A Rent In A Cloud

“I don’t want advice, Florence, I only want a fact; and from all I have seen of you, I believe you will deal fairly with me.”

She nodded assent, and he went on:

“In a few weeks more I shall be obliged to return to India; to a land I dislike, and a service I detest: to live amongst companions distasteful to me, and amidst habits and associations that, however endurable when I knew no better, are now become positively odious in my eyes. This is my road to rank, station, and honour. There is, however, another path; and if I relinquish this career, and give up all thought of ambition, I might remain in Europe – here, perhaps, on this very lake side – and lead a life of humble but unbroken happiness – one of those peaceful existences which poets dream of, but never realise, because it is no use in disparaging the cup of life till one has tasted and known its bitterness; and these men have not reached such experience —I have.”

He waited for her to speak – he looked eagerly at her for a word – but she was silent.

“The confession I want from you, Florence, is this: could you agree to share this life with me?”

She shook her head and muttered, but what he could not catch.

“It would be too dreary, too sad-coloured, you think?”

“No,” said she, “not that.”

“You fear, perhaps, that these schemes of isolation have never succeeded: that weariness will come when there are no longer new objects to suggest interest or employment?”

“Not that,” said she, more faintly.

“Then the objection must be myself. Florence, is it that you would, not, that you could not, trust me with your happiness?”

“You ask for frankness, and you shall have it. I cannot except your offer. My heart is no longer mine to give.”

“And this – this engagement, has been for some time back?” asked he, almost sternly.

“Yes, for some time,” said she, faintly.

“Am I acquainted with the object of it? Perhaps I have no right to ask this. But there is a question I have full and perfect right to ask. How, consistently with such an engagement, have you encouraged the attentions I have paid you?”

“Attentions! and to me! Why, your attentions have been directed rather to my sister – at least, she always thought so – and even these we deemed the mere passing flirtations of one who made no secret of saying that he regarded marriage as an intolerable slavery, or rather, the heavy price that one paid for the pleasure of courtship.”

“Are the mere levities with which I amused an hour to be recorded against me as principles?”

“Only when such levities fitted into each other so accurately as to show plan and contrivance.”

“It was Loyd said that. That speech was his. I’d lay my life on it.”

“I think not. At least, if the thought were his, he’d have expressed it far better.”

“You admire him, then?” asked he, peering closely at her..

“I wonder why they are not here,” said she, turning her head away. “This same race ought to come off by this time.”

“Why don’t you answer my question?”

“There he goes! Rowing away all alone, too, and my aunt is waving her handkerchief in farewell. See how fast he sends the boat through the water. I wonder why he gave up the race?”

“Shall I tell you? He dislikes whatever he is challenged to do. He is one of those fellows who will never dare to measure himself against another.”

“My aunt is beckoning to us to come back, Mr. Calvert.”

“And my taste is for going forward,” muttered he, while at the same time he sent the boat’s head suddenly round, and pulled vigorously towards the shore.

“May I trust that what has passed between us is a secret, and not to be divulged to another – not even to your sister?”

“If you desire – if you exact.”

“I do, most decidedly. It is shame enough to be rejected. I don’t see why my disgrace is to be paraded either for pity or ridicule.”

“Oh, Mr. Calvert – ”

“Or triumphed over,” said he sternly, as he sent the boat up to the side of the little jetty, where Miss Grainger and her niece awaited them.

“Poor Loyd has just got bad news from home,” said Miss Grainger, “and he has hastened back to ask, by telegraph, if they wish him to return.”

“Anyone ill, or dying?” asked Calvert carelessly.

“No, it’s some question of law about his father’s vicarage. There would seem to be a doubt as to his presentation – whether the appointment lay with the patron of the bishop.”

Calvert turned to mark how the girls received these tidings, but they had walked on, and with heads bent down, and close together, were deep in conversation.

“I thought it was only in my profession,” said Calvert sneeringly, “where corrupt patronage was practised. It is almost a comfort to think how much the good people resemble the wicked ones.”

Miss Grainger, who usually smiled at his levities, looked grave at this one, and no more was said, as they moved on towards the cottage.

CHAPTER VIII. GROWING DARKER

IT was late at night when Calvert left the villa, but, instead of rowing directly back to the little inn, he left his boat to drift slowly in the scarce perceptible current of the lake, and wrapping himself in his cloak, lay down to muse or to sleep.

It was just as day broke that he awoke, and saw that he had drifted within a few yards of his quarters, and in a moment after he was on shore.

