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Samuel Pepys - "Diary of Samuel Pepys, November 1668"

Brigadier Margaret Allen - "Fletcher of Madeley"

Georg Ebers - "Margery, Volume 2."

Annie Fellows Johnston - "Georgina of the Rainbows"

Evan Harrington, Complete

G >> George Meredith >> Evan Harrington, Complete




'Si ce n'est pas le gentilhomme, au moins, c'est le gentilhomme manque,'
said Lady Jocelyn. 'He is to be regretted, Duke. You are right. The stuff
was in him, but the Fates were unkind. I stretch out my hand to the
pauvre diable.'

'I think one learns more from the mock magnifico than from anything
else,' observed his Grace.

'When the lion saw the donkey in his own royal skin, said Aunt Bel, 'add
the rhyme at your discretion--he was a wiser lion, that's all.'

'And the ape that strives to copy one--he's an animal of judgement,' said
Lady Jocelyn. 'We will be tolerant to the tailor, and the Countess must
not set us down as a nation of shopkeepers: philosophically tolerant.'

The Countess started, and ran a little broken 'Oh!' affably out of her
throat, dipped her lips to her tablenapkin, and resumed her smile.

'Yes,' pursued her ladyship; 'old Mel stamps the age gone by. The gallant
adventurer tied to his shop! Alternate footman and marquis, out of
intermediate tailor! Isn't there something fine in his buffoon imitation
of the real thing? I feel already that old Mel belongs to me. Where is
the great man buried? Where have they, set the funeral brass that holds
his mighty ashes?'

Lady Jocelyn's humour was fully entered into by the men. The women smiled
vacantly, and had a common thought that it was ill-bred of her to hold
forth in that way at table, and unfeminine of any woman to speak
continuously anywhere.

'Oh, come!' cried Mr. George, who saw his own subject snapped away from
him by sheer cleverness; 'old Mel wasn't only a buffoon, my lady, you
know. Old Mel had his qualities. He was as much a "no-nonsense" fellow,
in his way, as a magistrate, or a minister.'

'Or a king, or a constable,' Aunt Bel helped his illustration.

'Or a prince, a poll-parrot, a Perigord-pie,' added Drummond, whose
gravity did not prevent Mr. George from seeing that he was laughed at.

'Well, then, now, listen to this,' said Mr. George, leaning his two hands
on the table resolutely. Dessert was laid, and, with a full glass beside
him, and a pear to peel, he determined to be heard.

The Countess's eyes went mentally up to the vindictive heavens. She stole
a glance at Caroline, and was alarmed at her excessive pallor. Providence
had rescued Evan from this!

'Now, I know this to be true,' Mr. George began. 'When old Mel was alive,
he and I had plenty of sparring, and that--but he's dead, and I'll do him
justice. I spoke of Burley Bennet just now. Now, my lady, old Burley was,
I think, Mel's half-brother, and he came, I know, somewhere out of Drury
Lane-one of the courts near the theatre--I don't know much of London.
However, old Mel wouldn't have that. Nothing less than being born in St.
James's Square would content old Mel, and he must have a Marquis for his
father. I needn't be more particular. Before ladies--ahem! But Burley was
the shrewd hand of the two. Oh-h-h! such a card! He knew the way to get
into company without false pretences. Well, I told you, he had lots more
than L100,000--some said two--and he gave up Ryelands; never asked for
it, though he won it. Consequence was, he commanded the services of
somebody pretty high. And it was he got Admiral Harrington made a
captain, posted, commodore, admiral, and K.C.B., all in seven years! In
the Army it 'd have been half the time, for the H.R.H. was stronger in
that department. Now, I know old Burley promised Mel to leave him his
money, and called the Admiral an ungrateful dog. He didn't give Mel much
at a time--now and then a twenty-pounder or so--I saw the cheques. And
old Mel expected the money, and looked over his daughters like a
turkey-cock. Nobody good enough for them. Whacking handsome gals--three!
used to be called the Three Graces of Lymport. And one day Burley comes
and visits Mel, and sees the girls. And he puts his finger on the eldest,
I can tell you. She was a spanker! She was the handsomest gal, I think,
ever I saw. For the mother's a fine woman, and what with the mother, and
what with old Mel--'

'We won't enter into the mysteries of origin,' quoth Lady Jocelyn.

