

  very ill, they don't mind about things. Poor Patty Richards looked so happy when

  she was in a decline. She didn't seem to care any more about her lover that she

  was engaged to be married to, and she liked the smell of the flowers so, that I

  used to take her. O, if I could but like anything�if I could but think about

  anything else! If these dreadful feelings would go away, I wouldn't mind about

  not being happy. I wouldn't want anything�and r could do what would please Sir

  Christopher and Lady Cheverel. But when that rage and anger comes into me, I

  don't know what to do. I don't feel the ground under me; I only feel my head and

  heart beating, and it seems as if I must do something dreadful. O! I wonder if

  any one ever felt like me before. I must be very wicked. But God will have pity

  on me; He knows all I have to bear.'

  In this way the time wore on till Tina heard the sound of voices along the

  passage, and became conscious that the volume of Tillotson had slipped on the

  floor. She had only just picked it up, and seen with alarm that the pages were

  bent, when Lady Assher, Beatrice, and Captain Wybrow entered, all with that

  brisk and cheerful air which a sermon is often obsened to produce when it is

  quite finished.

  Lady Assher at once came and seated herself by Caterina. Her ladyship had been

  considerably refreshed by a doze, and was in great force for monologue.

  'Well, my dear Miss Sarti, and how do you feel now?�a little better, I see. I

  thought you would be, sitting quietly here. These headaches, now, are all from

  weakness. You must not over-exert yourself, and you must take bitters. I used to

  have just the same sort of headaches when I was your age, and old Dr Samson used

  to say to my mother, "Madam, what your daughter suffers from is weakness." He

  was such a curious old man, was Dr Samson. But I wish you could have heard the

  sermon this morning. Such an excellent sermon! It was about the ten virgins:

  five of them were foolish, and five were clever, you know; and Mr Gilfil

  explained all that. What a very pleasant young man he is! so very quiet and

  agreeable, and such a good hand at whist. I wish we had him at Farleigh. Sir

  John would have liked him beyond anything; he is so good-tempered at cards, and

  he was such a man for cards, was Sir John. And our rector is a very irritable

  man; he can't bear to lose his money at cards. I don't think a clergyman ought

  to mind about losing his money; do you?�do you now?'

  'O pray, Lady Assher,' interposed Beatrice, in her usual tone of superiority,

  'do not weary poor Caterina with such uninteresting questions. Your head seems

  very bad still, dear,' she continued, in a condoling tone, to Caterina; 'do take

  my vinaigrette, and keep it in your pocket. It will perhaps refresh you now and

  then.'

  'No, thank you,' answered Caterina; 'I will not take it away from you.'

  'Indeed, dear, I never use it; you must take it,' Miss Assher persisted, holding

  it close to Tina's hand. Tina coloured deeply, pushed the vinaigrette away with

  some impatience, and said, 'Thank you, I never use those things. I don't like

  vinaigrettes.'

  Miss Assher returned the vinaigrette to her pocket in surprise and haughty

  silence, and Captain Wybrow, who had looked on in some alarm, said hastily,

  'See! it is quite bright out of doors now. There is time for a walk before

  luncheon. Come, Beatrice, put on your hat and cloak, and let us have half an

  hour's walk on the gravel.'

  'Yes, do, my dear,' said Lady Assher, 'and I will go and see if Sir Christopher

  is having his walk in the gallery.'

  As soon as the door had closed behind the two ladies, Captain Wybrow, standing

  with his back to the fire, turned towards Caterina, and said in a tone of

  earnest remonstrance, 'My dear Caterina. Let me beg of you to exercise more

  control over your feelings; you are really rude to Miss Assher, and I can see

  that she is quite hurt. Consider how strange your behaviour must appear to her.

  She will wonder what can be the cause of it. Come, dear Tina,' he added,

  approaching her, and attempting to take her hand; 'for your own sake let me

  entreat you to receive her attentions politely. She really feels very kindly

  towards you, and I should be so happy to see you friends.'

  Caterina was already in such a state of diseased susceptibility that the most

  innocent words from Captain Wybrow would have been irritating to her, as the

  whirr of the most delicate wing will afflict a nervous patient. But this tone of

  benevolent remonstrance was intolerable. He had inflicted a great and unrepented

  injury on her, and now he assumed an air of benevolence towards her. This was a

  new outrage. His profession of goodwill was insolence.

