I HAD spoken confidently enough,
while arguing the question of
Doctor Dulcifer's respectability
with the Treasurer of the D uskydale
Institution; but, if my perceptions
had not been blinded by my enthusiastic
admiration for Alicia, I think
I should have secretly distrusted
my own opinion as soon as I was
left by myself. Had I been in
full possession of my senses,
I might have questioned, on reflection,
whether the doctor's method of
accounting for the suspicions
which kept his neighbors aloof
from him, was quite satisfactory.
Love is generally described,
I believe, as the tender passion.
When I remember the insidiously
relaxing effect of it on all
my faculties, I feel inclined
to alter the popular definition,
and to call it a moral vapor-bath.
What the Managing Committee
of the Duskydale Institution
thought of the change in me,
I cannot imagine. The doctor
and his daughter left the town
on the day they had originally
appointed, before I could make
any excuse for calling again;
and, as a necessary consequence
of their departure, I lost all
interest in the affairs of the
ball, and yawned in the faces
of the committee when I was obliged
to be present at their deliberations
in my official capacity.
It was all
Alicia with me, whatever they
did. I read the
Minutes through a soft medium
of maize-colored skirts. Notes
of melodious laughter bubbled,
in my mind's ear, through all
the drawling and stammering of
our speech-making members. When
our dignified President thought
he had caught my eye, and made
oratorical overtures to me from
the top of the table, I was lost
in the contemplation of silk
purses and white fingers weaving
them. I meant "Alicia" when I
said "hear, hear"--and when I
officially produced my subscription
list, it was all aglow with the
roseate hues of the marriage-license.
If any unsympathetic male readers
should think this statement exaggerated,
I appeal to the ladies--they will
appreciate the rigid, yet tender,
truth of it.
The night of the ball came.
I have nothing but the vaguest
recollection of it.
I remember that the more the
perverse lecture theater was
warmed the more persistently
it smelled of damp plaster; and
that the more brightly it was
lighted, the more overgrown and
lonesome it looked. I can recall
to mind that the company assembled
numbered about fifty, the room
being big enough to hold three
hundred. I have a vision still
before me, of twenty out of these
fifty guests, solemnly executing
intricate figure-dances, under
the superintendence of an infirm
local dancing-master--a mere
speck of fidgety human wretchedness
twisting about in the middle
of an empty floor. I see, faintly,
down the dim vista of the Past,
an agreeable figure, like myself,
with a cocked hat under its arm,
black tights on its lightly tripping
legs, a rosette in its buttonhole,
and an engaging smile on its
face, walking from end to end
of the room, in the character
of Master of the Ceremonies.
These visions and events I can
recall vaguely; and with them
my remembrances of the ball come
to a close. It was a complete
failure, and that would, of itself,
have been enough to sicken me
of remaining at the Duskydale
Institution, even if I had not
had any reasons of the tender
sort for wishing to extend my
travels in rural England to the
neighborhood of Barkingham.
The difficulty
was how to find a decent pretext
for getting
away. Fortunately, the Managing
Committee relieved me of any
perplexity on this head, by passing
a resolution, one day, which
called upon the President to
remonstrate with me on my want
of proper interest in the affairs
of the Institution. I replied
to the remonstrance that the
affairs of the Institution were
so hopelessly dull that it was
equally absurd and unjust to
expect any human being to take
the smallest interest in them.
At this there arose an indignant
cry of "Resign!" from the whole
committee; to which I answered
politely, that I should be delighted
to oblige the gentlemen, and
to go forthwith, on condition
of receiving a quarter's salary
in the way of previous compensation.
After a sordid opposition from
an economical minority, my condition
of departure was accepted. I
wrote a letter of resignation,
received in exchange twelve pounds
ten shillings, and took my place,
that same day, on the box-seat
of the Barkingham mail.
Rather changeable
this life of mine, was it not?
Before I
was twenty-five years of age,
I had tried doctoring, caricaturing
portrait-painting, old picture-making,
and Institution-managing; and
now, with the help of Alicia,
I was about to try how a little
marrying would suit me. Surely,
Shakespeare must have had me
prophetically in his eye, when
he wrote about "one man in his
time playing many parts." What
a character I should have made
for him, if he had only been
alive now!
