Merry
days were these at Thornfield
Hall; and busy days too: how
different from the first three
months of stillness, monotony,
and solitude I had passed beneath
its roof! All sad feelings seemed
now driven from the house, all
gloomy associations forgotten:
there was life everywhere, movement
all day long. You could not now
traverse the gallery, once so
hushed, nor enter the front chambers,
once so tenantless, without encountering
a smart lady's-maid or a dandy
valet.
The kitchen, the butler's pantry,
the servants' hall, the entrance
hall, were equally alive; and
the saloons were only left void
and still when the blue sky and
halcyon sunshine of the genial
spring weather called their occupants
out into the grounds. Even when
that weather was broken, and
continuous rain set in for some
days, no damp seemed cast over
enjoyment: indoor amusements
only became more lively and varied,
in consequence of the stop put
to outdoor gaiety.
I
wondered what
they were going
to do the first evening a change
of entertainment was proposed:
they spoke of "playing charades," but
in my ignorance I did not understand
the term. The servants were called
in, the dining-room tables wheeled
away, the lights otherwise disposed,
the chairs placed in a semicircle
opposite the arch. While Mr.
Rochester and the other gentlemen
directed these alterations, the
ladies were running up and down
stairs ringing for their maids.
Mrs. Fairfax was summoned to
give information respecting the
resources of the house in shawls,
dresses, draperies of any kind;
and certain wardrobes of the
third storey were ransacked,
and their contents, in the shape
of brocaded and hooped petticoats,
satin sacques, black modes, lace
lappets, &c., were brought down
in armfuls by the abigails; then
a selection was made, and such
things as were chosen were carried
to the boudoir within the drawing-room.
Meantime,
Mr. Rochester
had again summoned
the ladies
round
him, and was selecting certain
of their number to be of his
party. "Miss Ingram is mine,
of course," said he: afterwards
he named the two Misses Eshton,
and Mrs. Dent. He looked at me:
I happened to be near him, as
I had been fastening the clasp
of Mrs. Dent's bracelet, which
had got loose.
"Will you play?" he
asked. I shook
my head. He
did not insist,
which I rather feared he would
have done; he allowed me to return
quietly to my usual seat.
He and his aids now withdrew
behind the curtain: the other
party, which was headed by Colonel
Dent, sat down on the crescent
of chairs. One of the gentlemen,
Mr. Eshton, observing me, seemed
to propose that I should be asked
to join them; but Lady Ingram
instantly negatived the notion.
"No," I heard her say: "she
looks too stupid for any game
of the sort."
Ere long a bell tinkled, and
the curtain drew up. Within the
arch, the bulky figure of Sir
George Lynn, whom Mr. Rochester
had likewise chosen, was seen
enveloped in a white sheet: before
him, on a table, lay open a large
book; and at his side stood Amy
Eshton, draped in Mr. Rochester's
cloak, and holding a book in
her hand. Somebody, unseen, rang
the bell merrily; then Adele
(who had insisted on being one
of her guardian's party), bounded
forward, scattering round her
the contents of a basket of flowers
she carried on her arm. Then
appeared the magnificent figure
of Miss Ingram, clad in white,
a long veil on her head, and
a wreath of roses round her brow;
by her side walked Mr. Rochester,
and together they drew near the
table. They knelt; while Mrs.
Dent and Louisa Eshton, dressed
also in white, took up their
stations behind them. A ceremony
followed, in dumb show, in which
it was easy to recognise the
pantomime of a marriage. At its
termination, Colonel Dent and
his party consulted in whispers
for two minutes, then the Colonel
called out -
"Bride!" Mr.
Rochester bowed,
and the curtain fell.
A considerable interval elapsed
before it again rose. Its second
rising displayed a more elaborately
prepared scene than the last.
