Book: Honor Edgeworth

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The drive from the depot was short, and to Honor's great delight the
merry sleigh-bells stopped jingling as they drew up to the neatest and
cosiest looking cottage imaginable. The first greeting on entering was
the sight of a roaring fire and the next the intensely gratifying
welcome of cups steaming at the end of a neat but well-spread table.

Honor's own room reminded her somewhat of the one in Ottawa, except that
the idea of exquisite comfort was more pronounced in everything here. In
this respect Honor found Madame d'Alberg different from that other class
of society women whose ideas of self-gratification are far subservient
to the requisites of _bon-ton_ and fashion, and who endure heroically
the discomfort of the latest absurdities in articles of toilet and
street wear.

This was the only point in which Jean d'Alberg did not acknowledge the
tyrannical yoke of society. Anything that tended to exclude the supreme
ease and comfort of her home was discarded by her, and no one ever dared
to find any fault therein.

After a hearty luncheon by the grate fire, Honor and Madame d'Alberg
drew up their chairs closer to the fender and began to talk familiarly.
The wind still whistled and shrieked around the street corners; little
blinding atoms of snow drifted violently in the air, and it made one
freeze just to watch the muffled pedestrians as they sped along with
their heads bowed against the sleet and wind, holding their half-frozen
ears, stamping their feet or pinching the ends of their blue noses.

"The day is too stormy for outdoor amusements, my dear," said Jean
d'Alberg, as she poked the fire, "so I must try to distract you as much
as possible in the house."

"That will be an easy matter if you like," said Honor, "do but leave me
lost in these spacious cushions, before that cheerful fire, and I can
prophesy the treat that is in store for me."

Mde. d'Alberg smiled slowly. She turned and took from a small wicker
basket near her a bundle of misty looking thread and lace, and with her
needle in one hand and the end of her thread between her teeth, she
said,

"Whether you know it or not, my dear, you have given me a big peep into
your character by that much of an assertion."

Honor looked suddenly up. She was beginning to feel a little nervous
with this cool, calculating, all-seeing woman. But not to show what she
felt, she sank back imperceptibly among the cushions, and answered, with
an effort at in difference,

"I hope I betray my good symptoms first, at least to strangers who are
inclined to judge from appearances."

The elder lady looked interested. Her face wore a half-pleasing,
half-teasing expression, but like Honor she was seeking to veneer the
real truth under assumed veils at the same time that she was dying to
draw out the latent phases of her companion's nature.

"The word 'good,'" she said, stitching rapidly, "is such a mysterious
one, and has in these days of general improvement, secured for itself a
relative meaning which benefits as many as it injures, and particularly,
as regards one's personal virtues or defects, which are many or few
according to the disposition of the speaker towards the one spoken of.
Nevertheless I must tell you that your tendency to dreaminess, and your
exalted ideas of sentiment, are what mostly constitute the modern young
lady. Take those elements out of human life, and one-third of our
fiction volumes crumble on the shelf. Society limps into retirement, for
her most prominent limbs have been amputated. The curtain must drop for
good on the stage, for there is no other part for actors to play in the
nineteenth century. Our streets would be almost desolate, except for
fussy businessmen and market women, and those dear few privileged ones,
who have the priceless reputation of being _sans coeur_."

Honor grew deeply interested. She had not expected to find such a woman
as this. Mr. Rayne had spoken of her as one does of any superannuated
person or thing that is always on hand if wanted. It was such a long
time since she had indulged in any such abstract conversations, that it
was with renewed delight she hailed her turn to speak.

"I think it only fair," said she, looking straight into the fire, "that
I should take my turn at interpreting you."

"By all means, my dear; what have you found worth finding?"

"Well, I think," said Honor, speaking slowly and emphatically, "that
fifteen or twenty years ago you could not have spoken those words, for I
recognize, as far as a limited observation and a small experience allow
me, the ruin of a heart full of sentiment, under the new structure that
you present to the world to-day, and I also think that at that time you
must have felt a superfluity of emotion. Your craving was for trust, for
confidence and love, and the cynicism of your words now means something
like sour grapes. Don't be offended, dear Madame d'Alberg, the thoughts
suggest themselves. If you do not despise sentiment and romance, because
they did not yield you what you sought from them, then I throw up my
perception as faulty, and my judgment as something worse."

