Part 8 (1/2)
If we are detected, not solely are we done for, but our love-tales too.
However, there is not much ground for anxiety on that head. Each member of the other party is blind on her own account.
To Annette the figuring of Herbert was graceful, but it did not catch her up and carry her; it hardly touched her: He spoke well enough to make her sorry for him, and not warmly enough to make her forget her sorrow for herself.
Herbert could obtain no explanation of the singularity of her conduct from Annette, and he went straight to her father, who was nearly as inexplicable for a time. At last he said:
”If you are ready to quit the country with us, you may have my consent.”
”Why quit the country?” Herbert asked, in natural amazement.
Van Diemen declined to tell him.
But seeing the young man look stupefied and wretched he took a turn about the room, and said: ”I have n't robbed,” and after more turns, ”I have n't murdered.” He growled in his menagerie trot within the four walls.
”But I'm, in a man's power. Will that satisfy you? You'll tell me, because I'm rich, to snap my fingers. I can't. I've got feelings. I'm in his power to hurt me and disgrace me. It's the disgrace--to my disgrace I say it--I dread most. You'd be up to my reason if you had ever served in a regiment. I mean, discipline--if ever you'd known discipline--in the police if you like--anything--anywhere where there's what we used to call spiny de cor. I mean, at school. And I'm,” said Van Diemen, ”a rank idiot double D. dolt, and flat as a pancake, and transparent as a pane of gla.s.s. You see through me. Anybody could.
I can't talk of my botheration without betraying myself. What good am I among you sharp fellows in England?”
Language of this kind, by virtue of its unintelligibility, set Mr.
Herbert Fellingham's acute speculations at work. He was obliged to lean on Van Diemen's a.s.sertion, that he had not robbed and had not murdered, to be comforted by the belief that he was not once a notorious bushranger, or a defaulting manager of mines, or any other thing that is naughtily Australian and kangarooly.
He sat at the dinner-table at Elba, eating like the rest of mankind, and looking like a starved beggarman all the while.
Annette, in pity of his bewilderment, would have had her father take him into their confidence. She suggested it covertly, and next she spoke of it to him as a prudent measure, seeing that Mr. Fellingham might find out his exact degree of liability. Van Diemen shouted; he betrayed himself in his weakness as she could not have imagined him. He was ready to go, he said--go on the spot, give up Elba, fly from Old England: what he could not do was to let his countrymen know what he was, and live among them afterwards. He declared that the fact had eternally been present to his mind, devouring him; and Annette remembered his kindness to the artillerymen posted along the sh.o.r.e westward of Crikswich, though she could recall no sign of remorse. Van Diemen said: ”We have to do with Martin Tinman; that's one who has a hold on me, and one's enough. Leak out my secret to a second fellow, you double my risks.” He would not be taught to see how the second might counteract the first. The singularity of the action of his character on her position was, that though she knew not a soul to whom she could unburden her wretchedness, and stood far more isolated than in her Australian home, fever and chill struck her blood in contemplation of the necessity of quitting England.
Deep, then, was her grat.i.tude to dear good Mrs. Cavely for stepping in to mediate between her father and Mr. Tinman. And well might she be amazed to hear the origin of their recent dispute.
”It was,” Mrs. Cavely said, ”that Gippsland.”
Annette cried: ”What?”
”That Gippsland of yours, my dear. Your father will praise Gippsland whenever my Martin asks him to admire the beauties of our neighbourhood.
Many a time has Martin come home to me complaining of it. We have no doubt on earth that Gippsland is a very fine place; but my brother has his idea's of dignity, you must know, and I only wish he had been more used to contradiction, you may believe me. He is a lamb by nature. And, as he says, 'Why underrate one's own country?' He cannot bear to hear boasting. Well! I put it to you, dear Annette, is he so unimportant a person? He asks to be respected, and especially by his dearest friend.
From that to blows! It's the way with men. They begin about trifles, they drink, they quarrel, and one does what he is sorry for, and one says more than he means. All my Martin desires is to shake your dear father's hand, forgive and forget. To win your esteem, darling Annette, he would humble himself in the dust. Will you not help me to bring these two dear old friends together once more? It is unreasonable of your dear papa to go on boasting of Gippsland if he is so fond of England, now is it not?
My brother is the offended party in the eye of the law. That is quite certain. Do you suppose he dreams of taking advantage of it? He is waiting at home to be told he may call on your father. Rank, dignity, wounded feelings, is nothing to him in comparison with friends.h.i.+p.”
Annette thought of the blow which had felled him, and spoke the truth of her heart in saying, ”He is very generous.”
”You understand him.” Mrs. Cavely pressed her hand. ”We will both go to your dear father. He may,” she added, not without a gleam of feminine archness, ”praise Gippsland above the Himalayas to me. What my Martin so much objected to was, the speaking of Gippsland at all when there was mention of our Lake scenery. As for me, I know how men love to boast of things n.o.body else has seen.”
The two ladies went in company to Van Diemen, who allowed himself to be melted. He was reserved nevertheless. His reception of Mr. Tinman displeased his daughter. Annette attached the blackest importance to a blow of the fist. In her mind it blazed fiendlike, and the man who forgave it rose a step or two on the sublime. Especially did he do so considering that he had it in his power to dismiss her father and herself from bright beaming England before she had looked on all the cathedrals and churches, the sea-sh.o.r.es and spots named in printed poetry, to say nothing of the n.o.bility.
”Papa, you were not so kind to Mr. Tinman as I could have hoped,” said Annette.
”Mart Tinman has me at his mercy, and he'll make me know it,” her father returned gloomily. ”He may let me off with the Commander-in-chief.
He'll blast my reputation some day, though. I shall be hanging my head in society, through him.”
Van Diemen imitated the disconsolate appearance of a gallows body, in one of those rapid flashes of spontaneous veri-similitude which spring of an inborn horror painting itself on the outside.
”A Deserter!” he moaned.