The drawing-room, as I have before
observed, was raised two steps
above the dining-room, and on
the top of the upper step, placed
a yard or two back within the
room, appeared a large marble
basin-- which I recognised as
an ornament of the conservatory--where
it usually stood, surrounded
by exotics, and tenanted by gold
fish--and whence it must have
been transported with some trouble,
on account of its size and weight.
Seated on the carpet, by the
side of this basin, was seen
Mr. Rochester, costumed in shawls,
with a turban on his head. His
dark eyes and swarthy skin and
Paynim features suited the costume
exactly: he looked the very model
of an Eastern emir, an agent
or a victim of the bowstring.
Presently advanced into view
Miss Ingram. She, too, was attired
in oriental fashion: a crimson
scarf tied sash-like round the
waist: an embroidered handkerchief
knotted about her temples; her
beautifully-moulded arms bare,
one of them upraised in the act
of supporting a pitcher, poised
gracefully on her head. Both
her cast of form and feature,
her complexion and her general
air, suggested the idea of some
Israelitish princess of the patriarchal
days; and such was doubtless
the character she intended to
represent.
She
approached
the basin,
and bent over
it as if to
fill her
pitcher; she again lifted it
to her head. The personage on
the well-brink now seemed to
accost her; to make some request:- "She
hasted, let down her pitcher
on her hand, and gave him to
drink." From the bosom of his
robe he then produced a casket,
opened it and showed magnificent
bracelets and earrings; she acted
astonishment and admiration;
kneeling, he laid the treasure
at her feet; incredulity and
delight were expressed by her
looks and gestures; the stranger
fastened the bracelets on her
arms and the rings in her ears.
It was Eliezer and Rebecca: the
camels only were wanting.
The
divining party
again laid
their heads
together: apparently
they could not agree about the
word or syllable the scene illustrated.
Colonel Dent, their spokesman,
demanded "the tableau of the
whole;" whereupon the curtain
again descended.
On its third rising only a
portion of the drawing-room was
disclosed; the rest being concealed
by a screen, hung with some sort
of dark and coarse drapery. The
marble basin was removed; in
its place, stood a deal table
and a kitchen chair: these objects
were visible by a very dim light
proceeding from a horn lantern,
the wax candles being all extinguished.
Amidst this sordid scene, sat
a man with his clenched hands
resting on his knees, and his
eyes bent on the ground. I knew
Mr. Rochester; though the begrimed
face, the disordered dress (his
coat hanging loose from one arm,
as if it had been almost torn
from his back in a scuffle),
the desperate and scowling countenance,
the rough, bristling hair might
well have disguised him. As he
moved, a chain clanked; to his
wrists were attached fetters.
"Bridewell!" exclaimed
Colonel Dent,
and the charade
was solved.
A sufficient interval having
elapsed for the performers to
resume their ordinary costume,
they re-entered the dining-room.
Mr. Rochester led in Miss Ingram;
she was complimenting him on
his acting.
"Do you know," said she, "that,
of the three characters, I liked
you in the last best? Oh, had
you but lived a few years earlier,
what a gallant gentleman-highwayman
you would have made!"
"Is all the soot washed from
my face?" he asked, turning it
towards her.
"Alas!
yes: the more's
the pity! Nothing
could be more
becoming
to your complexion than that
ruffian's rouge."
"You
would like
a hero of the
road then?"
"An
English hero
of the road
would be the next best thing
to an Italian bandit; and that
could only be surpassed by a
Levantine pirate."
"Well, whatever I am, remember
you are my wife; we were married
an hour since, in the presence
of all these witnesses." She
giggled, and her colour rose.
"Now, Dent," continued Mr.
Rochester, "it is your turn." And
as the other party withdrew,
he and his band took the vacated
seats. Miss Ingram placed herself
at her leader's right hand; the
other diviners filled the chairs
on each side of him and her.
I did not now watch the actors;
I no longer waited with interest
for the curtain to rise; my attention
was absorbed by the spectators;
my eyes, erewhile fixed on the
arch, were now irresistibly attracted
to the semicircle of chairs.