'Exactly, my lady. Oh, your servant, of course. Before ladies. A Burley
Bennet, I said. Long and short was, he wanted to take her up to London.
Says old Mel: "London 's a sad place."--"Place to make money," says
Burley. "That's not work for a young gal," says Mel. Long and short was,
Burley wanted to take her, and Mel wouldn't let her go.' Mr. George
lowered his tone, and mumbled, 'Don't know how to explain it very well
before ladies. What Burley wanted was--it wasn't quite honourable, you
know, though there was a good deal of spangles on it, and whether a real
H.R.H., or a Marquis, or a Viscount, I can't say, but--the offer was
tempting to a tradesman. "No," says Mel; like a chap planting his
flagstaff and sticking to it. I believe that to get her to go with him,
Burley offered to make a will on the spot, and to leave every farthing of
his money and property--upon my soul, I believe it to be true--to Mel and
his family, if he'd let the gal go. "No," says Mel. I like the old bird!
And Burley got in a rage, and said he'd leave every farthing to the
sailor. Says Mel: "I'm a poor tradesman; but I have and I always will
have the feelings of a gentleman, and they're more to me than hard cash,
and the honour of my daughter, sir, is dearer to me than my blood. Out of
the house!" cries Mel. And away old Burley went, and left every penny to
the sailor, Admiral Harrington, who never noticed 'em an inch. Now,
there!'

All had listened to Mr. George attentively, and he had slurred the
apologetic passages, and emphasized the propitiatory 'before ladies' in a
way to make himself well understood a generation back.

'Bravo, old Mel!' rang the voice of Lady Jocelyn, and a murmur ensued, in
the midst of which Rose stood up and hurried round the table to Mrs.
Strike, who was seen to rise from her chair; and as she did so, the
ill-arranged locks fell from their unnatural restraint down over her
shoulders; one great curl half forward to the bosom, and one behind her
right ear. Her eyes were wide, her whole face, neck, and fingers, white
as marble. The faintest tremor of a frown on her brows, and her shut
lips, marked the continuation of some internal struggle, as if with her
last conscious force she kept down a flood of tears and a wild outcry
which it was death to hold. Sir Franks felt his arm touched, and looked
up, and caught her, as Rose approached. The Duke and other gentlemen went
to his aid, and as the beautiful woman was borne out white and still as a
corpse, the Countess had this dagger plunged in her heart from the mouth
of Mr. George, addressing Miss Carrington:

'I swear I didn't do it on purpose. She 's Carry Harrington, old Mel's
daughter, as sure as she 's flesh and blood!'




CHAPTER XXIII

TREATS OF A HANDKERCHIEF

Running through Beckley Park, clear from the chalk, a little stream gave
light and freshness to its pasturage. Near where it entered, a
bathing-house of white marble had been built, under which the water
flowed, and the dive could be taken to a paved depth, and you swam out
over a pebbly bottom into sun-light, screened by the thick-weeded banks,
loose-strife and willow-herb, and mint, nodding over you, and in the
later season long-plumed yellow grasses. Here at sunrise the young men
washed their limbs, and here since her return home English Rose loved to
walk by night. She had often spoken of the little happy stream to Evan in
Portugal, and when he came to Beckley Court, she arranged that he should
sleep in a bed-room overlooking it. The view was sweet and pleasant to
him, for all the babbling of the water was of Rose, and winding in and
out, to East, to North, it wound to embowered hopes in the lover's mind,
to tender dreams; and often at dawn, when dressing, his restless heart
embarked on it, and sailed into havens, the phantom joys of which
coloured his life for him all the day. But most he loved to look across
it when the light fell. The palest solitary gleam along its course spoke
to him rich promise. The faint blue beam of a star chained all his
longings, charmed his sorrows to sleep. Rose like a fairy had breathed
her spirit here, and it was a delight to the silly luxurious youth to lie
down, and fix some image of a flower bending to the stream on his brain,
and in the cradle of fancies that grew round it, slide down the tide of
sleep.

