Daniel Deronda
乔治.艾略特 George Eliot
CHAPTER VII. Page 2
"What is the matter?" he said hastily, not laying down his pen.
"I'm very sorry, sir; Primrose has fallen down and broken his knees."
"Where have you been with him?" said Mr. Gascoigne, with a touch ofseverity. He rarely gave way to temper.
"To the Three Barns to see the hounds throw off."
"And you were fool enough to follow?"
"Yes, sir. I didn't go at any fences, but the horse got his leg into ahole."
"And you got hurt yourself, I hope, eh!"
bang behind him.just a perceptible pause!
"I got my shoulder put out, but a young blacksmith put it in again for me.I'm just a little battered, that's all."
"Well, sit down."
"I'm very sorry about the horse, sir; I knew it would be a vexation toyou."
"And what has become of Gwendolen?" said Mr. Gascoigne, abruptly. Rex, whodid not imagine that his father had made any inquiries about him, answeredat first with a blush, which was the more remarkable for his previouspaleness. Then he said, nervously--
"I am anxious to know--I should like to go or send at once to Offendene--but she rides so well, and I think she would keep up--there would mostlikely be many round her."
"I suppose it was she who led you on, eh?" said Mr. Gascoigne, laying downhis pen, leaning back in his chair, and looking at Rex with more markedexamination.
"It was natural for her to want to go: she didn't intend it beforehand--she was led away by the spirit of the thing. And, of course, I went whenshe went."
be there." Silence.sir. I didn't go at any?
Mr. Gascoigne left a brief interval of silence, and then said, with quietirony,--"But now you observe, young gentleman, that you are not furnishedwith a horse which will enable you to play the squire to your cousin. Youmust give up that amusement. You have spoiled my nag for me, and that isenough mischief for one vacation. I shall beg you to get ready to startfor Southampton to-morrow and join Stilfox, till you go up to Oxford withhim. That will be good for your bruises as well as your studies."
Poor Rex felt his heart swelling and comporting itself as if it had beenno better than a girl's.
"I hope you will not insist on my going immediately, sir."
"Do you feel too ill?"
"No, not that--but--" here Rex bit his lips and felt the tears starting,to his great vexation; then he rallied and tried to say more firmly, "Iwant to go to Offendene, but I can go this evening."
"I am going there myself. I can bring word about Gwendolen, if that iswhat you want."
the exploit has ended better for you than for Rex."immediately, sir!
Rex broke down. He thought he discerned an intention fatal to hishappiness, nay, his life. He was accustomed to believe in his father'spenetration, and to expect firmness. "Father, I can't go away withouttelling her that I love her, and knowing that she loves me."
Mr. Gascoigne was inwardly going through some self-rebuke for not beingmore wary, and was now really sorry for the lad; but every considerationwas subordinate to that of using the wisest tactics in the case. He hadquickly made up his mind and to answer the more quietly--
"My dear boy, you are too young to be taking momentous, decisive steps ofthat sort. This is a fancy which you have got into your head during anidle week or two: you must set to work at something and dismiss it. Thereis every reason against it. An engagement at your age would be totallyrash and unjustifiable; and moreover, alliances between first cousins areundesirable. Make up your mind to a brief disappointment. Life is full ofthem. We have all got to be broken in; and this is a mild beginning foryou."
"No, not mild. I can't bear it. I shall be good for nothing. I shouldn'tmind anything, if it were settled between us. I could do anything then,"said Rex, impetuously. "But it's of no use to pretend that I will obeyyou. I can't do it. If I said I would, I should be sure to break my word.I should see Gwendolen again."
want to go: she didn't intend it beforehand--she was led away by the!
"Well, wait till to-morrow morning, that we may talk of the matter again--you will promise me that," said Mr. Gascoigne, quietly; and Rex did not,could not refuse.
The rector did not even tell his wife that he had any other reason forgoing to Offendene that evening than his desire to ascertain thatGwendolen had got home safely. He found her more than safe--elated. Mr.Quallon, who had won the brush, had delivered the trophy to her, and shehad brought it before her, fastened on the saddle; more than that, LordBrackenshaw had conducted her home, and had shown himself delighted withher spirited riding. All this was told at once to her uncle, that he mightsee how well justified she had been in acting against his advice; and theprudential rector did feel himself in a slight difficulty, for at thatmoment he was particularly sensible that it was his niece's seriousinterest to be well regarded by the Brackenshaws, and their opinion as toher following the hounds really touched the essence of his objection.However, he was not obliged to say anything immediately, for Mrs. Davilowfollowed up Gwendolen's brief triumphant phrases with--
"Still, I do hope you will not do it again, Gwendolen. I should never havea moment's quiet. Her father died by an accident, you know."