What charade Colonel Dent and
his party played, what word they
chose, how they acquitted themselves,
I no longer remember; but I still
see the consultation which followed
each scene: I see Mr. Rochester
turn to Miss Ingram, and Miss
Ingram to him; I see her incline
her head towards him, till the
jetty curls almost touch his
shoulder and wave against his
cheek; I hear their mutual whisperings;
I recall their interchanged glances;
and something even of the feeling
roused by the spectacle returns
in memory at this moment.
I have told you, reader, that
I had learnt to love Mr. Rochester:
I could not unlove him now, merely
because I found that he had ceased
to notice me--because I might
pass hours in his presence, and
he would never once turn his
eyes in my direction--because
I saw all his attentions appropriated
by a great lady, who scorned
to touch me with the hem of her
robes as she passed; who, if
ever her dark and imperious eye
fell on me by chance, would withdraw
it instantly as from an object
too mean to merit observation.
I could not unlove him, because
I felt sure he would soon marry
this very lady--because I read
daily in her a proud security
in his intentions respecting
her--because I witnessed hourly
in him a style of courtship which,
if careless and choosing rather
to be sought than to seek, was
yet, in its very carelessness,
captivating, and in its very
pride, irresistible.
There was nothing to cool or
banish love in these circumstances,
though much to create despair.
Much too, you will think, reader,
to engender jealousy: if a woman,
in my position, could presume
to be jealous of a woman in Miss
Ingram's. But I was not jealous:
or very rarely;--the nature of
the pain I suffered could not
be explained by that word. Miss
Ingram was a mark beneath jealousy:
she was too inferior to excite
the feeling. Pardon the seeming
paradox; I mean what I say. She
was very showy, but she was not
genuine: she had a fine person,
many brilliant attainments; but
her mind was poor, her heart
barren by nature: nothing bloomed
spontaneously on that soil; no
unforced natural fruit delighted
by its freshness. She was not
good; she was not original: she
used to repeat sounding phrases
from books: she never offered,
nor had, an opinion of her own.
She advocated a high tone of
sentiment; but she did not know
the sensations of sympathy and
pity; tenderness and truth were
not in her. Too often she betrayed
this, by the undue vent she gave
to a spiteful antipathy she had
conceived against little Adele:
pushing her away with some contumelious
epithet if she happened to approach
her; sometimes ordering her from
the room, and always treating
her with coldness and acrimony.
Other eyes besides mine watched
these manifestations of character--watched
them closely, keenly, shrewdly.
Yes; the future bridegroom, Mr.
Rochester himself, exercised
over his intended a ceaseless
surveillance; and it was from
this sagacity--this guardedness
of his--this perfect, clear consciousness
of his fair one's defects-- this
obvious absence of passion in
his sentiments towards her, that
my ever-torturing pain arose.
I saw he was going to marry
her, for family, perhaps political
reasons, because her rank and
connections suited him; I felt
he had not given her his love,
and that her qualifications were
ill adapted to win from him that
treasure. This was the point--this
was where the nerve was touched
and teased--this was where the
fever was sustained and fed:
SHE COULD NOT CHARM HIM.
If she had managed the victory
at once, and he had yielded and
sincerely laid his heart at her
feet, I should have covered my
face, turned to the wall, and
(figuratively) have died to them.
If Miss Ingram had been a good
and noble woman, endowed with
force, fervour, kindness, sense,
I should have had one vital struggle
with two tigers--jealousy and
despair: then, my heart torn
out and devoured, I should have
admired her--acknowledged her
excellence, and been quiet for
the rest of my days: and the
more absolute her superiority,
the deeper would have been my
admiration--the more truly tranquil
my quiescence. But as matters
really stood, to watch Miss Ingram's
efforts at fascinating Mr. Rochester,
to witness their repeated failure--herself
unconscious that they did fail;
vainly fancying that each shaft
launched hit the mark, and infatuatedly
pluming herself on success, when
her pride and self-complacency
repelled further and further
what she wished to allure--to
witness THIS, was to be at once
under ceaseless excitation and
ruthless restraint.
