Part 26 (1/2)
”Why not? He would not employ you if he did not think it was to his own good. And have you promised?”
”No--not yet. He was persuading me just now but I've not consented.”
”Then don't. He's a bad, a wicked man I feel sure. Have nothing to do with him.”
”I swear to you I've no desire. But a penniless scribbler has no choice if he has to live--that is if life be worth living, which I sometimes doubt.”
”You shouldn't think like that. It's cowardly. A man should fight his way through the world. Now a woman....”
”She's armed better than a man. Her charm--her beauty--her wit. Nature bestows on her all conquering weapons.”
”Which she as often as not misuses and turns against herself. But Mr.
Vane,” the note of bitterness had vanished; her voice was now earnest, almost grave, ”you weren't despondent when you were facing an angry mob after doing me a service I shall never forget. You underrate yourself.”
”Oh, I admit that when alone I'm like a boat at the mercy of wind and wave, but with some one to inspire--to guide--bah, 'tis useless talking of the unattainable.”
Vane uttered the last words in a reckless tone and with a shrug of the shoulders. His eyes gazed yearningly, despairingly into hers, and there had never been a time in Lavinia's life when she was less able to withstand a wave of heartfelt emotion.
Her nerves at that moment were terribly unstrung. She had had a most exhausting day lasting from early dawn. The strain of the trying interview at Twickenham; the anxious ordeal of singing before such supreme judges as she deemed them; the jubilation of success and the praise they had bestowed upon her, and Gay's promises as to her future had turned her brain for the time being. Then the episode of the highwayman--that in itself was sufficiently disturbing.
As a matter of fact the girl's strength was ebbing fast when she reached Moor Fields, but she nerved herself to go on, confident of her reward in relieving the young author's anxiety and his joy at the success--up to a point--of her errand. Things had not quite turned out as she had pictured them. The sight of the coa.r.s.e speeched, malevolent-looking man with his squinting eye and unhealthy complexion, brought back the scene of the night before which she would willingly have forgotten, and down went her spirits to zero.
While she had been talking with Vane her heart was fluttering strangely.
She had eaten nothing since she had left Twickenham and she was conscious of a weakness, of a trembling of the limbs. That pa.s.sionate, yearning look in Vane's eyes had aroused an excess of tenderness towards him which overwhelmed her. She suddenly turned dizzy. She swooned.
When consciousness came back she was in his arms. He was as tremulous as she and was looking at her pallid face with eyes of terror--a terror which disappeared instantly when he saw life returning.
”My G.o.d,” he cried, ”I thought you were dead. I'd have killed myself had it been so.”
Lavinia gazed at him mutely. It was pleasant to have his arms round her, and the feel of them gave her a sense of peace and rest. In her fancy she had gone through an interminable period of oblivion--in reality it was but a few seconds--and the struggle into life was painful. But she was strengthened by his vitality and she gently withdrew herself from his embrace, smoothed her hair and drew forward her hood which had fallen back. Despite her pallor, or may be because of it, she never looked more fascinating than at that moment with her hair tumbled, her large dreamy eyes, and the delicious languor so charmingly suggestive of helplessness, and of an appeal to him for protection.
”Are you better?” he whispered anxiously.
”Yes, thank you. It was very silly to faint. I don't know what made me.”
”Take my arm; do, please. Why, you can hardly stand.”
It was true, and the arm which went round her waist was not wholly unnecessary. She submitted without protest and they slowly walked a few paces.
”Though it's hard to part from you 'tis best you should get home quickly. Have you far to go? Shall I call a coach?”
These pertinent questions threw the girl into a sudden state of confusion. She had no home. She had but little money, for Gay's guinea was nearly gone after she had paid her fare from Hounslow and the incidental expenses of the journey. But she dared not say as much to her companion. He thought her a fine lady. It might be wise to keep him in this mind. If he knew she was as poor as he, there would be an end to the pleasure of helping him. She felt sure he would accept nothing more from her.
What was she to say? She could think of nothing. She felt bewildered.
At the same time the effort to face the difficulty did her good. It revived her energy.
”Indeed there's no necessity for me to ride. I can walk quite well and it is but a little distance to my home. You may see me across the fields if you will and then we will say good-night.”