Part 26 (2/2)
Sybil gathered up the jewels once more, hastily and putting them under lock and key, admitted her mother. Mrs. Lamotte was never a demonstrative parent. She glanced anxiously at her daughter, and the look upon the pale face did not escape her eye; but she made no comment, only saying:
”I heard Constance drive away, and thought I should find you alone. Do you feel equal to a drive, Sybil?”
Sybil hesitated, and then answered: ”I think so mamma, if you wish to go out.”
”I have some shopping to do, and--it's best for us to go out a little.
Don't you think so?”
”It's best that we keep up appearances, certainly mamma; for what else do we exist? Shall we take the honorable Mr. Burrill?”
Mrs. Lamotte shrugged her shoulders. ”By no means,” she replied. ”Mr.
Burrill, if his feelings are too much hurt, shall drive with me to-morrow. It's an honor he has been thirsting for.”
”He has indeed, mamma; the creature is insatiable.”
Mrs. Lamotte arose with one of her cold smiles.
”For the present let us ignore him, Sybil,” she said. ”Make an elaborate driving toilet, we want the admiration of W----, not its pity.” And having thus uttered one article of her creed, Mrs. Lamotte swept away to prepare for the ordeal, for such that drive would be to those two proud women.
No one could have guessed it, however, when an hour later, the elegant barouche, drawn by two superb grays, rolled through the streets of W----. Two richly dressed, handsome, high-bred, smiling women; that is what W---- saw, and all it saw; and light-hearted poverty looked, and envied; little knowing the sorrow hidden underneath the silk and lace, and the misery that was masked in smiles.
Meantime John Burrill, left to his own devices, found time drag heavily.
Frank had abandoned him, as soon as it became known that Constance was gone; and had abandoned himself to a fit of rage, when he became aware that his black mare was also gone. Mr. Lamotte had driven to town with his own light buggy; Sybil was gone, Evan was gone; even his stately mother-in-law was beyond the reach of his obnoxious pleasantries.
He ordered up a bottle of wine, and drank it in the spirit of an ill used man. Always, in his perfectly sober moments, John Burrill felt oppressed with a sense of the difference existing between himself and the people among whom he had chosen to cast his lot.
Not that he recognized, or admitted, his inferiority; had he not demonstrated to the world, that he, John Burrill, sometime mill worker, and overseer, was a man of parts, a self-made man.
When he had quaffed a bottle of wine, he began to feel oppressed in a different way. He was overburdened with a sense of his own genius, and in a very amiable frame of mind, altogether. In this mood, he joined the family at dinner; after which meal, a few gla.s.ses of brandy added fire to the smouldering element within him, and straightway he blazed forth: a gallant, a c.o.xcomb. In this frame of mind, he always admired himself excessively, took stock of his burly legs and brawny shoulders, and smiled sentimentally before the mirror, at his reflected face.
There were people who called John Burrill a handsome man; and if one had a fancy for a round head, with depressions where b.u.mps are desirable, and _vice versa_, and an animal sort of attractiveness of feature, consisting of a low, flat forehead, straight nose, large, full red lipped mouth, fair florid complexion, set off by a pair of dark blue eyes, that were devoid of any kindly expression, and hair, full beard, and moustache, of a reddish brown hue, coa.r.s.e in quality, but plentiful in quant.i.ty, and curling closely; then we will admit that John Burrill was handsome. Why not? We can see handsome bovines at any fat cattle show.
After this elation, came the fourth stage; a mixture of liquors as the evening advanced, and then John Burrill became jealous of his rights, careful of his dignity, crafty, quarrelsome, and difficult to manage.
Next he became uproarious, then maudlin; then blind, beastly drunk, and utterly regardless where he laid him down, or fell down, to finish the night, for his last stage usually dragged itself far into the small hours.
Gluttonous and meditative in the morning; beginning to swell with a growing sense of importance about midday; amorous, obtrusive, and consequential later; hilarious after dinner; quarrelsome before tea; and down in the ditch before dawn. This was Burrill's notion of enjoying life in leisurely, gentlemanly fas.h.i.+on. And this was his daily routine, with variations to suit the occasion.
But sober or drunk, morning, noon, or night, he never ceased to remind the Lamottes that he was one of them, their equal; never forgot his purpose, or allowed them to forget it, or him. He was their old man of the sea, their blight, their curse, and, they could never hope to shake him off.
CHAPTER XVI.
IN OPEN MUTINY.
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