Here Mrs. Davilow had turned away from Gwendolen, and looked at Mr.Gascoigne.
"Mamma, dear," said Gwendolen, kissing her merrily, and passing over thequestion of the fears which Mrs. Davilow had meant to account for,"children don't take after their parents in broken legs."
Not one word had yet been said about Rex. In fact there had been noanxiety about him at Offendene. Gwendolen had observed to her mamma, "Oh,he must have been left far behind, and gone home in despair," and it couldnot be denied that this was fortunate so far as it made way for LordBrackenshaw's bringing her home. But now Mr. Gascoigne said, with someemphasis, looking at Gwendolen--
"Well, the exploit has ended better for you than for Rex."
approach to a smile in eyes.
"Yes, I dare say he had to make a terrible round. You have not taughtPrimrose to take the fences, uncle," said Gwendolen, without the faintestshade of alarm in her looks and tone.
"Rex has had a fall," said Mr. Gascoigne, curtly, throwing himself into anarm-chair resting his elbows and fitting his palms and fingers together,while he closed his lips and looked at Gwendolen, who said--
"Oh, poor fellow! he is not hurt, I hope?" with a correct look of anxietysuch as elated mortals try to super-induce when their pulses are all thewhile quick with triumph; and Mrs. Davilow, in the same moment, uttered alow "Good heavens! There!"
Mr. Gascoigne went on: "He put his shoulder out, and got some bruises, Ibelieve." Here he made another little pause of observation; but Gwendolen,instead of any such symptoms as pallor and silence, had only deepened thecompassionateness of her brow and eyes, and said again, "Oh, poor fellow!it is nothing serious, then?" and Mr. Gascoigne held his diagnosiscomplete. But he wished to make assurance doubly sure, and went on stillwith a purpose.
"He got his arm set again rather oddly. Some blacksmith--not a parishionerof mine--was on the field--a loose fish, I suppose, but handy, and set thearm for him immediately. So after all, I believe, I and Primrose come offworst. The horse's knees are cut to pieces. He came down in a hole, itseems, and pitched Rex over his head."
Gwendolen's face had allowably become contented again, since Rex's arm hadbeen reset; and now, at the descriptive suggestions in the latter part ofher uncle's speech, her elated spirits made her features less unmanageablethan usual; the smiles broke forth, and finally a descending scale oflaughter.
Should you mind about me going away, Gwendolen.
"You are a pretty young lady--to laugh at other people's calamities," saidMr. Gascoigne, with a milder sense of disapprobation than if he had nothad counteracting reasons to be glad that Gwendolen showed no deep feelingon the occasion.
"Pray forgive me, uncle. Now Rex is safe, it is so droll to fancy thefigure he and Primrose would cut--in a lane all by themselves--only ablacksmith running up. It would make a capital caricature of 'Followingthe Hounds.'"
Gwendolen rather valued herself on her superior freedom in laughing whereothers might only see matter for seriousness. Indeed, the laughter becameher person so well that her opinion of its gracefulness was often sharedby others; and it even entered into her uncle's course of thought at thismoment, that it was no wonder a boy should be fascinated by this youngwitch--who, however, was more mischievous than could be desired.
"How can you laugh at broken bones, child?" said Mrs. Davilow, still underher dominant anxiety. "I wish we had never allowed you to have the horse.You will see that we were wrong," she added, looking with a grave nod atMr. Gascoigne--"at least I was, to encourage her in asking for it."
"Yes, seriously, Gwendolen," said Mr. Gascoigne, in a judicious tone ofrational advice to a person understood to be altogether rational, "Istrongly recommend you--I shall ask you to oblige me so far--not to repeatyour adventure of to-day. Lord Brackenshaw is very kind, but I feel surethat he would concur with me in what I say. To be spoken of as 'the younglady who hunts' by way of exception, would give a tone to the languageabout you which I am sure you would not like. Depend upon it, his lordshipwould not choose that Lady Beatrice or Lady Maria should hunt in this partof the country, if they were old enough to do so. When you are married, itwill be different: you may do whatever your husband sanctions. But if youintend to hunt, you must marry a man who can keep horses."