I found out from the coachman,
among other matters, that there
was a famous fishing stream near
Barkingham; and the first thing
I did, on arriving at the town,
was to buy a rod and line.
It struck me that my safest
way of introducing myself would
be to tell Doctor Dulcifer that
I had come to the neighborhood
for a little fishing, and so
to prevent him from fancying
that I was suspiciously prompt
in availing myself of his offered
hospitality. I put up, of course,
at the inn--stuck a large parchment
book of flies half in and half
out of the pocket of my shooting-jacket--and
set off at once to the doctor's.
The waiter of whom I asked my
way stared distrustfully while
he directed me. The people at
the inn had evidently heard of
my new friend, and were not favorably
disposed toward the cause of
scientific investigation.
The house stood about a mile
out of the town, in a dip of
ground near the famous fishing-stream.
It was a lonely, old-fashioned
red-brick building, surrounded
by high walls, with a garden
and plantation behind it.
As I rang at the gate-bell,
I looked up at the house. Sure
enough all the top windows in
front were closed with shutters
and barred. I was let in by a
man in livery; who, however,
in manners and appearance, looked
much more like a workman in disguise
than a footman. He had a very
suspicious eye, and he fixed
it on me unpleasantly when I
handed him my card.
I was shown into a morning-room
exactly like other morning-rooms
in country houses.
After a long delay the doctor
came in, with scientific butchers'
sleeves on his arms, and an apron
tied round his portly waist.
He apologized for coming down
in his working dress, and said
everything that was civil and
proper about the pleasure of
unexpectedly seeing me again
so soon. There was something
rather preoccupied, I thought,
in those brightly resolute eyes
of his; but I naturally attributed
it to the engrossing influence
of his scientific inquiries.
He was evidently not at all taken
in by my story about coming to
Barkingham to fish; but he saw,
as well as I did, that it would
do to keep up appearances, and
contrived to look highly interested
immediately in my parchment-book.
I asked after his daughter. He
said she was in the garden, and
proposed that we should go and
find her. We did find her, with
a pair of scissors in her hand,
outblooming the flowers that
she was trimming. She looked
really glad to see me--her brown
eyes beamed clear and kindly--she
gave my hand another inestimable
shake--the summer breezes waved
her black curls gently upward
from her waist--she had on a
straw hat and a brown Holland
gardening dress. I eyed it with
all the practical interest of
a linendraper. O Brown Holland
you are but a coarse and cheap
fabric, yet how soft and priceless
you look when clothing the figure
of Alicia!
I lunched with them. The doctor
recurred to the subject of my
angling intentions, and asked
his daughter if she had heard
what parts of the stream at Barkingham
were best for fishing in.
She replied, with a mixture
of modest evasiveness and adorable
simplicity, that she had sometimes
seen gentlemen angling from a
meadow-bank about a quarter of
a mile below her flower-garden.
I risked everything in my usual
venturesome way, and asked if
she would show me where the place
was, in case I called the next
morning with my fishing-rod.
She looked dutifully at her father.
He smiled and nodded. Inestimable
parent!
On rising to take leave, I
was rather curious to know whether
he would o ffer me a bed in the
house, or not. He detected the
direction of my thoughts in my
face and manner, and apologized
for not having a bed to offer
me; every spare room in the house
being occupied by his chemical
assistants, and by the lumber
of laboratories. Even while he
was speaking those few words,
Alicia's face changed just as
I had seen it change at our first
interview. The downcast, gloomy
expression overspread it again.
Her father's eye wandered toward
her when mine did, and suddenly
assumed the same distrustful
look which I remembered detecting
in it, under similar circumstances,
at Duskydale. What could this
mean?
The doctor shook hands with
me in the hall, leaving the workman-like
footman to open the door.
I stopped to admire a fine
pair of stag's antlers. The footman
coughed impatiently. I still
lingered, hearing the doctor's
footsteps ascending the stairs.
They suddenly stopped; and then
there was a low heavy clang,
like the sound of a closing door
made of iron, or of some other
unusually strong material; then
total silence, interrupted by
another impatient cough from
the workman-like footman. After
that, I thought my wisest proceeding
would be to go away before my
mysterious attendant was driven
to practical extremities.
