Читать книгу Salem Chapel. Volume 1/2 - Маргарет Олифант, Oliphant Margaret - Страница 5

IT was about this time, when Mr. Vincent was deeply cast down about his prospects, and saw little comfort before or around him, and when, consequently, an interest apart from himself, and which could detach his thoughts from Salem and its leading members, was of importance, that his mother’s letters began to grow specially interesting. Vincent could not quite explain how it was, but unquestionably those female epistles had expanded all at once; and instead of the limited household atmosphere hitherto breathing in them – an atmosphere confined by the strait cottage walls, shutting in the little picture which the absent son knew so well, and in which usually no figure appeared but those of his pretty sister Susan, and their little servant, and a feminine neighbour or two – instead of those strict household limits, the world, as we have said, had expanded round the widow’s pen; the cottage walls or windows seemed to have opened out to disclose the universe beyond: life itself, and words the symbols of life, seemed quickened and running in a fuller current; and the only apparent reason for all this revolution was that one new acquaintance had interrupted Mrs. Vincent’s seclusion, – one only visitor, who, from an unexpected call, recorded with some wonderment a month or two before, had gained possession of the house apparently, and was perpetually referred to – by Susan, in her gradually shortening letters, with a certain timidity and reluctance to pronounce his name; by the mother with growing frequency and confidence. Vincent, a little jealous of this new influence, had out of the depths of his own depression written with some impatience to ask who this Mr. Fordham was, and how he had managed to establish himself so confidentially in the cottage, when his mother’s letter astounded him with the following piece of news: —

“My dearest Boy, – Mr. Fordham is, or at least will be – or, if I must be cautious, as your poor dear papa always warned me I should – wishes very much, and I hope will succeed in being – your brother, my own Arthur. This is sudden news, but you know, and I have often told you, that a crisis always does seem to arrive suddenly; however much you may have been looking for it, or making up your mind to it, it does come like a blow at the time; and no doubt there is something in human nature to account for it, if I was a philosopher, like your dear papa and you. Yes, my dear boy, that is how it is. Of course, I have known for some time past that he must have had a motive – no mother could long remain ignorant of that; and I can’t say but what, liking Mr. Fordham so much, and seeing him every way so unexceptionable, except, perhaps, in the way of means, which we know nothing about, and which I have always thought a secondary consideration to character, as I always brought up my children to think, I was very much pleased. For you know, my dear boy, life is uncertain with the strongest; and I am becoming an old woman, and you will marry no doubt, and what is to become of Susan unless she does the same? So I confess I was pleased to see Mr. Fordham’s inclinations showing themselves. And now, dear Arthur, I’ve given them my blessing, and they are as happy as ever they can be, and nothing is wanting to Susan’s joy but your sympathy. I need not suggest to my dear boy to write a few words to his sister to make her feel that he shares our happiness; for Providence has blessed me in affectionate children, and I can trust the instincts of my Arthur’s heart; and oh! my dear son, how thankful I ought to be, and how deeply I ought to feel God’s blessings! He has been a father to the fatherless, and the strength of the widow. To think that before old age comes upon me, and while I am still able to enjoy the sight of your prosperity, I should have the happiness of seeing you comfortably settled, and in the way to do your Master’s work, and make yourself a good position, and Susan so happily provided for, and instead of losing her, a new son to love – indeed, I am overpowered, and can scarcely hold up my head under my blessings.

“Write immediately, my dearest boy, that we may have the comfort of your concurrence and sympathy, and I am always, with much love,

“My Arthur’s loving mother,

“E. S. Vincent.

“P. S.– Mr. Fordham’s account of his circumstances seems quite satisfactory. He is not in any profession, but has enough, he says, to live on very comfortably, and is to give me more particulars afterwards; which, indeed, I am ashamed to think he could imagine necessary, as it looks like want of trust, and as if Susan’s happiness was not the first thing with us – but indeed I must learn to be prudent and self-interested for your sakes.”