She had not moved her eyes from their fixed gaze on the coals, but as no
answer came from her companion, she looked across in expectation. The
work lay still in her lap, but her face had grown dreamy and sad. The
sudden silence woke her, and she turned to meet Honor's steadfast gaze.
The thin compressed lips parted slightly in a nervous motion, and Honor
thought she could see a struggle for ascendancy in the workings of the
usually calm face. Suddenly, a tear dropped from each downcast lid, and
then the die was cast. Jean d'Alberg drew her chair closer to the young
girl, and clasped her hands over her pile of work; then, looking
straight at the fire, she began--

"Whatever power has inspired you, you have touched a spring over which
the cobwebs of wilful neglect have lain during twenty years. It must be
because you are so good and pure, that the truth, such as I am striving
to hide, is so plain to you. You have uttered the secret of my life in
the simple words you spoke. Twenty years ago, I was a young and
beautiful girl, with a heart as full of susceptibilities and a mind as
full of ambition as any one of you to-day. My face was beautiful, and I
knew it; my figure was faultless, I knew that too. But vanity never
entered into my heart for a moment. I had a dream that kept such
trifling thoughts away. I wanted to endear myself to some one. I wanted
to make some one so utterly dependent on me, that a separation should be
almost death to him. Where I got this crazy longing I could not tell
exactly, but it seized me like a mania. I felt that such must be my
fate, or a lifelong of misery instead. While I was in the heat of this
emotion my father told me to prepare myself, that I was to appear with
him at the grand military ball of the season. This was the great event
of the year in our town, for a detachment of British troops always
stayed over for the occasion. The girls of the old country, at that
time, were different from what they are now on this continent. Most of
us had, as a rule, those conservative fathers, whose ideas of maidenly
propriety had been handed down to them from unknown ages, and from
constant preaching on the subject, I, like most others, grew into their
way of thinking, but I did not, all the same, ever censure an impulsive
girl who, by gratifying her own caprice, violated these stern views of
her father's."

It was getting dark in the little sitting room. At this point of her
story Jean d'Alberg rose, and going over towards the window that faced
the west she rolled up the blind to let in the last wintry rays of the
setting sun. Then, coming back, she rang for the maid to bring more
coals, for the fire was dying out.



CHAPTER XIII.


"Alas, how easily things go wrong,
A sigh too much or a kiss too long,
And there comes a mist and a blinding rain,
And life is never the same again."
--_George McDonald_

When all was comfortably arranged once more, Jean d'Alberg resumed her
seat and her story:

"The eventful night of the ball came at last, and I know not what
nervous presentiment caused me to fasten my palest crush roses in my
hair, and to take from their old resting place the diamonds set in heavy
gold, that my maternal grandmother had worn ages before. I knew full
well, as I leaned on the arm of my tall, dignified father that night,
that he recognized in me more strongly than ever, the likeness to his
dead wife, my mother. The only feeling of pride that visited me was when
I knew that my father was proud of me as his daughter and his dead
wife's living image. My father was an officer in the --th regiment and,
as a matter of course, I was to be treated with more than ordinary
courtesy. When we entered the ballroom at the lower end I could hear
suppressed whispers on all sides. It was my first appearance in any
public place, and even if I had not been there, all eyes would have been
riveted on my handsome father, who looked the embodiment of manliness
and nobility in his regimentals. Perhaps it was the haughty tone of his
voice, when he introduced his 'daughter' to the hostess of the evening,
that caused them to look upon me with no little wonder. Any way I became
painfully conscious that we were isolated, as it were, from all the
others, and the blush of confusion and excitement that suffused my face,
was, as they told me afterwards, my finest feature. I had scarcely
finished paying my respects to the hostess, when my father was
surrounded by friends who greeted him earnestly, yet distantly. To each
of these I was presented in turn, and agreed to dance once with each of
them.

"But I had not yet ceased to feel that nervous presentiment that had
haunted me all the evening. Suddenly, the low, sweet strains of a waltz
vibrated through the room, and gay, laughing couples wheeled off into
its dizzy maze. Among my many partners, none had secured the first waltz
and I was beginning to congratulate myself that I could take a good view
of everything and everybody before commencing my first dance. While I
was scanning the room--'

Here a large coal fell into the ashes causing both ladies to start.
Madame d'Alberg poked the glowing embers into a cheerful blaze, and
moved closer to the work-table, and as her fingers traced imaginary
patterns on its surface, she resumed her story in the same sad
monotonous voice.

