Beauchamps Career, v5 - George Meredith (top novels TXT) 📗
- Author: George Meredith
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swing of enthusiasm that seemed to spring of ancient heartfelt fervours.
And indeed soon afterward he was telling her that there on those downs,
in full view of Steynham, he and his wife had first joined hands.
Beauchamp sat silent. Mr. Romfrey despatched orders to the stables,
and Rosamund to the kitchen. Cecilia was rather dismayed by the formal
preparations for the ride. She declined the early cup of coffee. Mr.
Romfrey begged her to take it. 'Who knows the hour when you 'll be
back?' he said. Beauchamp said nothing.
The room grew insufferable to Cecilia. She would have liked to be wafted
to her chamber in a veil, so shamefully unveiled did she seem to be. But
the French lady would have been happy in her place! Her father kissed
her as fathers do when they hand the bride into the travelling-carriage.
His 'Good-night, my darling!' was in the voice of a soldier on duty.
For a concluding sign that her dim apprehensions pointed correctly, Mr.
Romfrey kissed her on the forehead. She could not understand how it had
come to pass that she found herself suddenly on this incline,
precipitated whither she would fain be going, only less hurriedly, less
openly, and with her secret merely peeping, like a dove in the breast.
BOOK 5. - CHAPTER XXXV - THE RIDE IN THE WRONG DIRECTION
That pure opaque of the line of downs ran luminously edged against the
pearly morning sky, with its dark landward face crepusculine yet clear in
every combe, every dotting copse and furze-bush, every wavy fall, and the
ripple, crease, and rill-like descent of the turf. Beauty of darkness
was there, as well as beauty of light above.
Beauchamp and Cecilia rode forth before the sun was over the line, while
the West and North-west sides of the rolling downs were stamped with such
firmness of dusky feature as you see on the indentations of a shield of
tarnished silver. The mounting of the sun behind threw an obscurer
gloom, and gradually a black mask overcame them, until the rays shot
among their folds and windings, and shadows rich as the black pansy,
steady as on a dialplate rounded with the hour.
Mr. Everard Romfrey embraced this view from Steynham windows, and loved
The lengths of gigantic 'greyhound backs' coursing along the Southwere his vision of delight; no image of repose for him, but of the life
in swiftness. He had known them when the great bird of the downs was not
a mere tradition, and though he owned conscientiously to never having
beheld the bird, a certain mystery of holiness hung about the region
where the bird had been in his time. There, too, with a timely word he
had gained a wealthy and good wife. He had now sent Nevil to do the
same.
This astute gentleman had caught at the idea of a ride of the young
couple to the downs with his customary alacrity of perception as being
the very best arrangement for hurrying them to the point. At Steynham
Nevil was sure to be howling all day over his tumbled joss Shrapnel.
Once away in the heart of the downs, and Cecilia beside him, it was a
matter of calculation that two or three hours of the sharpening air would
screw his human nature to the pitch. In fact, unless each of them was
reluctant, they could hardly return unbetrothed. Cecilia's consent was
foreshadowed by her submission in going: Mr. Romfrey had noticed her
fright at the suggestive formalities he cast round the expedition, and
felt sure of her. Taking Nevil for a man who could smell the perfume of
a ripe affirmative on the sweetest of lips, he was pretty well sure of
him likewise. And then a truce to all that Radical rageing and hot-
pokering of the country! and lie in peace, old Shrapnel! and get on your
legs when you can, and offend no more; especially be mindful not to let
fly one word against a woman! With Cecilia for wife, and a year of
marriage devoted to a son and heir, Nevil might be expected to resume his
duties as a naval officer, and win an honourable name for the inheritance
of the young one he kissed.
There was benevolence in these previsions of Mr. Romfrey, proving how
good it is for us to bow to despotic authority, if only we will bring
ourselves unquestioningly to accept the previous deeds of the directing
hand.
Colonel Halkett gave up his daughter for lost when she did not appear at
the breakfast-table: for yet more decidedly lost when the luncheon saw
her empty place; and as time drew on toward the dinner-hour, he began to
think her lost beyond hope, embarked for good and all with the madbrain.
Some little hope of a dissension between the pair, arising from the
natural antagonism of her strong sense to Nevil's extravagance, had
buoyed him until it was evident that they must have alighted at an inn to
eat, which signified that they had overleaped the world and its hurdles,
and were as dreamy a leash of lovers as ever made a dreamland of hard
earth. The downs looked like dreamland through the long afternoon. They
shone as in a veil of silk-softly fair, softly dark. No spot of
harshness was on them save where a quarry South-westward gaped at the
evening sun.
Red light struck into that round chalk maw, and the green slopes and
channels and half-circle hollows were brought a mile-stride higher
Steynham by the level beams.
The poor old colonel fell to a more frequent repetition of the 'Well!'
with which he had been unconsciously expressing his perplexed mind in the
kennels and through the covers during the day. None of the gentlemen
went to dress. Mr. Culbrett was indoors conversing with Rosamund
Culling.
'What's come to them?' the colonel asked of Mr. Romfrey, who said
shrugging, 'Something wrong with one of the horses.' It had happened to
him on one occasion to set foot in the hole of a baked hedgehog that had
furnished a repast, not without succulence, to some shepherd of the
downs. Such a case might have recurred; it was more likely to cause an
upset at a walk than at a gallop: or perhaps a shoe had been cast; and
young people break no bones at a walking fall; ten to one if they do at
their top speed. Horses manage to kill their seniors for them: the young
are exempt from accident.