  Caterina snatched away her hand and said indignantly, 'Leave me to myself,

  Captain Wybrow! I do not disturb you.'

  'Caterina, why will you be so violent�so unjust to me? It is for you that I feel

  anxious. Miss Assher has already noticed how strange your behaviour is both to

  her and me, and it puts me into a very difficult position. What can I say to

  her?'

  'Say?' Caterina burst forth with intense bitterness, rising, and moving towards

  the door; 'say that I am a poor silly girl, and have fallen in love with you,

  and am jealous of her; but that you have never had any feeling but pity for

  me�you have never behaved with anything more than friendliness to me. Tell her

  that, and she will think all the better of you.'

  Tina uttered this as the bitterest sarcasm her ideas would furnish her with, not

  having the faintest suspicion that the sarcasm derived any of its bitterness

  from truth. Underneath all her sense of wrong, which was rather instinctive than

  reflective�
underneath all the madness of her jealousy, and her ungovernable

  impulses of resentment and vindictiveness� underneath all this scorching passion

  there were still left some hidden crystal dews of trust, of self-reproof, of

  belief that Anthony was trying to do the right. Love had not all gone to feed

  the fires of hatred. Tina still trusted that Anthony felt more for her than he

  seemed to feel; she was still far from suspecting him of a wrong which a woman

  resents even more than inconstancy. And she threw out this taunt simply as the

  most intense expression she could find for the anger of the moment.

  As she stood nearly in the middle of the room, her little body trembling under

  the shock of passions too strong for it, her very lips pale, and her eyes

  gleaming, the door opened, and Miss Assher appeared, tall, blooming, and

  splendid, in her walking costume. As she entered, her face wore the smile

  appropriate to the exits and entrances of a young lady who feels that her

  presence is an interesting fact; but the next moment she looked at Caterina with

  grave surprise, and then threw a glance of angry suspicion at Captain Wybrow,

  who wore an air of weariness and vexation.

  'Perhaps you are too much engaged to walk out, Captain Wybrow? I will go alone.'

  'No, no, I am coming,' he answered, hurrying towards her, and leading her out of

  the room; leaving poor Caterina to feel all the reaction of shame and

  self-reproach after her outburst of passion.

  Chapter 12

  'PRAY, what is likely to be the next scene in the drama between you and Miss

  Sarti?' said Miss Assher to Captain Wybrow as soon as they were out on the

  gravel. 'It would be agreeable to have some idea of what is coming.'

  Captain Wybrow was silent. He felt out of humour, wearied, annoyed. There come

  moments when one almost determines never again to oppose anything but dead

  silence to an angry woman. 'Now then, confound it,' he said to himself, 'I'm

  going to be battered on the other flank.' He looked resolutely at the horizon,

  with something more like a frown on his face than Beatrice had ever seen there.

  After a pause of two or three minutes, she continued in a still haughtier tone,

  'I suppose you are aware, Captain Wybrow, that I expect an explanation of what I

  have just seen.'

  'I have no explanation, my dear Beatrice,' he answered at last, making a strong

  effort over himself, 'except what I have already given you. I hoped you would

  never recur to the subject.'

  'Your explanation, however, is very far from satisfactory. I can only say that

  the airs Miss Sarti thinks herself entitled to put on towards you, are quite

  incompatible with your position as regards me. And her behaviour to me is most

  insulting. I shall certainly not stay in the house under such circumstances, and

  mamma must state the reasons to Sir Christopher.'

  'Beatrice,' said Captain Wybrow, his irritation giving way to alarm, 'I beseech

  you to be patient, and exercise your good feelings in this affair. It is very

  painful, I know, but I am sure you would be grieved to injure poor Caterina�to

  bring down my uncle's anger upon her. Consider what a poor little dependent

  thing she is.'

  'It is very adroit of you to make these evasions, but do not suppose that they

  deceive me. Miss Sarti would never dare to behave to you as she does, if you had

  not flirted with her, or made love to her. I suppose she considers your

  engagement to me a breach of faith to her. I am much obliged to you, certainly,

  for making me Miss Sarti's rival. You have told me a falsehood, Captain Wybrow.'

  'Beatrice, I solemnly declare to you that Caterina is nothing more to me than a

  girl I naturally feel kindly to�as a favourite of my uncle's, and a nice little

  thing enough. I should be glad to see her married to Gilfil to-morrow; that's a

  good proof that I'm not in love with her, I should think. As to the past, I may