"I said I raised my eyes to scan the room, but as I did so the blush
faded quickly out of my face, and a cold shiver crept through me. I felt
for the first time the sensation which all persons experience at some
interval in their lives. It was the same as when we know without
looking, that someone is watching our movements, the same that causes us
to _feel_ the approach of someone, though we may have been persuaded
that such a one was far away. I felt that I was being stared at, and
following a sudden impulse, I looked towards the shaded recess of a
large window, and there I saw the tall figure of a man dressed in
uniform, with medals and stars upon his breast; his eyes, the largest,
deepest, and most passionate blue I have ever seen, were riveted upon
me. As soon as he perceived that I was conscious of his attention he
left the recess, and though my eyes did not follow him, I felt that his
every step brought him closer to where we stood. At last my heart seemed
to give one great leap, for I heard him address my father in a low sad
voice full of meaning and pathos. The next instant I was bowing at the
sound of both our names, to the handsome stranger. The first glances we
exchanged must have told a tale, for I read in the limitless depths of
his sad blue eyes, all that mysterious, silent pain that entreats and
commands a woman's sympathy; he in his turn must have seen in mine the
ready response to the calm pleading of his own.

"I cannot remember the first words that passed between us. It was the
mute language of soul speaking unto soul that had charmed me, and the
next thing I realized was, that we had glided in with the laughing
throng of merry dancers, among them, but not of them.

"Our steps suited exactly, and as fate would have it, the music was the
dreamiest and most suggestive I had ever heard. We never spoke a word,
but he must have felt my heart throbbing against his breast, like a
captive bird, struggling for its freedom. For once, when all was
excitement and pleasure, he pressed my hand ever so little, and I felt
his warm breath very near my flushed cheek. All the emotion that had
ever rested latent within me, struggled through the fetters that moment,
and I felt that now I loved, madly and hopelessly, and that as it had
all been born of a second, so might one other second break my heart.

"While such reflections chased one another through my confused brain, my
partner led me mechanically into the long narrow conservatory to the
left. Outlines of rich and delicately fragrant plants were visible in
the soft hazy light that pervaded the spot, and we were near enough to
the ball room to hear the subdued strains of orchestra music that yet
filled the air. I dared not trust myself to silence, so I said, trying
to assume the most indifferent tone.

"'How pleasant it is in here!'

"I'll never forget the distracted far-away look in his eyes as he
answered in that dangerously, low, sweet voice.

"'Pleasant? Yes, when the heart is young and untried, all that is
beautiful touches it with pleasure, but the heart that is withered and
dead, gets its sweetest pain from the very same source.'

"To say I did not understand him would not be quite true. We English
girls, who have lived with stern fathers, and with no mother for the
best part of our lives, seem to learn by intuition, the saddest phases
of a life's experience. We personify the heroes of our old books, until
the worst of written fates, become as natural to us as though such had
been items of our own existence. And so I knew immediately, that this
man's life had been blighted bitterly. Some awful storm cloud had shaded
the sunniest portion of his life, and the memory of that affliction
would cast an immortal gloom over the rest.

"After he had uttered those strange words he looked calmly into my face.
What could I do? I had too often persuaded myself that a woman is the
weakest of all things, under the influence of a first love I could
summon no moral courage now to my assistance, and, childlike, I thought
this great, sad looking man would never betray to another how
efficaciously he had worked his influence over me. Yielding to these
resistless impulses, I drew a little closer to his stalwart form, and
then he took my hand in both of his, and I could not help showing what
all the passion of a lifetime was, when concentrated into one awful
moment of existence. I only looked up into those full dreamy eyes, and
said, 'Why are you so sad?'

"There must have been in those few words, eloquence enough to teach even
his heart the truth, for he rose, and stooping over me, he said in a
voice that sounded like a sigh, 'I am sad for the same reason that you
will cause others to be some day, if not more careful and land. Do not
sadden and ruin as worthy a heart as mine.' Then before I realized my
position, there was but the memory in my heart of his lips having
touched mine, followed by the feeling of secret dread and horror, that
sprung from the awe in which I stood, of my father. I woke suddenly from
the listless apathy that came over me. I looked up with all the emotion
of fear, excitement and love visible in my face, looked to find the pale
angry countenance of my father before me, with all the insulted dignity
and slighted authority he felt, pictured therein.