Because, when she failed, I
saw how she might have succeeded.
Arrows that continually glanced
off from Mr. Rochester's breast
and fell harmless at his feet,
might, I knew, if shot by a surer
hand, have quivered keen in his
proud heart--have called love
into his stern eye, and softness
into his sardonic face; or, better
still, without weapons a silent
conquest might have been won.
"Why can she not influence
him more, when she is privileged
to draw so near to him?" I asked
myself. "Surely she cannot truly
like him, or not like him with
true affection! If she did, she
need not coin her smiles so lavishly,
flash her glances so unremittingly,
manufacture airs so elaborate,
graces so multitudinous. It seems
to me that she might, by merely
sitting quietly at his side,
saying little and looking less,
get nigher his heart. I have
seen in his face a far different
expression from that which hardens
it now while she is so vivaciously
accosting him; but then it came
of itself: it was not elicited
by meretricious arts and calculated
manoeuvres; and one had but to
accept it--to answer what he
asked without pretension, to
address him when needful without
grimace--and it increased and
grew kinder and more genial,
and warmed one like a fostering
sunbeam. How will she manage
to please him when they are married?
I do not think she will manage
it; and yet it might be managed;
and his wife might, I verily
believe, be the very happiest
woman the sun shines on."
I
have not yet
said anything
condemnatory of Mr. Rochester's
project of marrying for interest
and connections. It surprised
me when I first discovered that
such was his intention: I had
thought him a man unlikely to
be influenced by motives so commonplace
in his choice of a wife; but
the longer I considered the position,
education, &c., of the parties,
the less I felt justified in
judging and blaming either him
or Miss Ingram for acting in
conformity to ideas and principles
instilled into them, doubtless,
from their childhood. All their
class held these principles:
I supposed, then, they had reasons
for holding them such as I could
not fathom. It seemed to me that,
were I a gentleman like him,
I would take to my bosom only
such a wife as I could love;
but the very obviousness of the
advantages to the husband's own
happiness offered by this plan
convinced me that there must
be arguments against its general
adoption of which I was quite
ignorant: otherwise I felt sure
all the world would act as I
wished to act.
But in other points, as well
as this, I was growing very lenient
to my master: I was forgetting
all his faults, for which I had
once kept a sharp look-out. It
had formerly been my endeavour
to study all sides of his character:
to take the bad with the good;
and from the just weighing of
both, to form an equitable judgment.
Now I saw no bad. The sarcasm
that had repelled, the harshness
that had startled me once, were
only like keen condiments in
a choice dish: their presence
was pungent, but their absence
would be felt as comparatively
insipid. And as for the vague
something--was it a sinister
or a sorrowful, a designing or
a desponding expression?-- that
opened upon a careful observer,
now and then, in his eye, and
closed again before one could
fathom the strange depth partially
disclosed; that something which
used to make me fear and shrink,
as if I had been wandering amongst
volcanic-looking hills, and had
suddenly felt the ground quiver
and seen it gape: that something,
I, at intervals, beheld still;
and with throbbing heart, but
not with palsied nerves. Instead
of wishing to shun, I longed
only to dare--to divine it; and
I thought Miss Ingram happy,
because one day she might look
into the abyss at her leisure,
explore its secrets and analyse
their nature.
Meantime, while I thought only
of my master and his future bride--
saw only them, heard only their
discourse, and considered only
their movements of importance--the
rest of the party were occupied
with their own separate interests
and pleasures. The Ladies Lynn
and Ingram continued to consort
in solemn conferences, where
they nodded their two turbans
at each other, and held up their
four hands in confronting gestures
of surprise, or mystery, or horror,
according to the theme on which
their gossip ran, like a pair
of magnified puppets. Mild Mrs.