From the image of a flower bending to the stream, like his own soul to
the bosom of Rose, Evan built sweet fables. It was she that exalted him,
that led him through glittering chapters of adventure. In his dream of
deeds achieved for her sake, you may be sure the young man behaved
worthily, though he was modest when she praised him, and his limbs
trembled when the land whispered of his great reward to come. The longer
he stayed at Beckley the more he lived in this world within world, and if
now and then the harsh outer life smote him, a look or a word from Rose
encompassed him again, and he became sensible only of a distant pain.

At first his hope sprang wildly to possess her, to believe, that after he
had done deeds that would have sent ordinary men in the condition of
shattered hulks to the hospital, she might be his. Then blow upon blow
was struck, and he prayed to be near her till he died: no more. Then she,
herself, struck him to the ground, and sitting in his chamber, sick and
weary, on the evening of his mishap, Evan's sole desire was to obtain the
handkerchief he had risked his neck for. To have that, and hold it to his
heart, and feel it as a part of her, seemed much.

Over a length of the stream the red round harvest-moon was rising, and
the weakened youth was this evening at the mercy of the charm that
encircled him. The water curved, and dimpled, and flowed flat, and the
whole body of it rushed into the spaces of sad splendour. The clustered
trees stood like temples of darkness; their shadows lengthened
supernaturally; and a pale gloom crept between them on the sward. He had
been thinking for some time that Rose would knock at his door, and give
him her voice, at least; but she did not come; and when he had gazed out
on the stream till his eyes ached, he felt that he must go and walk by
it. Those little flashes of the hurrying tide spoke to him of a secret
rapture and of a joy-seeking impulse; the pouring onward of all the blood
of life to one illumined heart, mournful from excess of love.

Pardon me, I beg. Enamoured young men have these notions. Ordinarily Evan
had sufficient common sense and was as prosaic as mankind could wish him;
but he has had a terrible fall in the morning, and a young woman rages in
his brain. Better, indeed, and 'more manly,' were he to strike and raise
huge bosses on his forehead, groan, and so have done with it. We must let
him go his own way.

At the door he was met by the Countess. She came into the room without a
word or a kiss, and when she did speak, the total absence of any euphuism
gave token of repressed excitement yet more than her angry eyes and eager
step. Evan had grown accustomed to her moods, and if one moment she was
the halcyon, and another the petrel, it no longer disturbed him, seeing
that he was a stranger to the influences by which she was affected. The
Countess rated him severely for not seeking repose and inviting sympathy.
She told him that the Jocelyns had one and all combined in an infamous
plot to destroy the race of Harrington, and that Caroline had already
succumbed to their assaults; that the Jocelyns would repent it, and
sooner than they thought for; and that the only friend the Harringtons
had in the house was Miss Bonner, whom Providence would liberally reward.

Then the Countess changed to a dramatic posture, and whispered aloud,
'Hush: she is here. She is so anxious. Be generous, my brother, and let
her see you!'

'She?' said Evan, faintly. 'May she come, Louisa?' He hoped for Rose.

'I have consented to mask it,' returned the Countess. 'Oh, what do I not
sacrifice for you!'

She turned from him, and to Evan's chagrin introduced Juliana Bonner.