"He did not say much just then. He trusted to the power of his look to
wither the heart within me. He told me sternly, to procure my wraps,
that I must leave immediately, we could pass out unnoticed by the side
door. In a few moments we were in our carriage, rolling in solemn
silence along the road that led to our homestead. My father spoke not a
word, and I could not imagine any fate ill enough to befall me, before
his wrath would subside. I planned no excuses; I promised myself not to
vacillate in any way when accused, I knew that neither attempt would
blind my rigid parent for an instant. When we reached our home, my
father with all his usual courtesy, helped me to dismount, and gathering
my superfluous wraps himself, he gave me his arm and led me into the
house. But all this only foreboded the determination, changeless and
cruel, that comes from the cold deliberate anger of a just, stern man.
When I reached my room, I heard the bell rung for Donnelly, our old
housekeeper, and then my heart quaked in earnest with its fearful
presentiment. I could not stand it any longer, so I stole down stairs,
dressed as I was in my white brocaded ball-dress, and hid myself behind
the folding-doors that stood half open between the drawing-room, which
was in darkness, and my father's study, where a single gas-jet was
lighting. I had scarcely gathered in my skirts in breathless terror,
when I heard the cold, sonorous voice of my father speaking in low grave
tones. Our faithful old housekeeper standing by him, looked scared and
white. I strained my ears to overhear the conversation, but failed to do
so. Only as the old servant passed out I heard her say, 'It is not for
me to dictate sir, but I hope you'll think better of this before it is
too late--for her dead mother's sake.'

"I was mortified beyond expression. A servant was pleading for me,
before my own father, and he refusing to listen! No wonder I felt the
blood rushing hotly to my face. No wonder that I was too proud to wait
quietly there for him to punish me at will. He had been severe and
exacting all his life, but there was a limit to his authority. The very
worst possible anticipations crowded into my brain, when I saw the tears
falling unrestrained from poor Donnelly's eyes, as she turned to leave
the man with whom all remonstrance was vain. I stole out from my
hiding-place again, and on reaching the hall I saw the bundle of shawls
my father had carried in for me. A sudden impulse inspired me, I wrapped
myself in their woollen folds as best I could, I turned the great bolts
of the front door noiselessly, and went out into the cold, chilly
starlight, without a friend or a home, shivering, and not having where
to lay my head."

Here she paused, and the intense malice and scorn that sparkled in her
fine black eyes almost frightened Honor Edgeworth. When she resumed her
story, her tone was more calm and subdued.

"I walked on," she continued, "until my feet and hands were numb with
cold. The north-east wind pierced its bitterness through my bared
breast; I pulled the shawl tighter around me, clutching as I did so, a
circlet of diamonds, that would have purchased all the comforts in the
land for me, and yet I was alone and freezing. He was comfortable and
warm, whose cruelty had driven me into the street, and yet I was his own
flesh and blood. He could listen to the wailing of the winter wind, and
know that it was the pitiful cry of his child--his daughter, and yet
remain unmoved. It was then I missed the tender solicitude of a mother,
and I looked up into the cold silence of the stars, seeking in their
still, watchful expression, some stimulus, for I thought I must go mad,
or lie down to die on the earth's frozen bosom. I did not rashly censure
anyone for my misfortune, but that night the coldness and cruelty of
life, as it unravelled itself to me, blighted every womanly sentiment
within my heart. From that moment dates the cynicism that marked my
after life. My old self died out, and the flickering flame that started
afresh into existence, was no longer the quiet subdued one of older days
I had passed from a gay happy girl, into a hardened reckless woman, and
I have never regretted it.

"Cold, and miserable, and friendless, I went in search of a refuge, to
an old nurse of mine, who lived at a short distance from the spot to
which I had wandered. I reached the house and looked in the narrow
window. A greasy looking candle burned on the rough table, casting
flickering shadows around the low ceiling and walls, over the pewter
dishes and shining delf. It was a kind of comfort to my poor heart, when
I saw old Nanny herself, seated on a rocking chair before the fire. I
can never forget the expression of genuine horror that covered the old
creature's face, as she saw me at the door of her little cottage,
shivering in my ball dress.