It was with no such joyful feelings as his mother’s that Vincent read this letter. Perhaps it was the jealousy with which he had heard of this unknown Mr. Fordham suddenly jumping into the friendship of the cottage, which made him contemplate with a most glum and suspicious aspect the stranger’s promotion into the love of Susan, and the motherly regard of Mrs. Vincent. Hang the fellow! who was he? the young minister murmured over his spoiled breakfast: and there appeared to him in a halo of sweet memories, as he had never seen them in reality, the simple graces of his pretty sister, who was as much above the region of the Phœbe Tozers as that ineffable beauty herself who had seized with a glance the vacant throne of poor Arthur Vincent’s heart. There was nothing ineffable about Susan – but her brother had seen no man even in Homerton whom he would willingly see master of her affections; and he was equally startled, dissatisfied, and alarmed by this information. Perhaps his mother’s unworldliness was excessive. He imagined that he would have exacted more positive information about the fortunes of a stranger who had suddenly appeared without any special business there, who had no profession, and who might disappear lightly as he came, breaking poor Susan’s heart. Mr. Vincent forgot entirely the natural process by which, doubtless, his mother’s affections had been wooed and won as well as Susan’s. To him it was a stranger who had crept into the house, and gained ascendancy there. Half in concern for Susan, half in jealousy for Susan’s brother eclipsed, but believing himself to be entirely actuated by the former sentiment, the young minister wrote his mother a hurried, anxious, not too good-tempered note, begging her to think how important a matter this was, and not to come to too rapid a conclusion; and after he had thus relieved his feelings, went out to his day’s work in a more than usually uncomfortable frame of mind. Mrs. Vincent congratulated herself upon her son’s happy settlement, as well as upon her daughter’s engagement. What if Mr. Fordham should turn out as unsatisfactory as Salem Chapel? His day’s work was a round of visits, which were not very particularly to Mr. Vincent’s mind. It was the day for his weekly call upon Mr. Tufton and various other members of the congregation not more attractive; and at Siloam Cottage he was reminded of Mrs. Hilyard, whom he had not seen again. Here at least was something to be found different from the ordinary level. He went up to Back Grove Street, not without a vague expectation in his mind, wondering if that singular stranger would look as unlike the rest of his flock to-day as she had done on the former occasion. But when Vincent emerged into the narrow street, what was that unexpected object which threw the young man into such sudden agitation? His step quickened unconsciously into the rapid silent stride of excitement. He was at the shabby door before any of the onlookers had so much as perceived him in the street. For once more the narrow pavement owned a little tattered crowd gazing at the pawing horses, the big footman, the heavenly chariot; and doubtless the celestial visitor must be within.

Mr. Vincent did not pause to think whether he ought to disturb the interview which, no doubt, was going on up-stairs. He left himself no time to consider punctilios, or even to think what was right in the matter. He went up with that swell of excitement somehow winging his feet and making his footsteps light. How sweet that low murmur of conversation within as he reached the door? Another moment, and Mrs. Hilyard herself opened it, looking out with some surprise, her dark thin head, in its black lace kerchief, standing out against the bit of shabby drab-coloured wall visible through the opening of the door. A look of surprise for one moment, then a gleam of something like mirth lighted in the dark eyes, and the thin lines about her mouth moved, though no smile came. “It is you, Mr. Vincent? – come in,” she said. “I should not have admitted any other visitor, but you shall come in, as you are my ghostly adviser. Sit down. My dear, this gentleman is my minister and spiritual guide.”

And She, sitting there in all her splendour, casting extraordinary lights of beauty round her upon the mean apartment, perfuming the air and making it musical with that rustle of woman’s robes which had never been out of poor Vincent’s ears since he saw her first; – She lifted her lovely face, smiled, and bowed her beautiful head to the young man, who could have liked to go down on his knees, not to ask anything, but simply to worship. As he dared not do that, he sat down awkwardly upon the chair Mrs. Hilyard pointed to, and said, with embarrassment, that he feared he had chosen a wrong time for his visit, and would return again – but nevertheless did not move from where he was.

