Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, No. 702

'Stay where I am; study the pictures; read the backs of all the books through the glass doors of the bookcase; and think what a churl the owner is to have locked them up. And this amusement over, I shall go in search of a piano; we cannot live for a whole month without one; can we? So I shall order it to be sent on Wednesday morning to our new quarters.'

'Suppose the "gentleman" unlocks his, and sets up an opposition tune; the jumble of melodies will be the reverse of harmonious.'

'Possibly; but then, you phlegmatic youngster, you wouldn't keep me without such a resource, for fear of an occasional discord! Let us hope the gentleman in question will give place to the ladies, and be amiable enough to listen without creating a discord; or he may decamp altogether, if he does not approve of our performances.'

'But tell me what has put it into your head to stay a whole month in London? I thought you said we had only funds for a week.'

'Well, my dear boy, it is just this: I have been thinking that we may as well wait and hear the issue of the examination; as in the event of your being among the successful candidates, of which I have very little doubt, you would be ready to go to Sandhurst without having to incur the double expense of the journey home and back again. Besides, I should like to see the last of you before I sink into my future oblivion, with no further call in the world upon my time and attention beyond writing to you.'

'What nonsense you can talk, mother, when you once begin! I suppose you expect me to believe you are one of the sort that is allowed to go into oblivion. I bet you ten to one some fellow will be wanting to marry you when I am at college!'

'Hush, Fred!' she said, with a solemnity of manner she well knew how to assume, that effectually quenched any conversation the subject of which she did not approve. 'It is time you started.'

'Forgive me; and good-bye,' he said, with a smile, as he prepared to go.

Wishing him 'God-speed,' she saw him depart, and then rung for the landlady.

'There is no difficulty, I hope, about the rooms?' she asked.

'None whatever, ma'am. I've told the lady; and they leave to-night.'

'Thank you. I wished to know positively before I ordered a piano. I suppose there is no objection to my having one, since there is another in the house?'

'None whatever, ma'am. Leastways Mr Meredith is mostly playing and singing when he isn't reading or painting, or at his meals; so that I am well accustomed to the sound by this time. I like it when he plays lively music. But dear me, ma'am! there are times when his spirits are low, or so I take it to be, and then he plays such dreary doleful tunes, it is for all the world as bad as the Old Hundred on them barrel-organs.'

'He is not married, then?'

'O my! no; not he; nor never likely to be,' she exclaimed, repudiating the idea of losing her lucrative lodger under such unfortunate circumstances. 'His man James says as how he once painted that there lovely faced young creature to remind him that women were one and all as false as – I wouldn't like to offend your ears, ma'am, by naming the unholy gentleman as he likens them to; which I took to be no great compliment to myself, seeing I am a woman as was never false to none, which is saying a good deal, seeing how selfish and tiresome men are, as a rule, that it needs us women to be born saints and angels to put up with them.'

'I am afraid I can't quite agree with you there,' said Mrs Arlington, smiling. 'I rather think we give as much trouble as we get, and a little more sometimes.'

Wednesday morning saw her installed in the rooms above, which she busied herself in arranging tastefully, with a view to making their lengthened sojourn comfortable. Towards evening the piano came, and she was just about to try it, when an unusual bustle below-stairs announced the arrival of the gentleman, Mr Meredith. He was evidently a person of consideration in the eyes of the household; such hurrying to and fro and up and down to have everything as he would like, had not before been experienced.

'Glad to see you home, sir,' said Mrs Griffiths, courtesying, and beaming with pleasure.

'Thank you. Have the rooms been occupied?'

'Yes, sir.'

'I should say you ought rather to be sorry I have come, then.'

'Not at all, sir. I've been able to accommodate the lady up-stairs; and right glad I was that she came when she did, for she has got no troublesome hussy of a maid to come bothering about my kitchen.'

'The same old story, Mrs Griffiths!' he remarked, as he smiled pleasantly at her inability to hide her ruling mania; 'and now please let me have dinner as soon as you can, as I have an engagement this evening.'

He walked round the room, placing his desk and other articles he had brought with him in order; examined his pictures, to see that they had not undergone ruthless treatment at the hands of deputy-lodgers during his absence. After looking at them all he paused opposite the portrait of the young girl, and exclaimed mentally: 'Yes, there you are still, heartless mocker! just as you looked when you defied me and flung back my love in scorn. And yet – and yet – perhaps had I but been a little gentler, I might have softened you!' he cried in remorseful thought as he turned away; and the look of genuine regret he wore shewed how deep had been the wound that had the power still to call up a thrill of pain. 'Yes, I tried to break her proud spirit and make it subservient to mine, and I broke my heart instead! She was but young; I ought to have known better; but I was hard and determined, and could brook no opposition to my will. I had studied life, and established my views on most points, until I grew intolerant – a disease natural to culture as well as creed – and could ill bear to have my opinion questioned, especially by those who aspired to my friendship or affection: it interfered with my visions of harmony. Harmony! It was but a monotonous dreary unison I was cultivating, to foster my intense self-love. Bitter delusion! And from her, above all others, I demanded a slavish bending of her will to mine. I was jealous of her possessing an individuality or free right of being or thought apart from me. I was not content with her affection; I wanted her blind worship. No wonder her proud spirit revolted at such a prospect of bondage, and flung me and my love far from me. She was wise and right, and I was too headstrong to humble myself to sue for her forgiveness, or seek to win her by a nobler course. My heart was a flint, which it needed her loss to soften, for I have never seen another like my darling! Yes, my poor girl, I was unjust and cruel, and Providence was kind to you in rousing you to resist!'