As he gained his room, he found a letter for him in Loyd’s hand. It ran thus:

“I waited up all night to see you before I started, for Ihave been suddenly summoned home by family circumstances. Iwas loth to part in an angry spirit, or even in coldness, with one in whose companionship I have passed so many happyhours, and for whom I feel, notwithstanding what has passedbetween us, a sincere interest. I wanted to speak to you ofmuch which I cannot write – that is to say, I would haveendeavoured to gain a hearing for what I dare not venture toset down in the deliberate calm of a letter. When I own thatit was of yourself, your temper, your habits, your nature,in short, that I wished to have spoken, you will, perhaps, say that it was as well time was not given me for suchtemerity. But bear in mind, Calvert, that though I am freeto admit all your superiority over myself, and never wouldpresume to compare my faculties or my abilities with yours – though I know well there is not a single gift or grace inwhich you are not my master, there is one point in which Ihave an advantage over you – I had a mother! You, you haveoften told me, never remember to have seen yours. To thatmother’s trainings I owe anything of good, however humble itbe, in my nature, and, though the soil in which the seed hasfallen be poor and barren, so much of fruit has it bornethat I at least respect the good which I do not practise, and I reverence that virtue to which I am a rebel. Thelesson, above all others, that she instilled into we, was toavoid the tone of a scoffer, to rescue myself from the cheapdistinction which is open to everyone who sets himself tosee only ridicule in what others respect, and to mock thethemes that others regard with reverence. I stop, for I amafraid to weary you – I dread that, in your impatience, youwill throw this down and read no more – I will only say, andI say it in all the sincerity of truth, that if you wouldendeavour to be morally as great as what your faculties canmake you intellectually, there is no eminence you might notattain, nor any you would not adorn.“If our intimacy had not cooled down of late, from whatcauses I am unable to tell, to a point in which the firstdisagreement must be a breach between us, I would have toldyou that I had formed an attachment to Florence Walter, andobtained her aunt’s consent to our marriage; I mean, ofcourse, at some future which I cannot define, for I have myway to make in the world, and, up to the present, have onlybeen a burden on others. We are engaged, however, and welive on hope. Perhaps I presume too far on any interest youcould feel for me when I make you this communication. Itmay be that you will say, ‘What is all this to me?’ At allevents, I have told you what, had I kept back, would haveseemed to myself an uncandid reservation. Deal with it howyou may.“There is, however, another reason why I should tell youthis. If you were unaware of the relations which existbetween our friends and myself, you might unconsciouslyspeak of me in terms which this knowledge would, perhaps, modify – at least, you would speak without the consciousnessthat you were addressing unwilling hearers. You now know theties that bind us, and your words will have thatsignificance which you intend they should bear.

“Remember, and remember distinctly, I disclaim allpretension, as I do all wish, to conciliate your favour asregards this matter; first, because I believe I do not needit; and secondly, that if I asked for, I should be unworthyof it. I scarcely know how, after our last meeting, I standin your estimation, but I am ready to own that if you wouldonly suffer yourself to be half as good as your nature hadintended you and your faculties might make you, you would beconferring a great honour on being the friend of yourstruly,

“Joseph Loyd.”

“What a cant these fellows acquire!” said Calvert as he read the letter and threw it from him. “What mock humility! what downright and palpable pretension to superiority through every line of it! The sum of it all being, I can’t deny that you are cleverer, stronger, more active, and more manly than me; but, somehow, I don’t exactly see why or, how, but I’m your better! Well, I’ll write an answer to this one of these days, and such an answer as I flatter myself he’ll not read aloud to the company who sit round the fire at the vicarage. And so, Mademoiselle Florence, this was your anxiety, and this the reason for all that interest about our quarrel which I was silly enough to ascribe to a feeling for myself. How invariably it is so! How certain it is that a woman, the weakest, the least experienced, the most commonplace, is more than a match in astuteness for a man, in a question where her affections are concerned. The feminine nature has strange contradictions. They can summon the courage of a tigress to defend their young, and the spirit of a Machiavelli to protect a lover. She must have had some misgiving, however, that, to prefer a fellow like this to me would be felt by me as an outrage. And then the cunning stroke of implying that her sister was not indisposed to listen to me. The perfidy of that!”

Several days after Loyd’s departure, Calvert was lounging near the lake, when he jumped up, exclaiming, “Here comes the postman! I see he makes a sign to me. What can this be about? Surely, my attached friend has not written to me again. No, this is a hand that I do not recognise. Let us see what it contains.” He opened and read as follows:

“Sir, – I have received your letter. None but a scoundrelcould have written it! As all prospect of connexion withyour family is now over, you cannot have a pretext for notaffording me such a satisfaction as, had you been agentleman in feeling as you are in station, it would neverhave been necessary for me to demand from you. I leave this,to-morrow, for the continent, and will be at Basle by Mondaynext. I will remain there for a week at your orders, andhope that there may be no difficulty to their speedyfulfilment.

“I am, your obedient and faithful servant,

“Wentworth Gordon GRAHAM.”