Colonel Halkett nodded and sighed: 'I daresay they're safe. It's that
man Shrapnel's letter--that letter, Romfrey! A private letter, I know;
but I've not heard Nevil disown the opinions expressed in it. I submit.
It's no use resisting. I treat my daughter as a woman capable of judging
for herself. I repeat, I submit. I haven't a word against Nevil except
on the score of his politics. I like him. All I have to say is, I don't
approve of a republican and a sceptic for my son-in-law. I yield to you,
and my daughter, if she . . . !'
'I think she does, colonel. Marriage 'll cure the fellow. Nevil will
slough his craze. Off! old coat. Cissy will drive him in strings.
"My wife!" I hear him.' Mr. Romfrey laughed quietly. 'It's all "my
country," now. The dog'll be uxorious. He wants fixing; nothing worse.'
'How he goes on about Shrapnel!'
'I shouldn't think much of him if he didn't.'
'You're one in a thousand, Romfrey. I object to seeing a man
worshipped.'
'It's Nevil's green-sickness, and Shrapnel's the god of it.'
'I trust to heaven you're right. It seems to me young fellows ought to
be out of it earlier.'
'They generally are.' Mr. Romfrey named some of the processes by which
they are relieved of brain-flightiness, adding philosophically, 'This way
or that.'
His quick ear caught a sound of hoofs cantering down the avenue on the
Northern front of the house.
He consulted his watch. 'Ten minutes to eight. Say a quarter-past for
dinner. They're here, colonel.'
Mr. Romfrey met Nevil returning from the stables. Cecilia had
disappeared.
'Had a good day?' said Mr. Romfrey.
Beauchamp replied: 'I'll tell you of it after dinner,' and passed by him.
Mr. Romfrey edged round to Colonel Halkett, conjecturing in his mind:
They have not hit it; as he remarked: 'Breakfast and luncheon have been
omitted in this day's fare,' which appeared to the colonel a confirmation
of his worst fears, or rather the extinction of his last spark of hope.
He knocked at his daughter's door in going upstairs to dress.
Cecilia presented herself and kissed him.
'Well?' said he.
'By-and-by, papa,' she answered. 'I have a headache. Beg Mr. Romfrey to
excuse me.'
'No news for me?'
She had no news.
Mrs. Culling was with her. The colonel stepped on mystified to his room.
When the door had closed Cecilia turned to Rosamund and burst into tears.
Rosamund felt that it must be something grave indeed for the proud young
lady so to betray a troubled spirit.
'He is ill--Dr. Shrapnel is very ill,' Cecilia responded to one or two
subdued inquiries in as clear a voice as she could command.
'Where have you heard of him?' Rosamund asked.
'We have been there.'
'Bevisham? to Bevisham?' Rosamund was considering the opinion Mr.
Romfrey would form of the matter from the point of view of his horses.
'It was Nevil's wish,' said Cecilia.
'Yes? and you went with him,' Rosamund encouraged her to proceed,
gladdened at hearing her speak of Nevil by that name; 'you have not been
on the downs at all?'
Cecilia mentioned a junction railway station they had ridden to; and
thence, boxing the horses, by train to Bevisham. Rosamund understood
that some haunting anxiety had fretted Nevil during the night; in the
morning he could not withstand it, and he begged Cecilia to change their
destination, apparently with a vehemence of entreaty that had been
irresistible, or else it was utter affection for him had reduced her to
undertake the distasteful journey. She admitted that she was not the
most sympathetic companion Nevil could have had on the way, either going
or coming. She had not entered Dr. Shrapnel's cottage. Remaining on
horseback she had seen the poor man reclining in his garden chair. Mr.
Lydiard was with him, and also his ward Miss Denham, who had been
summoned by telegraph by one of the servants from Switzerland. And
Cecilia had heard Nevil speak of his uncle to her, and too humbly, she
hinted. Nor had the expression of Miss Denham's countenance in listening
to him pleased her; but it was true that a heavily burdened heart cannot
be expected to look pleasing. On the way home Cecilia had been compelled
in some degree to defend Mr. Romfrey. Blushing through her tears at the
remembrance of a past emotion that had been mixed with foresight, she
confessed to Rosamund she thought it now too late to prevent a rupture
between Nevil and his uncle. Had some one whom Nevil trusted and cared
for taken counsel with him and advised him before uncle and nephew met to
discuss this most unhappy matter, then there might have been hope. As it
was, the fate of Dr. Shrapnel had gained entire possession of Nevil.
Every retort of his uncle's in reference to it rose up in him: he used
language of contempt neighbouring abhorrence: he stipulated for one sole
thing to win back his esteem for his uncle; and that was, the apology to
Dr. Shrapnel.
'And to-night,' Cecilia concluded, 'he will request Mr. Romfrey to
accompany. him to Bevisham to-morrow morning, to make the apology in
person. He will not accept the slightest evasion. He thinks Dr.
Shrapnel may die, and the honour of the family--what is it he says of
it?' Cecilia raised her eyes to the ceiling, while Rosamund blinked in
impatience and grief, just apprehending the alien state of the young
lady's mind in her absence of recollection, as well as her bondage in the
effort to recollect accurately.
'Have you not eaten any food to-day, Miss Halkett?' she said; for it
might be the want of food which had broken her
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