In such a strain did his thoughts run, as he sat waiting for dinner, of which he partook in no very elated mood. When the spirit wanders in the sad lone land of irreparable regret, and surveys with the light of experience how different all might have been, had our hearts and wills been differently tuned to action, it is then our footsteps linger, painfully borne down by a weight, well nigh fatal to that courage which bids us bury our dead out of sight, and wander no more amid the graves of the past, but live afresh in the light of a new and better day, with high hope and stern resolve.

Something of this he had done, but not all, for the torment of self-reproach was at times powerful to waste his endeavours in fruitless action or torpid reverie. He was about to sink into the latter at the close of dinner, as, left alone with his coffee and cigar, he sat meditating on the past which he had invoked, when he was startled by the sound of music and the strains of a melody which seemed to float to him across the distant years, and reawaken his heart's sweetest and bitterest memories. Ah! how well he remembered it. It was one he had written and composed for her of whom he had been thinking; and when she sang it to him, he could scarce restrain his tears; but there came a little 'rift within the lute' one day, that soon 'made all the music mute.' Some slight alteration that she had asked for, jarred upon his sense of its perfection – and his own – and he refused half haughtily, which she resented; words succeeded words, until that was said which could never be forgiven or undone; and then she asked to have her freedom back, and he gave it: yes, he gave it! and had never seen or heard of her after, until now – he hears the echo of the melody; but the voice – 'Can that voice be hers?' he cries passionately. Starting up in his chair he listens, with every nerve vibrating to the sound, until it is finished. 'My own song!' he exclaims aloud; and then he rings the bell nervously and summons the landlady. 'Who is your new lodger?' he inquires with assumed calmness.

'Mrs Arlington, sir.'

'Arlington? Arlington?' he mutters. 'Never heard of her. What is she like?'

'A tall sweet-looking lady, sir: I was that taken with I hadn't it in my heart to turn her from the door the night she come here; so I gave her your rooms for a couple of days, for her son and herself.'

'Son! did you say? How old?'

'About sixteen, I should reckon: he has come up for his examinations.'

'No; it is not she,' he thought sadly; 'she could never have had a son so old. But it may be some friend of hers. How else came she by that song, I must find out. – Thank you, Mrs Griffiths,' he said aloud; 'you did quite right to let the rooms; and since she is such a favourite with you, you are welcome to the newspapers for her. Perhaps you had better take them to her every day with my compliments.'

'Thank you, sir; I am sure you are most kind; and I'll tell her what you say.'

'I never will believe, ma'am, half as these good gentlemen say who profess so loud against womenkind. Here Mr Meredith down-stairs, as James says swears against a petticoat even if he sees it hanging in a shop-window, which is most unfeeling-like, to say the least of it – here's he been a begging I'll bring you the newspapers every day, with his compliments!'

'Indeed! That is very thoughtful of him,' said Mrs Arlington, smiling at her landlady's enthusiastic sense of victory. 'Pray give him my compliments, and say how very much obliged I feel. What did you tell me his name was?'

'Meredith, ma'am.'

'Of what family, do you know?'

'That's more than I can say, ma'am. Families, to my mind, is like flowers – a great lot all alike, but divided into so many branches, it were always a puzzle I stopped at. I call a pink a pink, and a carnation a carnation; though the gardener where I lived in service could tell you they were different branches of one family, with a long Latin name, as I never could see not the least bit of good to remember. So I just follow the same plan with families, call them by the names as they hold at birth and baptism; and I only know my gentleman by the label on his box: "Mr Firman Meredith." But if you were pleased to wish to know, I'll ask his man James.'

'Not on any account,' said Mrs Arlington; 'I am not in the least curious; I merely asked for asking's sake. Give my compliments and thanks, nothing more.'

The newspapers paid their regular daily visit for a week, during which time Mrs Arlington never once touched the piano when she knew that Mr Meredith was at home; although he had purposely remained indoors, hoping he might again hear the song which so roused his memory on the evening of his arrival; but after seven nights of waiting and disappointment, and ineffectual efforts to catch a glimpse of the lady, who did not go out once during that time, he grew so restless and impatient, that in desperation he summoned the landlady once more to his assistance.

'Well, Mrs Griffiths, is your lodger gone or dead? She is a very silent person.'

'O dear, no, sir,' said the landlady, smiling. 'She took the rooms for a month, certain; but she's been suffering from a cold; and the young gentleman has been away most days at his examinations; but he's that quiet you'd never know he was in the house but for his boots.'

'Had she any visitors the first evening I arrived?'

'None, sir. She hasn't told any of her friends, I imagine, that she is here; as it is not to be supposed as how such a well-to-do lady as she seems is without a whole score of friends, as would keep me busy at the door if they only knew where she was.'

'Do you think she objects to visitors then?'

'How can I say, sir? Were you pleased to wish to call?' she inquired somewhat slily. 'I'll speak to the lady, and find out if it would be agreeable, if you like, sir?'

'Please yourself about that,' he returned with feigned indifference. 'If I can be of any service to her or her son, beyond the newspapers, I shall be happy to call.'

'You are very good, sir, I am sure, and I'll tell her. She was most grateful for the newspapers.'

With a glow of triumph on her face, Mrs Griffiths next morning appeared before Mrs Arlington. It was now her settled conviction that her theories concerning the unreality of the enmity of certain men for women was as 'true as gospel,' to use her own phrase; and as there is nothing dearer to human nature, from the deepest philosopher even to a speculating landlady, than to feel that they have hit upon an infallible vein of truth, her rejoicing was very natural.

She had been planning all the way up the stairs how she might best introduce such a delicate topic with due acceptance, for Mrs Arlington was a lady, she felt, who was not to be taken liberties with; but impulse overruled discretion, and she burst out plumply with the question: 'Would you please to like the gentleman to call? I think, ma'am, for all he feigns to hate us, he's about dying to come up.'