“No, indeed; I am very glad to see you. My visitors are not so many, nowadays, that I can afford to turn one from the door because another chooses to come the same day. My dear, you understand Mr. Vincent has had the goodness to take charge of my spiritual affairs,” said the mistress of the room, sitting down, in her dark poor dress, beside her beautiful visitor, and laying her thin hands, still marked with traces of the coarse blue colour which rubbed off her work, and of the scars of the needle, upon the table where that work lay. “Thank heaven that’s a luxury the poorest of us needs not deny herself. I liked your sermon last Sunday, Mr. Vincent. That about the fashion of treating serious things with levity, was meant for me. Oh, I didn’t dislike it, thank you! One is pleased to think one’s self of so much consequence. There are more ways of keeping up one’s amour propre than your way, my lady. Now, don’t you mean to go? You see I cannot possibly unburden my mind to Mr. Vincent while you are here.”

“Did you ever hear anything so rude?” said the beauty, turning graciously to the young minister. “You call me a great lady, and all sorts of things, Rachel; but I never could be as rude as you are, and as you always were as long as I remember.”

“My dear, the height of good-breeding is to be perfectly ill-bred when one pleases,” said Mrs. Hilyard, taking her work upon her knee and putting on her thimble: “but though you are wonderfully pretty, you never had the makings of a thorough fine lady in you. You can’t help trying to please everybody – which, indeed, if there were no women in the world,” added that sharp observer, with a sudden glance at Vincent, who saw the thin lines again move about her mouth, “you might easily do without giving yourself much trouble. Mr. Vincent, if this lady won’t leave us, might I trouble you to talk? For two strains of thought, carried on at the same moment, now that I’m out of society, are too exhausting for me.”

With which speech she gravely pinned her work to her knee, threaded her needle with a long thread of blue cotton, and began her work with the utmost composure, leaving her two visitors in the awkward tête-à-tête position which the presence of a third person, entirely absorbed in her own employment, with eyes and face abstracted, naturally produces. Never in his life had Vincent been so anxious to appear to advantage – never had he been so totally deprived of the use of his faculties. His eager looks, his changing colour, perhaps interceded for him with the beautiful stranger, who was not ignorant of those signs of subjugation which she saw so often.

“I think it was you that were so good as to clear the way for me the last time I was here,” she said, with the sweetest grace, raising those lovely eyes, which put even Tozer beside himself, to the unfortunate pastor’s face. “I remember fancying you must be a stranger here, as I had not seen you anywhere in society. Those wonderful little wretches never seem to come to any harm. They always appear to me to be scrambling among the horses’ feet. Fancy, Rachel, one of those boys who flourish in the back streets, with such rags – oh, such rags! – you could not possibly make them, if you were to try, with scissors – such perfection must come of itself; – had just pushed in before me, and I don’t know what I should have done, if Mr. – (I beg your pardon) – if you had not cleared the way.”

“Mr. Vincent,” said Mrs. Hilyard breaking in upon Vincent’s deprecation. “I am glad to hear you had somebody to help you in such a delicate distress. We poor women can’t afford to be so squeamish. What! are you going away? My dear, be sure you say down-stairs that you brought that poor creature some tea and sugar, and how grateful she was. That explains everything, you know, and does my lady credit at the same time. Good-bye. Well, I’ll kiss you if you insist upon it; but what can Mr. Vincent think to see such an operation performed between us? There! my love, you can make the men do what you like, but you know of old you never could conquer me.”

“Then you will refuse over and over again – and you don’t mind what I say – and you know he’s in Lonsdale, and why he’s there, and all about him – ”

“Hush,” said the dark woman, looking all the darker as she stood in that bright creature’s shadow. “I know, and always will know, wherever he goes, and that he is after evil wherever he goes; and I refuse, and always will refuse – and my darling pretty Alice,” she cried, suddenly going up with rapid vehemence to the beautiful young woman beside her, and kissing once more the delicate rose-cheek to which her own made so great a contrast, “I don’t mind in the least what you say.”

“Ah, Rachel, I don’t understand you,” said Lady Western, looking at her wistfully.

“You never did, my dear; but don’t forget to mention about the tea and sugar as you go down-stairs,” said Mrs. Hilyard, subsiding immediately, not without the usual gleam in her eyes and movement of her mouth, “else it might be supposed you came to have your fortune told, or something like that; and I wish your ladyship bon voyage