Dent talked with good-natured
Mrs. Eshton; and the two sometimes
bestowed a courteous word or
smile on me. Sir George Lynn,
Colonel Dent, and Mr. Eshton
discussed politics, or county
affairs, or justice business.
Lord Ingram flirted with Amy
Eshton; Louisa played and sang
to and with one of the Messrs.
Lynn; and Mary Ingram listened
languidly to the gallant speeches
of the other. Sometimes all,
as with one consent, suspended
their by-play to observe and
listen to the principal actors:
for, after all, Mr. Rochester
and--because closely connected
with him--Miss Ingram were the
life and soul of the party. If
he was absent from the room an
hour, a perceptible dulness seemed
to steal over the spirits of
his guests; and his re-entrance
was sure to give a fresh impulse
to the vivacity of conversation.
The want of his animating influence
appeared to be peculiarly felt
one day that he had been summoned
to Millcote on business, and
was not likely to return till
late. The afternoon was wet:
a walk the party had proposed
to take to see a gipsy camp,
lately pitched on a common beyond
Hay, was consequently deferred.
Some of the gentlemen were gone
to the stables: the younger ones,
together with the younger ladies,
were playing billiards in the
billiard-room. The dowagers Ingram
and Lynn sought solace in a quiet
game at cards. Blanche Ingram,
after having repelled, by supercilious
taciturnity, some efforts of
Mrs. Dent and Mrs. Eshton to
draw her into conversation, had
first murmured over some sentimental
tunes and airs on the piano,
and then, having fetched a novel
from the library, had flung herself
in haughty listlessness on a
sofa, and prepared to beguile,
by the spell of fiction, the
tedious hours of absence. The
room and the house were silent:
only now and then the merriment
of the billiard-players was heard
from above.
It was verging on dusk, and
the clock had already given warning
of the hour to dress for dinner,
when little Adele, who knelt
by me in the drawing-room window-seat,
suddenly exclaimed -
"Voile,
Monsieur Rochester,
qui revient!"
I turned, and Miss Ingram darted
forwards from her sofa: the others,
too, looked up from their several
occupations; for at the same
time a crunching of wheels and
a splashing tramp of horse-hoofs
became audible on the wet gravel.
A post-chaise was approaching.
"What can possess him to come
home in that style?" said Miss
Ingram. "He rode Mesrour (the
black horse), did he not, when
he went out? and Pilot was with
him:- what has he done with the
animals?"
As she said this, she approached
her tall person and ample garments
so near the window, that I was
obliged to bend back almost to
the breaking of my spine: in
her eagerness she did not observe
me at first, but when she did,
she curled her lip and moved
to another casement. The post-chaise
stopped; the driver rang the
door-bell, and a gentleman alighted
attired in travelling garb; but
it was not Mr. Rochester; it
was a tall, fashionable-looking
man, a stranger.
"How provoking!" exclaimed
Miss Ingram: "you tiresome monkey!" (apostrophising
Adele), "who perched you up in
the window to give false intelligence?" and
she cast on me an angry glance,
as if I were in fault.
Some parleying was audible
in the hall, and soon the new-comer
entered. He bowed to Lady Ingram,
as deeming her the eldest lady
present.
"It appears I come at an inopportune
time, madam," said he, "when
my friend, Mr. Rochester, is
from home; but I arrive from
a very long journey, and I think
I may presume so far on old and
intimate acquaintance as to instal
myself here till he returns."
His manner was polite; his
accent, in speaking, struck me
as being somewhat unusual,--not
precisely foreign, but still
not altogether English: his age
might be about Mr. Rochester's,--between
thirty and forty; his complexion
was singularly sallow: otherwise
he was a fine-looking man, at
first sight especially. On closer
examination, you detected something
in his face that displeased,
or rather that failed to please.