Between thoughts of Alicia,
and inquisitive yearnings to
know more about the doctor's
experiments, I passed rather
a restless night at my inn.
The next morning, I found the
lovely mistress of my destiny,
with the softest of shawls on
her shoulders, the brightest
of parasols in her hand, and
the smart little straw hat of
the day before on her head, ready
to show me the way to the fishing-place.
If I could be sure beforehand
that these pages would only be
read by persons actually occupied
in the making of love--that oldest
and longest-established of all
branches of manufacturing industry--I
could go into some very tender
and interesting particulars on
the subject of my first day's
fishing, under the adorable auspices
of Alicia. But as I cannot hope
for a wholly sympathetic audience--as
there may be monks, misogynists,
political economists, and other
professedly hard-hearted persons
present among those whom I now
address--I think it best to keep
to safe generalities, and to
describe my love-making in as
few sentences as the vast, though
soft, importance of the subject
will allow me to use.
Let me confess, then, that
I assumed the character of a
fastidious angler, and managed
to be a week in discovering the
right place to fish in--always,
it is unnecessary to say, under
Alicia's guidance. We went up
the stream and down the stream,
on one side. We crossed the bridge,
and went up the stream and down
the stream on the other. We got
into a punt, and went up the
stream (with great difficulty),
and down the stream (with great
ease). We landed on a little
island, and walked all round
it, and inspected the stream
attentively from a central point
of view. We found the island
damp, and went back to the bank,
and up the stream, and over the
bridge, and down the stream again;
and then, for the first time,
the sweet girl turned appealingly
to me, and confessed that she
had exhausted her artless knowledge
of the locality. It was exactly
a week from the day when I had
first followed her into the fields
with my fishing-rod over my shoulder;
and I had never yet caught anything
but Alicia's hand, and that not
with my hook.
We sat down close together
on the bank, entirely in consequence
of our despair at not finding
a good fishing-place. I looked
at the brown eyes, and they turned
away observantly down the stream.
I followed them, and they turned
away inquiringly up the stream.
Was this angel of patience and
kindness still looking for a
fishing place? And was it up the
stream, after all? No! --she
smiled and shook her head when
I asked the question, and the
brown eyes suddenly stole a look
at me. I could hold out no longer
In one breathless moment I caught
hold of both her hands--in one
stammering sentence I asked her
if she would be my wife.
She tried faintly to free her
hands--gave up the attempt--smiled--made
an effort to look grave--gave
that up, too--sighed suddenly--checked
herself suddenly--said nothing.
Perhaps I ought to have taken
my answer for granted; but the
least business-like man that
ever lived becomes an eminently
practical character in matters
of love. I repeated my question.
She looked away confusedly; her
eye lighted on a corner of her
father's red-brick house, peeping
through a gap in the plantation
already mentioned; and her blushing
cheeks lost their color instantly.
I felt her hands grow cold; she
drew them resolutely out of mine,
and rose with the tears in her
eyes. Had I offended her?
"No," she said
when I asked her the question,
and turned
to me again, and held out her
hand with such frank, fearless
kindness, that I almost fell
on my knees to thank her for
it.
Might I hope
ever to hear her say "Yes" to
the question that I had asked
on the riverbank?
She sighed bitterly, and turned
again toward the red-brick house.
Was there any
family reason against her saying "Yes"?
Anything that I must not inquire
into?
Any opposition to be dreaded
from her father?
The moment I mentioned her
father, she shrank away from
me and burst into a violent fit
of crying.
"Don't speak of it again!" she
said in a broken voice. "I mustn't--you
mustn't--ah, don't, don't say
a word more about it! I'm not
distressed with you--it is not
your fault. Don't say anything--leave
me quiet for a minute. I shall
soon be better it you leave me
quiet."
She dried her eyes directly,
with a shiver as if it was cold,
and took my arm. I led her back
to the house-gate; and then,
feeling that I could not go in
to lunch as usual, after what
had happened, said I would return
to the fishing-place.
"Shall I come to dinner this
evening?" I asked, as I rang
the gate-bell for her.
"Oh, yes--yes!--do
come, or he--"
The mysterious man-servant
opened the door, and we parted
before she could say the next
words.
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