'Five minutes, remember!' said the Countess. 'I must not hear of more.'
And then Evan found himself alone with Miss Bonner, and very uneasy. This
young lady had restless brilliant eyes, and a contraction about the
forehead which gave one the idea of a creature suffering perpetual
headache. She said nothing, and when their eyes met she dropped hers in a
manner that made silence too expressive. Feeling which, Evan began:

'May I tell you that I think it is I who ought to be nursing you, not you
me?'

Miss Bonner replied by lifting her eyes and dropping them as before,
murmuring subsequently, 'Would you do so?'

'Most certainly, if you did me the honour to select me.'

The fingers of the young lady commenced twisting and intertwining on her
lap. Suddenly she laughed:

'It would not do at all. You won't be dismissed from your present service
till you 're unfit for any other.'

'What do you mean?' said Evan, thinking more of the unmusical laugh than
of the words.

He received no explanation, and the irksome silence caused him to look
through the window, as an escape for his mind, at least. The waters
streamed on endlessly into the golden arms awaiting them. The low moon
burnt through the foliage. In the distance, over a reach of the flood,
one tall aspen shook against the lighted sky.

'Are you in pain?' Miss Bonner asked, and broke his reverie.

'No; I am going away, and perhaps I sigh involuntarily.'

'You like these grounds?'

'I have never been so happy in any place.'

'With those cruel young men about you?'

Evan now laughed. 'We don't call young men cruel, Miss Bonner.'

'But were they not? To take advantage of what Rose told them--it was
base!'

She had said more than she intended, possibly, for she coloured under his
inquiring look, and added: 'I wish I could say the same as you of
Beckley. Do you know, I am called Rose's thorn?'

'Not by Miss Jocelyn herself, certainly!'

'How eager you are to defend her. But am I not--tell me--do I not look
like a thorn in company with her?'

'There is but the difference that ill health would make.'

'Ill health? Oh, yes! And Rose is so much better born.'

'To that, I am sure, she does not give a thought.'

'Not Rose? Oh!'

An exclamation, properly lengthened, convinces the feelings more
satisfactorily than much logic. Though Evan claimed only the
hand-kerchief he had won, his heart sank at the sound. Miss Bonner
watched him, and springing forward, said sharply:

'May I tell you something?'

'You may tell me what you please.'

'Then, whether I offend you or not, you had better leave this.'

'I am going,' said Evan. 'I am only waiting to introduce your tutor to
you.'

She kept her eyes on him, and in her voice as well there was a depth, as
she returned:

'Mr. Laxley, Mr. Forth, and Harry, are going to Lymport to-morrow.'

Evan was looking at a figure, whose shadow was thrown towards the house
from the margin of the stream.

He stood up, and taking the hand of Miss Bonner, said:

'I thank you. I may, perhaps, start with them. At any rate, you have done
me a great service, which I shall not forget.'

The figure by the stream he knew to be that of Rose. He released Miss
Bonner's trembling moist hand, and as he continued standing, she moved to
the door, after once following the line of his eyes into the moonlight.

Outside the door a noise was audible. Andrew had come to sit with his
dear boy, and the Countess had met and engaged and driven him to the
other end of the passage, where he hung remonstrating with her.

'Why, Van,' he said, as Evan came up to him, 'I thought you were in a
profound sleep. Louisa said--'

'Silly Andrew!' interposed the Countess, 'do you not observe he is
sleep-walking now?' and she left them with a light laugh to go to
Juliana, whom she found in tears. The Countess was quite aware of the
efficacy of a little bit of burlesque lying to cover her retreat from any
petty exposure.

Evan soon got free from Andrew. He was under the dim stars, walking to
the great fire in the East. The cool air refreshed him. He was simply
going to ask for his own, before he went, and had no cause to fear what
would be thought by any one. A handkerchief! A man might fairly win that,
and carry it out of a very noble family, without having to blush for
himself.

