Part 49 (1/2)
CHAPTER x.x.xVI.
THE NEW TRAGEDY.
His generous, large nature fought hard to find excuses for her. He strove to convince himself that this strange coldness, this evasion, this half-repellent att.i.tude, was but a form of maiden coyness. It was her natural fear of so great a change. It was the result, perhaps, of some last lingering look back to the scene of her artistic triumphs. It did not even occur to him as a possibility that this woman with her unstable sympathies and her fatally facile imagination, should have taken up what was now the very end and aim of his life, and have played with the pretty dream until she grew tired of the toy, and was ready to let her wandering fancy turn to something other and new.
He dared not even think of that; but all the same, as he stood at this open window alone, an unknown fear had come over him. It was a fear altogether vague and undefined; but it seemed to have the power of darkening the daylight around him. Here was the very picture he had so often desired that she should see--the wind-swept Atlantic; the glad blue skies with their drifting clouds of summer white; the Erisgeir rocks; the green sh.o.r.es of Ulva; and Colonsay and Gometra and Staffa all s.h.i.+ning in the sunlight; with the sea-birds calling, and the waves breaking, and the soft west wind stirring the fuchsia-bushes below the windows of Castle Dare. And it was all dark now; and the sea was a lonely thing--more lonely than ever it had been even during that long winter that he had said was like a grave.
And she?--at this moment she was down at the small bridge that crossed the burn. She had gone out to seek her father; had found him coming up through the larch-wood, and was now accompanying him back. They had rested here; he sitting on the weatherworn parapet of the bridge; she leaping over it, and idly dropping bits of velvet-green moss into the whirl of clear brown water below.
”I suppose we must be thinking of getting away from Castle Dare, Gerty,”
said he.
”I shall not be sorry,” she answered.
But even Mr. White was somewhat taken aback by the cool prompt.i.tude of this reply.
”Well, you know your own business best,” he said to her. ”It is not for me to interfere. I said from the beginning I would not interfere. But still I wish you would be a little more explicit, Gerty, and let one understand what you mean--whether, in fact, you do mean, or do not mean, to marry Macleod.”
”And who said that I proposed not to marry him?” said she; but she still leaned over the rough stones and looked at the water. ”The first thing that would make me decline would be the driving me into a corner--the continual goading, and reminding me of the duty I had to perform. There has been just a little too much of that here”--and at this point she raised herself so that she could regard her father when she wished--”and I really must say that I do not like to be taking a holiday with the feeling hanging over you that certain things are expected of you every other moment, and that you run the risk of being considered a very heartless and ungrateful person unless you do and say certain things you would perhaps rather not do and say. I should like to be let alone. I hate being goaded. And I certainly did not expect that you, too, papa, would try to drive me into a corner.”
She spoke with some little warmth. Mr. White smiled.
”I was quite unaware, Gerty,” said he, ”that you were suffering this fearful persecution.”
”You may laugh, but it is true,” said she, and there was a trifle of color in her cheeks. ”The serious interests I am supposed to be concerned about! Such profound topics of conversation! Will the steamer come by the south to-morrow, or round by the north? The Gometra men have had a good take of lobsters yesterday. Will the head-man at the Something lighthouse be transferred to some other lighthouse? and how will his wife and family like the change? They are doing very well with a subscription for a bell for the Free Church at Iona. The deer have been down at John Maclean's barley again. Would I like to visit the weaver at Iona who has such a wonderful turn for mathematics? and would I like to know the man at Salen who has the biographies of all the great men of the time in his head?”
Miss White had worked herself up to a pretty pitch of contemptuous indignation; her father was almost beginning to believe that it was real.