His features were regular, but
too relaxed: his eye was large
and well cut, but the life looking
out of it was a tame, vacant
life--at least so I thought.
The sound of the dressing-bell
dispersed the party. It was not
till after dinner that I saw
him again: he then seemed quite
at his ease. But I liked his
physiognomy even less than before:
it struck me as being at the
same time unsettled and inanimate.
His eye wandered, and had no
meaning in its wandering: this
gave him an odd look, such as
I never remembered to have seen.
For a handsome and not an unamiable-looking
man, he repelled me exceedingly:
there was no power in that smooth-skinned
face of a full oval shape: no
firmness in that aquiline nose
and small cherry mouth; there
was no thought on the low, even
forehead; no command in that
blank, brown eye.
As I sat in my usual nook,
and looked at him with the light
of the girandoles on the mantelpiece
beaming full over him--for he
occupied an arm-chair drawn close
to the fire, and kept shrinking
still nearer, as if he were cold,
I compared him with Mr. Rochester.
I think (with deference be it
spoken) the contrast could not
be much greater between a sleek
gander and a fierce falcon: between
a meek sheep and the rough-coated
keen-eyed dog, its guardian.
He
had spoken
of Mr. Rochester
as an old friend. A curious friendship
theirs must have been: a pointed
illustration, indeed, of the
old adage that "extremes meet."
Two
or three of
the gentlemen
sat near him, and I caught at
times scraps of their conversation
across the room. At first I could
not make much sense of what I
heard; for the discourse of Louisa
Eshton and Mary Ingram, who sat
nearer to me, confused the fragmentary
sentences that reached me at
intervals. These last were discussing
the stranger; they both called
him "a beautiful man." Louisa
said he was "a love of a creature," and
she "adored him;" and Mary instanced
his "pretty little mouth, and
nice nose," as her ideal of the
charming.
"And what a sweet-tempered
forehead he has!" cried Louisa,--"so
smooth--none of those frowning
irregularities I dislike so much;
and such a placid eye and smile!"
And then, to my great relief,
Mr. Henry Lynn summoned them
to the other side of the room,
to settle some point about the
deferred excursion to Hay Common.
I was now able to concentrate
my attention on the group by
the fire, and I presently gathered
that the new-comer was called
Mr. Mason; then I learned that
he was but just arrived in England,
and that he came from some hot
country: which was the reason,
doubtless, his face was so sallow,
and that he sat so near the hearth,
and wore a surtout in the house.
Presently the words Jamaica,
Kingston, Spanish Town, indicated
the West Indies as his residence;
and it was with no little surprise
I gathered, ere long, that he
had there first seen and become
acquainted with Mr. Rochester.
He spoke of his friend's dislike
of the burning heats, the hurricanes,
and rainy seasons of that region.
I knew Mr. Rochester had been
a traveller: Mrs. Fairfax had
said so; but I thought the continent
of Europe had bounded his wanderings;
till now I had never heard a
hint given of visits to more
distant shores.
I
was pondering
these things,
when an incident, and a somewhat
unexpected one, broke the thread
of my musings. Mr. Mason, shivering
as some one chanced to open the
door, asked for more coal to
be put on the fire, which had
burnt out its flame, though its
mass of cinder still shone hot
and red. The footman who brought
the coal, in going out, stopped
near Mr. Eshton's chair, and
said something to him in a low
voice, of which I heard only
the words, "old woman,"--"quite
troublesome."
"Tell her she shall be put
in the stocks if she does not
take herself off," replied the
magistrate.
"No--stop!" interrupted Colonel
Dent. "Don't send her away, Eshton;
we might turn the thing to account;
better consult the ladies." And
speaking aloud, he continued--"Ladies,
you talked of going to Hay Common
to visit the gipsy camp; Sam
here says that one of the old
Mother Bunches is in the servants'
hall at this moment, and insists
upon being brought in before
'the quality,' to tell them their
fortunes. Would you like to see
her?"