I cannot say whether he inherited his feeling for rank from Mel, his
father, or that the Countess had succeeded in instilling it, but Evan
never took Republican ground in opposition to those who insulted him, and
never lashed his 'manhood' to assert itself, nor compared the fineness of
his instincts with the behaviour of titled gentlemen. Rather he seemed to
admit the distinction between his birth and that of a gentleman,
admitting it to his own soul, as it were, and struggled simply as men
struggle against a destiny. The news Miss Bonner had given him sufficed
to break a spell which could not have endured another week; and Andrew,
besides, had told him of Caroline's illness. He walked to meet Rose,
honestly intending to ask for his own, and wish her good-bye.

Rose saw him approach, and knew him in the distance. She was sitting on a
lower branch of the aspen, that shot out almost from the root, and
stretched over the intervolving rays of light on the tremulous water. She
could not move to meet him. She was not the Rose whom we have hitherto
known. Love may spring in the bosom of a young girl, like Helper in the
evening sky, a grey speck in a field of grey, and not be seen or known,
till surely as the circle advances the faint planet gathers fire, and,
coming nearer earth, dilates, and will and must be seen and known. When
Evan lay like a dead man on the ground, Rose turned upon herself as the
author of his death, and then she felt this presence within her, and her
heart all day had talked to her of it, and was throbbing now, and would
not be quieted. She could only lift her eyes and give him her hand; she
could not speak. She thought him cold, and he was; cold enough to think
that she and her cousin were not unlike in their manner, though not deep
enough to reflect that it was from the same cause.

She was the first to find her wits: but not before she spoke did she
feel, and start to feel, how long had been the silence, and that her hand
was still in his.

'Why did you come out, Evan? It was not right.'

'I came to speak to you. I shall leave early to-morrow, and may not see
you alone.'

'You are going----?'

She checked her voice, and left the thrill of it wavering in him.

'Yes, Rose, I am going; I should have gone before.'

'Evan!' she grasped his hand, and then timidly retained it. 'You have not
forgiven me? I see now. I did not think of any risk to you. I only wanted
you to beat. I wanted you to be first and best. If you knew how I thank
God for saving you! What my punishment would have been!'

Till her eyes were full she kept them on him, too deep in emotion to be
conscious of it.

He could gaze on her tears coldly.

'I should be happy to take the leap any day for the prize you offered. I
have come for that.'

'For what, Evan?' But while she was speaking the colour mounted in her
cheeks, and she went on rapidly:

'Did you think it unkind of me not to come to nurse you. I must tell you,
to defend myself. It was the Countess, Evan. She is offended with
me--very justly, I dare say. She would not let me come. What could I do?
I had no claim to come.'

Rose was not aware of the import of her speech. Evan, though he felt more
in it, and had some secret nerves set tingling and dancing, was not to be
moved from his demand.

'Do you intend to withhold it, Rose?'

'Withhold what, Evan? Anything that you wish for is yours.'

'The handkerchief. Is not that mine?'

Rose faltered a word. Why did he ask for it? Because he asked for nothing
else, and wanted no other thing save that.

Why did she hesitate? Because it was so poor a gift, and so unworthy of
him.

And why did he insist? Because in honour she was bound to surrender it.

And why did she hesitate still? Let her answer.

'Oh, Evan! I would give you anything but that; and if you are going away,
I should beg so much to keep it.'

He must have been in a singular state not to see her heart in the
refusal, as was she not to see his in the request. But Love is blindest
just when the bandage is being removed from his forehead.

'Then you will not give it me, Rose? Do you think I shall go about
boasting "This is Miss Jocelyn's handkerchief, and I, poor as I am, have
won it"?'

The taunt struck aslant in Rose's breast with a peculiar sting. She stood
up.

'I will give it you, Evan.'

Turning from him she drew it forth, and handed it to him hurriedly. It
was warm. It was stained with his blood. He guessed where it had been
nestling, and, now, as if by revelation, he saw that large sole star in
the bosom of his darling, and was blinded by it and lost his senses.