"I don't know why I should do anything so horrible as to marry without_that_ prospect, at least," said Gwendolen, pettishly. Her uncle's speechhad given her annoyance, which she could not show more directly; but shefelt that she was committing herself, and after moving carelessly toanother part of the room, went out.
"She always speaks in that way about marriage," said Mrs. Davilow; "but itwill be different when she has seen the right person."
"Her heart has never been in the least touched, that you know of?" saidMr. Gascoigne.
Mrs. Davilow shook her head silently. "It was only last night she said tome, 'Mamma, I wonder how girls manage to fall in love. It is easy to makethem do it in books. But men are too ridiculous.'"
Mr. Gascoigne laughed a little, and made no further remark on the subject.The next morning at breakfast he said--
"How are your bruises, Rex?"
"Oh, not very mellow yet, sir; only beginning to turn a little."
"You don't feel quite ready for a journey to Southampton?"
"Not quite," answered Rex, with his heart metaphorically in his mouth.
"Well, you can wait till to-morrow, and go to say goodbye to them atOffendene."
Mrs. Gascoigne, who now knew the whole affair, looked steadily at hercoffee lest she also should begin to cry, as Anna was doing already.
Mr. Gascoigne felt that he was applying a sharp remedy to poor Rex's acuteattack, but he believed it to be in the end the kindest. To let him knowthe hopelessness of his love from Gwendolen's own lips might be curativein more ways than one.
"I can only be thankful that she doesn't care about him," said Mrs.Gascoigne, when she joined her husband in his study. "There are things inGwendolen I cannot reconcile myself to. My Anna is worth two of her, withall her beauty and talent. It looks very ill in her that she will not helpin the schools with Anna--not even in the Sunday-school. What you or Iadvise is of no consequence to her: and poor Fannie is completely underher thumb. But I know you think better of her," Mrs. Gascoigne ended witha deferential hesitation.
"Oh, my dear, there is no harm in the girl. It is only that she has a highspirit, and it will not do to hold the reins too tight. The point is, toget her well married. She has a little too much fire in her for herpresent life with her mother and sisters. It is natural and right that sheshould be married soon--not to a poor man, but one who can give her afitting position."
Presently Rex, with his arm in a sling, was on his two miles' walk toOffendene. He was rather puzzled by the unconditional permission to seeGwendolen, but his father's real ground of action could not enter into hisconjectures. If it had, he would first have thought it horribly cold-blooded, and then have disbelieved in his father's conclusions.
When he got to the house, everybody was there but Gwendolen. The fourgirls, hearing him speak in the hall, rushed out of the library, which wastheir school-room, and hung round him with compassionate inquiries abouthis arm. Mrs. Davilow wanted to know exactly what had happened, and wherethe blacksmith lived, that she might make him a present; while Miss Merry,who took a subdued and melancholy part in all family affairs, doubtedwhether it would not be giving too much encouragement to that kind ofcharacter. Rex had never found the family troublesome before, but just nowhe wished them all away and Gwendolen there, and he was too uneasy forgood-natured feigning. When at last he had said, "Where is Gwendolen?" andMrs. Davilow had told Alice to go and see if her sister were come down,adding, "I sent up her breakfast this morning. She needed a long rest."Rex took the shortest way out of his endurance by saying, almostimpatiently, "Aunt, I want to speak to Gwendolen--I want to see heralone."
"Very well, dear; go into the drawing-room. I will send her there," saidMrs. Davilow, who had observed that he was fond of being with Gwendolen,as was natural, but had not thought of this as having any bearing on therealities of life: it seemed merely part of the Christmas holidays whichwere spinning themselves out.
Rex for his part thought that the realities of life were all hanging onthis interview. He had to walk up and down the drawing-room in expectationfor nearly ten minutes--ample space for all imaginative fluctuations; yet,strange to say, he was unvaryingly occupied in thinking what and how muchhe could do, when Gwendolen had accepted him, to satisfy his father thatthe engagement was the most prudent thing in the world, since it inspiredhim with double energy for work. He was to be a lawyer, and what reasonwas there why he should not rise as high as Eldon did? He was forced tolook at life in the light of his father's mind.