"'Is it Miss Jean?' she said, with both hands up in consternation, 'sure
I declare its more like the ghost of our dead sweet mother comin' to me
this blessed night, as I just sat thinkin of her.'

"In silence I entered and crouched by Nanny's cheerful fire. Great
Heavens! as I review the agony and pain of those moments of my
existence, I wonder that I ever survived it. I did all that was left me
under the circumstances. I made a truthful declaration to Nanny and then
left it to her to do what she wished with me--but I weary you child,
with these details," Mde. d'Albert said, hesitating slightly. But Honor,
with the flush of excitement on her cheek, begged of her companion to
continue. Thus pressed, she proceeded "Whether it was Nanny's intention
to befriend me or not, I was thrust upon her, for a slow fever followed
the chills and shivering that had seized me, and for seven long weeks I
lay between life and death on Nanny's neat old bed. On the third morning
of the seventh week I regained consciousness, experiencing all that
vacant wonder at the strange surroundings of Nanny's little room. My
memory was struggling with the confusion and exhaustion, brought on by
my illness, but I did not care to think. I turned my head peevishly
away, and closed my eyes again. When next I opened them it was growing
dusk, large grey shadows were trooping out over the little room, leaving
but the outlines of Nanny's old-fashioned furniture, visible through
their mist. A small, broad clock was ticking out its monotonous notes
from the mantle-piece, and the crackling noise of the fire somewhat
relieved the great stillness.

"While I was thinking, Nanny's stooped figure cast a shadow across the
doorway, and came stealthily over to my bed. I can yet see the look of
relief and thanksgiving that came into her dear old face, when she saw
that I recognized her. She bent over me smiling, and I stretched out my
arms and clasped them around her neck. That night she sat at the foot of
my bed, and we talked matters over. Despite all her arguments and
entreaties to the contrary, I was determined to leave her as soon as my
health allowed me. In the course of our conversation, Nanny alluded to
the night of my separation from my father, to see how it would affect
me. As I never changed nor moved a muscle, she came nearer and knelt
before me. I knew by the strange look on her kind old face, that there
were words on her tongue's end, awaiting utterance.

"'What is it, Nanny?' I said, 'speak it out, there is nothing now that
can wound my heart--it is free to the worst treatment of fate. It is
like the deserted nest in the tall pine tree. The summer of its life is
over, now the wind may howl around it and the cold snowflakes fill it
up. The birds it once cherished have deserted it, and left it to its
fate alone.'

"Poor Nanny's eyes were overflowing, as with a faltering voice she said,

"'O, my poor child, to think your mother's daughter should ever come to
this! But, there now, like a good girl, don't talk like that; it'll all
blow over some day, and ye'll go back to the old house where I nursed
you in my arms a tiny thing, and your mother before you, Now the big,
tall man is gone far away, the troubles will cease, please God, and all
will be right.'

"I looked sharply up 'What big tall man, Nanny?' I asked, and my heart
beat violently as I waited for an answer.

"'Oh, sure,' said she, rising up, 'ye were too weak to tell ye of it,
but wait a bit, an' I'll show ye now.'

"She went over to the old mantle-piece and pulled from behind a curious
looking box, a small envelope. Then, bringing the candle nearer my bed,
she handed me the letter and left the room.

"Its contents were only what helped me towards action. I had not
expected this, and yet it had not surprised me in the least. It informed
me that my hero had left for the continent; that owing to a series of
unfortunate events in his early life he had vowed solemnly never to
marry. The worst troubles that had ever befallen him had been on account
of a woman he had loved, and he had voluntarily cast the sex out of his
life for evermore. In that letter he bade me a strange and last
farewell."

When Jean d'Alberg finished speaking her face wore an expression of half
indifference and half regret, as though the very last flicker of an old
smouldering flame had suddenly darted up, and then died out in the ashes
and the darkness. As the sound of the last echo of her voice ceased
vibrating in the silent room, she awoke from the revival of memory's
lethargy, and her face resumed all its wonted coldness and calmness. She
looked at Honor almost suspiciously, and said in a low breath,

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