"Surely, colonel," cried Lady
Ingram, "you would not encourage
such a low impostor? Dismiss
her, by all means, at once!"
"But I cannot persuade her
to go away, my lady," said the
footman; "nor can any of the
servants: Mrs. Fairfax is with
her just now, entreating her
to be gone; but she has taken
a chair in the chimney- comer,
and says nothing shall stir her
from it till she gets leave to
come in here."
"What does she want?" asked
Mrs. Eshton.
"'To
tell the gentry
their fortunes,'
she says, ma'am;
and
she swears she must and will
do it."
"What is she like?" inquired
the Misses Eshton, in a breath.
"A
shockingly
ugly old creature,
miss; almost as black as a crock."
"Why, she's a real sorceress!" cried
Frederick Lynn. "Let us have
her in, of course."
"To be sure," rejoined his
brother; "it would be a thousand
pities to throw away such a chance
of fun."
"My dear boys, what are you
thinking about?" exclaimed Mrs.
Lynn.
"I cannot possibly countenance
any such inconsistent proceeding," chimed
in the Dowager Ingram.
"Indeed, mama, but you can--and
will," pronounced the haughty
voice of Blanche, as she turned
round on the piano-stool; where
till now she had sat silent,
apparently examining sundry sheets
of music. "I have a curiosity
to hear my fortune told: therefore,
Sam, order the beldame forward."
"My
darling Blanche!
recollect--"
"I
do--I recollect
all you can
suggest; and
I must have
my will-- quick, Sam!"
"Yes--yes--yes!" cried all
the juveniles, both ladies and
gentlemen. "Let her come--it
will be excellent sport!"
The
footman still
lingered. "She
looks such a rough one," said
he.
"Go!" ejaculated
Miss Ingram,
and the man went.
Excitement instantly seized
the whole party: a running fire
of raillery and jests was proceeding
when Sam returned.
"She won't come now," said
he. "She says it's not her mission
to appear before the 'vulgar
herd' (them's her words). I must
show her into a room by herself,
and then those who wish to consult
her must go to her one by one."
"You see now, my queenly Blanche," began
Lady Ingram, "she encroaches.
Be advised, my angel girl--and--"
"Show her into the library,
of course," cut in the "angel
girl." "It is not my mission
to listen to her before the vulgar
herd either: I mean to have her
all to myself. Is there a fire
in the library?"
"Yes,
ma'am--but
she looks such
a tinkler."
"Cease
that chatter,
blockhead!
and do my bidding."
Again Sam vanished; and mystery,
animation, expectation rose to
full flow once more.
"She's ready now," said the
footman, as he reappeared. "She
wishes to know who will be her
first visitor."
"I think I had better just
look in upon her before any of
the ladies go," said Colonel
Dent.
"Tell
her, Sam, a
gentleman is
coming."
Sam went and returned.
"She says, sir, that she'll
have no gentlemen; they need
not trouble themselves to come
near her; nor," he added, with
difficulty suppressing a titter, "any
ladies either, except the young,
and single."
"By Jove, she has taste!" exclaimed
Henry Lynn.
Miss
Ingram rose
solemnly: "I
go first," she said, in a tone
which might have befitted the
leader of a forlorn hope, mounting
a breach in the van of his men.
"Oh, my best! oh, my dearest!
pause--reflect!" was her mama's
cry; but she swept past her in
stately silence, passed through
the door which Colonel Dent held
open, and we heard her enter
the library.
A
comparative
silence ensued.
Lady Ingram thought it "le cas" to
wring her hands: which she did
accordingly. Miss Mary declared
she felt, for her part, she never
dared venture. Amy and Louisa
Eshton tittered under their breath,
and looked a little frightened.
The minutes passed very slowly:
fifteen were counted before the
library-door again opened. Miss
Ingram returned to us through
the arch.
