Part 4 (1/2)
”I will have no other revenge. No; though, I dare say, she will care but little for this; very little, if at all.”
”And then, as to the other person,” he resumed, after a pause, ”it is not the first time he has acted like a trickster. He has crossed me before, and I will choose an opportunity to tell him my mind. I won't mince matters with him either, and will not spare him one insulting syllable that he deserves. He wears a sword, and so do I; if he pleases, he may draw it; he shall have the opportunity; but, at all events, I will make it impossible for him to prolong his disgraceful visit at my house.”
On reaching home and his own study, the servant, Merton, presented himself, and his master, too deeply excited to hear him then, appointed the next day for the purpose. There was no contending against Marston's peremptory will, and the man reluctantly withdrew. Here was, apparently, a matter of no imaginable moment; whether this menial should be discharged on that day, or on the morrow; and yet mighty things were involved in the alternative.
There was a deeper gloom than usual over the house. The servants seemed to know that something had gone wrong, and looked grave and mysterious.
Marston was more than ever dark and moody. Mrs. Marston's dimmed and swollen eyes showed that she had been weeping. Mademoiselle absented herself from supper, on the plea of a bad headache. Rhoda saw that something, she knew not what, had occurred to agitate her elders, and was depressed and anxious. The old clergyman, whom we have already mentioned, had called, and stayed to supper. Dr. Danvers was a man of considerable learning, strong sense, and remarkable simplicity of character. His thoughtful blue eye, and well-marked countenance, were full of gentleness and benevolence, and elevated by a certain natural dignity, of which purity and goodness, without one debasing shade of self-esteem and arrogance, were the animating spirit. Mrs. Marston loved and respected this good minister of G.o.d; and many a time had sought and found, in his gentle and earnest counsels, and in the overflowing tenderness of his sympathy, much comfort and support in the progress of her sore and protracted earthly trial. Most especially at one critical period in her history had he endeared himself to her, by interposing, and successfully, to prevent a formal separation which (as ending forever the one hope that cheered her on, even in the front of despair) she would probably not long have survived.
With Mr. Marston, however, he was far from being a favorite. There was that in his lofty and simple purity which abashed and silently reproached the sensual, bitter, disappointed man of the world. The angry pride of the scornful man felt its own meanness in the grand presence of a simple and humble Christian minister. And the very fact that all his habits had led him to hold such a character in contempt, made him but the more unreasonably resent the involuntary homage which its exhibition in Dr.
Danvers's person invariably extorted from him. He felt in this good man's presence under a kind of irritating restraint; that he was in the presence of one with whom he had, and could have, no sympathy whatever, and yet one whom he could not help both admiring and respecting; and in these conflicting feelings were involved certain gloomy and humbling inferences about himself, which he hated, and almost feared to contemplate.
It was well, however, for the indulgence of Sir Wynston's conversational propensities, that Dr. Danvers had happened to drop in; for Marston was doggedly silent and sullen, and Mrs. Marston was herself scarcely more disposed than he to maintain her part in a conversation; so that, had it not been for the opportune arrival of the good clergyman, the supper must have been dispatched with a very awkward and unsocial taciturnity.
Marston thought, and, perhaps, not erroneously, that Sir Wynston suspected something of the real state of affairs, and he was, therefore, incensed to perceive, as he thought, in his manner, very evident indications of his being in unusually good spirits. Thus disposed, the party sat down to supper.
”One of our number is missing,” said Sir Wynston, affecting a slight surprise, which, perhaps, he did not feel.
”Mademoiselle de Barras--I trust she is well?” said Doctor Danvers, looking towards Marston.
”I suppose she is; I don't know,” said Marston, drily.
”Why! how should he know,” said the baronet, gaily, but with something almost imperceptibly sarcastic in his tone. ”Our friend, Marston, is privileged to be as ungallant as he pleases, except where he has the happy privilege to owe allegiance; but I, a gay young bachelor of fifty, am naturally curious. I really do trust that our charming French friend is not unwell.”
He addressed his inquiry to Mrs. Marston, who, with some slight confusion, replied:--
”No; nothing, at least, serious; merely a slight headache. I am sure she will be quite well enough to come down to breakfast.”
”She is, indeed, a very charming and interesting young person,” said Doctor Danvers. ”There is a certain simplicity about her which argues a good and kind heart, and an open nature.”
”Very true, indeed, doctor,” observed Berkley, with the same faint, but, to Marston, exquisitely provoking approximation to sarcasm. ”There is, as you say, a very charming simplicity. Don't you think so, Marston?”
Marston looked at him for a moment, but continued silent.
”Poor mademoiselle!--she is, indeed, a most affectionate creature,” said Mrs. Marston, who felt called upon to say something.
”Come, Marston, will you contribute nothing to the general fund of approbation?” said Sir Wynston, who was gifted by nature with an amiable talent for teasing, which he was fond of exercising in a quiet way. ”We have all, but you, said something handsome of our absent young friend.”
”I never praise anybody, Wynston; not even you,” said Marston, with an obvious sneer.
”Well, well, I must comfort myself with the belief that your silence covers a great deal of good-will, and, perhaps, a little admiration, too,” answered his cousin, significantly.
”Comfort yourself in any honest way you will, my dear Wynston,” retorted Marston, with a degree of asperity, which, to all but the baronet himself, was unaccountable. ”You may be right, you may be wrong; on a subject so unimportant it matters very little which; you are at perfect liberty to practice delusions, if you will, upon yourself.”
”By-the-bye, Mr. Marston, is not your son about to come down here?” asked Doctor Danvers, who perceived that the altercation was becoming, on Marston's part, somewhat testy, if not positively rude.
”Yes; I expect him in a few days,” replied he, with a sudden gloom.
”You have not seen him, Sir Wynston?” asked the clergyman.
”I have that pleasure yet to come,” said the baronet.