”It is all very well for the Macleods to interest themselves with these trumpery little local matters. They play the part of grand patron; the people are proud to honor them; it is a condescension when they remember the name of the crofter's youngest boy. But as for me--when I am taken about--well, I do not like being stared at as if they thought I was wearing too fine clothes. I don't like being continually placed in a position of inferiority through my ignorance--an old fool of a boatman saying 'Bless me!' when I have to admit that I don't know the difference between a sole and a flounder. I don't want to know. I don't want to be continually told. I wish these people would meet me on my own ground. I wish the Macleods would begin to talk after dinner about the Lord Chamberlain's interference with the politics of burlesque, and then perhaps they would not be so glib. I am tired of hearing about John Maclean's boat, and Donald Maclean's horse, and Sandy Maclean's refusal to pay the road-tax. And as for the drinking of whiskey that these sailors get through--well, it seems to me that the ordinary condition of things is reversed here altogether; and if they ever put up an asylum in Mull, it will be a lunatic asylum for incurable abstainers.”
”Now, now, Gerty!” said her father; but all the same he rather liked to see his daughter get on her high horse, for she talked with spirit, and it amused him. ”You must remember that Macleod looks on this as a holiday-time, and perhaps he may be a little lax in his regulations. I have no doubt it is because he is so proud to have you on board his yacht that he occasionally gives the men an extra gla.s.s; and I am sure it does them no harm, for they seem to be as much in the water as out of it.”
She paid no heed to this protest. She was determined to give free speech to her sense of wrong, and humiliation, and disappointment.
”What has been the great event since ever we came here--the wildest excitement the island can afford?” she said, ”the arrival of the pedlar!
A snuffy old man comes into the room, with a huge bundle wrapped up in dirty waterproof. Then there is a wild clatter of Gaelic. But suddenly, don't you know, there are one or two glances at me; and the Gaelic stops; and Duncan or John, or whatever they call him, begins to stammer in English, and I am shown coa.r.s.e stockings, and bundles of wool, and drugget petticoats, and cotton handkerchiefs. And then Miss Macleod buys a number of things which I know she does not want; and I am looked on as a strange creature because I do not purchase a bundle of wool or a pair of stockings fit for a farmer. The Autolycus of Mull is not impressive, pappy. Oh, but I forgot the dramatic surprise--that also was to be an event, I have no doubt. I was suddenly introduced to a child dressed in a kilt; and I was to speak to him; and I suppose I was to be profoundly moved when I heard him speak to me in my own tongue in this out of the world place. My own tongue! The horrid little wretch has not an _h_.”
”Well, there's no pleasing you, Gerty,” said he.
”I don't want to be pleased; I want to be let alone,” said she.
But she said this with just a little too much sharpness; for her father was, after all, a human being; and it did seem to him to be too bad that he should be taunted in this fas.h.i.+on, when he had done his best to preserve a wholly neutral att.i.tude.
”Let me tell you this, madam,” said he, in a playful manner, but with some decision in his tone, ”that you may live to have the pride taken out of you. You have had a good deal of flattery and spoiling; and you may find out you have been expecting too much. As for these Macleods here, I will say this--although I came here very much against my own inclination--that I defy any one to have been more kind, and courteous, and attentive than they have been to you. I don't care. It is not my business, as I tell you. But I must say, Gerty, that when you make a string of complaints as the only return for all their hospitality--their excessive and almost burdensome hospitality--I think that even I am bound to say a word. You forget how you come here. You, a perfect stranger, come here as engaged to marry the old lady's only son--to dispossess her--very probably to make impossible a match that she had set her heart on. And both she and her niece--you understand what I mean--instead of being cold, or at least formal, to you, seem to me to think of nothing from morning till night but how to surround you with kindness, in a way that Englishwomen would never think of. And this you call persecution; and you are vexed with them because they won't talk to you about theatres--why, bless my soul, how long it is since you were yourself talking about theatres as if the very word choked you?”
”Well, at least, pappy, I never thought you would turn against me,”
said she, as she put her head partly aside, and made a mouth as if she were about to cry; ”and when mamma made you promise to look after Carry and me, I am sure she never thought--”
Now this was too much for Mr. White. In the small eyes behind the big gold spectacles there was a quick flash of fire.