Would she laugh? Would she
take it as a joke? All eyes met
her with a glance of eager curiosity,
and she met all eyes with one
of rebuff and coldness; she looked
neither flurried nor merry: she
walked stiffly to her seat, and
took it in silence.
"Well, Blanche?" said
Lord Ingram.
"What did she say, sister?" asked
Mary.
"What did you think? How do
you feel?--Is she a real fortune-
teller?" demanded the Misses
Eshton.
"Now, now, good people," returned
Miss Ingram, "don't press upon
me. Really your organs of wonder
and credulity are easily excited:
you seem, by the importance of
you all--my good mama included--ascribe
to this matter, absolutely to
believe we have a genuine witch
in the house, who is in close
alliance with the old gentleman.
I have seen a gipsy vagabond;
she has practised in hackneyed
fashion the science of palmistry
and told me what such people
usually tell. My whim is gratified;
and now I think Mr. Eshton will
do well to put the hag in the
stocks to-morrow morning, as
he threatened."
Miss Ingram took a book, leant
back in her chair, and so declined
further conversation. I watched
her for nearly half-an-hour:
during all that time she never
turned a page, and her face grew
momently darker, more dissatisfied,
and more sourly expressive of
disappointment. She had obviously
not heard anything to her advantage:
and it seemed to me, from her
prolonged fit of gloom and taciturnity,
that she herself, notwithstanding
her professed indifference, attached
undue importance to whatever
revelations had been made her.
Meantime, Mary Ingram, Amy
and Louisa Eshton, declared they
dared not go alone; and yet they
all wished to go. A negotiation
was opened through the medium
of the ambassador, Sam; and after
much pacing to and fro, till,
I think, the said Sam's calves
must have ached with the exercise,
permission was at last, with
great difficulty, extorted from
the rigorous Sibyl, for the three
to wait upon her in a body.
Their visit was not so still
as Miss Ingram's had been: we
heard hysterical giggling and
little shrieks proceeding from
the library; and at the end of
about twenty minutes they burst
the door open, and came running
across the hall, as if they were
half-scared out of their wits.
"I am sure she is something
not right!" they cried, one and
all. "She told us such things!
She knows all about us!" and
they sank breathless into the
various seats the gentlemen hastened
to bring them.
Pressed for further explanation,
they declared she had told them
of things they had said and done
when they were mere children;
described books and ornaments
they had in their boudoirs at
home: keepsakes that different
relations had presented to them.
They affirmed that she had even
divined their thoughts, and had
whispered in the ear of each
the name of the person she liked
best in the world, and informed
them of what they most wished
for.
Here the gentlemen interposed
with earnest petitions to be
further enlightened on these
two last-named points; but they
got only blushes, ejaculations,
tremors, and titters, in return
for their importunity. The matrons,
meantime, offered vinaigrettes
and wielded fans; and again and
again reiterated the expression
of their concern that their warning
had not been taken in time; and
the elder gentlemen laughed,
and the younger urged their services
on the agitated fair ones.
In the midst of the tumult,
and while my eyes and ears were
fully engaged in the scene before
me, I heard a hem close at my
elbow: I turned, and saw Sam.
"If
you please,
miss, the gipsy
declares that there is another
young single lady in the room
who has not been to her yet,
and she swears she will not go
till she has seen all. I thought
it must be you: there is no one
else for it. What shall I tell
her?"
"Oh, I will go by all means," I
answered: and I was glad of the
unexpected opportunity to gratify
my much-excited curiosity. I
slipped out of the room, unobserved
by any eye--for the company were
gathered in one mass about the
trembling trio just returned--and
I closed the door quietly behind
me.
"If you like, miss," said Sam, "I'll
wait in the hall for you; and
if she frightens you, just call
and I'll come in."
"No, Sam, return to the kitchen:
I am not in the least afraid." Nor
was I; but I was a good deal
interested and excited.
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