'Rose! beloved!'

Like the flower of his nightly phantasy bending over the stream, he
looked and saw in her sweet face the living wonders that encircled his
image; she murmuring: 'No, you must hate me.'

'I love you, Rose, and dare to say it--and it 's unpardonable. Can you
forgive me?'

She raised her face to him.

'Forgive you for loving me?' she said.

Holy to them grew the stillness: the ripple suffused in golden moonlight:
the dark edges of the leaves against superlative brightness. Not a chirp
was heard, nor anything save the cool and endless carol of the happy
waters, whose voices are the spirits of silence. Nature seemed consenting
that their hands should be joined, their eyes intermingling. And when
Evan, with a lover's craving, wished her lips to say what her eyes said
so well, Rose drew his fingers up, and, with an arch smile and a blush,
kissed them. The simple act set his heart thumping, and from the look of
love, she saw an expression of pain pass through him. Her fealty--her
guileless, fearless truth--which the kissing of his hand brought vividly
before him, conjured its contrast as well in this that was hidden from
her, or but half suspected. Did she know--know and love him still? He
thought it might be: but that fell dead on her asking:

'Shall I speak to Mama to-night?'

A load of lead crushed him.

'Rose!' he said; but could get no farther.

Innocently, or with well-masked design, Rose branched off into little
sweet words about his bruised shoulder, touching it softly, as if she
knew the virtue that was in her touch, and accusing her selfish self as
she caressed it:

'Dearest Evan! you must have been sure I thought no one like you. Why did
you not tell me before? I can hardly believe it now! Do you know,' she
hurried on, 'they think me cold and heartless,--am I? I must be, to have
made you run such risk; but yet I'm sure I could not have survived you.'

Dropping her voice, Rose quoted Ruth. As Evan listened, the words were
like food from heaven poured into his spirit.

'To-morrow,' he kept saying to himself, 'to-morrow I will tell her all.
Let her think well of me a few short hours.'

But the passing minutes locked them closer; each had a new link--in a
word, or a speechless breath, or a touch: and to break the marriage of
their eyes there must be infinite baseness on one side, or on the other
disloyalty to love.

The moon was a silver ball, high up through the aspen-leaves. Evan kissed
the hand of Rose, and led her back to the house. He had appeased his
conscience by restraining his wild desire to kiss her lips.

In the hall they parted. Rose whispered, 'Till death!' giving him her
hands.




CHAPTER XXIV

THE COUNTESS MAKES HERSELF FELT

There is a peculiar reptile whose stroke is said to deprive men of
motion. On the day after the great Mel had stalked the dinner-table of
Beckley Court, several of the guests were sensible of the effect of this
creature's mysterious touch, without knowing what it was that paralyzed
them. Drummond Forth had fully planned to go to Lymport. He had special
reasons for making investigations with regard to the great Mel. Harry,
who was fond of Drummond, offered to accompany him, and Laxley, for the
sake of a diversion, fell into the scheme. Mr. George Uplift was also to
be of the party, and promised them fun. But when the time came to start,
not one could be induced to move: Laxley was pressingly engaged by Rose:
Harry showed the rope the Countess held him by; Mr. George made a
singular face, and seriously advised Drummond to give up the project.

'Don't rub that woman the wrong way,' he said, in a private colloquy they
had. 'By Jingo, she's a Tartar. She was as a gal, and she isn't changed,
Lou Harrington. Fancy now: she knew me, and she faced me out, and made me
think her a stranger! Gad, I'm glad I didn't speak to the others. Lord's
sake, keep it quiet. Don't rouse that woman, now, if you want to keep a
whole skin.'

Drummond laughed at his extreme earnestness in cautioning him, and
appeared to enjoy his dread of the Countess. Mr. George would not tell
how he had been induced to change his mind. He repeated his advice with a
very emphatic shrug of the shoulder.

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