But when the door opened and she whose presence he was longing forentered, there came over him suddenly and mysteriously a state of tremorand distrust which he had never felt before. Miss Gwendolen, simple as shestood there, in her black silk, cut square about the round white pillar ofher throat, a black band fastening her hair which streamed backward insmooth silky abundance, seemed more queenly than usual. Perhaps it wasthat there was none of the latent fun and tricksiness which had alwayspierced in her greeting of Rex. How much of this was due to herpresentiment from what he had said yesterday that he was going to talk oflove? How much from her desire to show regret about his accident?Something of both. But the wisdom of ages has hinted that there is a sideof the bed which has a malign influence if you happen to get out on it;and this accident befalls some charming persons rather frequently. Perhapsit had befallen Gwendolen this morning. The hastening of her toilet, theway in which Bugle used the brush, the quality of the shilling serialmistakenly written for her amusement, the probabilities of the coming day,and, in short, social institutions generally, were all objectionable toher. It was not that she was out of temper, but that the world was notequal to the demands of her fine organism.
"Not at all," said Rex, feeling the soul within him spreading itself likean attack of illness. "There is hardly any thing the matter with me. I amso glad you had the pleasure: I would willingly pay for it by a tumble,only I was sorry to break the horse's knees."
never love anybody. I can't love people. I hate them."had ceased.
Gwendolen walked to the hearth and stood looking at the fire in the mostinconvenient way for conversation, so that he could only get a side viewof her face.
"My father wants me to go to Southampton for the rest of the vacation,"said Rex, his baritone trembling a little.
"Southampton! That's a stupid place to go to, isn't it?" said Gwendolen,chilly.
"It would be to me, because you would not be there." Silence.
"Should you mind about me going away, Gwendolen?"
"Of course. Every one is of consequence in this dreary country," saidGwendolen, curtly. The perception that poor Rex wanted to be tender madeher curl up and harden like a sea-anemone at the touch of a finger.
"Are you angry with me, Gwendolen? Why do you treat me in this way all atonce?" said Rex, flushing, and with more spirit in his voice, as if he toowere capable of being angry.
Gwendolen looked round at him and smiled. "Treat you? Nonsense! I am onlyrather cross. Why did you come so very early? You must expect to findtempers in dishabille."
"Be as cross with me as you like--only don't treat me with indifference,"said Rex, imploringly. "All the happiness of my life depends on yourloving me--if only a little--better than any one else."
He tried to take her hand, but she hastily eluded his grasp and moved tothe other end of the hearth, facing him.
"Pray don't make love to me! I hate it!" she looked at him fiercely.
Rex turned pale and was silent, but could not take his eyes off her, andthe impetus was not yet exhausted that made hers dart death at him.Gwendolen herself could not have foreseen that she should feel in thisway. It was all a sudden, new experience to her. The day before she hadbeen quite aware that her cousin was in love with her; she did not mindhow much, so that he said nothing about it; and if any one had asked herwhy she objected to love-making speeches, she would have said, laughingly,"Oh I am tired of them all in the books." But now the life of passion hadbegun negatively in her. She felt passionately averse to this volunteeredlove.
To Rex at twenty the joy of life seemed at an end more absolutely than itcan do to a man at forty. But before they had ceased to look at eachother, he did speak again.
"Is that last word you have to say to me, Gwendolen? Will it always beso?"
She could not help seeing his wretchedness and feeling a little regret forthe old Rex who had not offended her. Decisively, but yet with some returnof kindness, she said--
"About making love? Yes. But I don't dislike you for anything else."
There was just a perceptible pause before he said a low "good-bye." andpassed out of the room. Almost immediately after, she heard the heavy halldoor bang behind him.
Mrs. Davilow, too, had heard Rex's hasty departure, and presently cameinto the drawing-room, where she found Gwendolen seated on the low couch,her face buried, and her hair falling over her figure like a garment. Shewas sobbing bitterly. "My child, my child, what is it?" cried the mother,who had never before seen her darling struck down in this way, and feltsomething of the alarmed anguish that women, feel at the sight ofoverpowering sorrow in a strong man; for this child had been her ruler.Sitting down by her with circling arms, she pressed her cheek againstGwendolen's head, and then tried to draw it upward. Gwendolen gave way,and letting her head rest against her mother, cried out sobbingly, "Oh,mamma, what can become of my life? There is nothing worth living for!"
"Why, dear?" said Mrs. Davilow. Usually she herself had been rebuked byher daughter for involuntary signs of despair.
"I shall never love anybody. I can't love people. I hate them."
"The time will come, dear, the time will come."
Gwendolen was more and more convulsed with sobbing; but putting her armsround her mother's neck with an almost painful clinging, she saidbrokenly, "I can't bear any one to be very near me but you."
Then the mother began to sob, for this spoiled child had never shown suchdependence on her before: and so they clung to each other.