St. Ronan's Well Page 11

  CHAPTER IX.

  THE MEETING.

  We meet as shadows in the land of dreams, Which speak not but in signs.

  _Anonymous._

  Behind one of the old oaks which we have described in the precedingchapter, shrouding himself from observation like a hunter watching forhis game, or an Indian for his enemy, but with different, very differentpurpose, Tyrrel lay on his breast near the Buck-stane, his eye on thehorse-road which winded down the valley, and his ear alertly awake toevery sound which mingled with the passing breeze, or with the ripple ofthe brook.

  "To have met her in yonder congregated assembly of brutes andfools"--such was a part of his internal reflections,--"had been littleless than an act of madness--madness almost equal in its degree to thatcowardice which has hitherto prevented my approaching her, when oureventful meeting might have taken place unobserved.--But now--now--myresolution is as fixed as the place is itself favourable. I will notwait till some chance again shall throw us together, with an hundredmalignant eyes to watch, and wonder, and stare, and try in vain toaccount for the expression of feelings which I might find it impossibleto suppress.--Hark--hark!--I hear the tread of a horse--No--it was thechangeful sound of the water rushing over the pebbles. Surely she cannothave taken the other road to Shaws-Castle!--No--the sounds becomedistinct--her figure is visible on the path, coming swiftlyforward.--Have I the courage to show myself?--I have--the hour is come,and what must be shall be."

  Yet this resolution was scarcely formed ere it began to fluctuate, whenhe reflected upon the fittest manner of carrying it into execution. Toshow himself at a distance, might give the lady an opportunity ofturning back and avoiding the interview which he had determined upon--tohide himself till the moment when her horse, in rapid motion, shouldpass his lurking-place, might be attended with danger to the rider--andwhile he hesitated which course to pursue, there was some chance of hismissing the opportunity of presenting himself to Miss Mowbray at all. Hewas himself sensible of this, formed a hasty and desperate resolutionnot to suffer the present moment to escape, and, just as the ascentinduced the pony to slacken its pace, Tyrrel stood in the middle of thedefile, about six yards distant from the young lady.

  She pulled up the reins, and stopped as if arrested by athunderbolt.--"Clara!"--"Tyrrel!" These were the only words which wereexchanged between them, until Tyrrel, moving his feet as slowly as ifthey had been of lead, began gradually to diminish the distance whichlay betwixt them. It was then that, observing his closer approach, MissMowbray called out with great eagerness,--"No nearer--no nearer!--Solong have I endured your presence, but if you approach me more closely,I shall be mad indeed!"

  "What do you fear?" said Tyrrel, in a hollow voice--"What can you fear?"and he continued to draw nearer, until they were within a pace of eachother.

  Clara, meanwhile, dropping her bridle, clasped her hands together, andheld them up towards Heaven, muttering, in a voice scarcely audible,"Great God!--If this apparition be formed by my heated fancy, let itpass away; if it be real, enable me to bear its presence!--Tell me, Iconjure you, are you Francis Tyrrel in blood and body, or is this butone of those wandering visions, that have crossed my path and glared onme, but without daring to abide my steadfast glance?"

  "I am Francis Tyrrel," answered he, "in blood and body, as much as sheto whom I speak is Clara Mowbray."

  "Then God have mercy on us both!" said Clara, in a tone of deep feeling.

  "Amen!" said Tyrrel.--"But what avails this excess of agitation?--Yousaw me but now, Miss Mowbray--Your voice still rings in my ears--You sawme but now--you spoke to me--and that when I was among strangers--Whynot preserve your composure, when we are where no human eye can see--nohuman ear can hear?"

  "Is it so?" said Clara; "and was it indeed yourself whom I saw evennow?--I thought so, and something I said at the time--but my brain hasbeen but ill settled since we last met--But I am well now--quite well--Ihave invited all the people yonder to come to Shaws-Castle--my brotherdesired me to do it--I hope I shall have the pleasure of seeing Mr.Tyrrel there--though I think there is some old grudge between my brotherand you."

  "Alas! Clara, you mistake. Your brother I have scarcely seen," repliedTyrrel, much distressed, and apparently uncertain in what tone toaddress her, which might soothe, and not irritate her mental malady, ofwhich he could now entertain no doubt.

  "True--true," she said, after a moment's reflection, "my brother wasthen at college. It was my father, my poor father, whom you had somequarrel with.--But you will come to Shaws-Castle on Thursday, at twoo'clock?--John will be glad to see you--he can be kind when hepleases--and then we will talk of old times--I must get on, to havethings ready--Good evening."

  She would have passed him, but he took gently hold of the rein of herbridle.--"I will walk with you, Clara," he said; "the road is rough anddangerous--you ought not to ride fast.--I will walk along with you, andwe will talk of former times now, more conveniently than in company."

  "True--true--very true, Mr. Tyrrel--it shall be as you say. My brotherobliges me sometimes to go into company at that hateful place downyonder; and I do so because he likes it, and because the folks let mehave my own way, and come and go as I list. Do you know, Tyrrel, thatvery often when I am there, and John has his eye on me, I can carry iton as gaily as if you and I had never met?"

  "I would to God we never had," said Tyrrel, in a trembling voice, "sincethis is to be the end of all!"

  "And wherefore should not sorrow be the end of sin and of folly? Andwhen did happiness come of disobedience?--And when did sound sleep visita bloody pillow? That is what I say to myself, Tyrrel, and that is whatyou must learn to say too, and then you will bear your burden ascheerfully as I endure mine. If we have no more than our deserts, whyshould we complain?--You are shedding tears, I think--Is not thatchildish?--They say it is a relief--if so, weep on, and I will lookanother way."

  Tyrrel walked on by the pony's side, in vain endeavouring to composehimself so as to reply.

  "Poor Tyrrel," said Clara, after she had remained silent for sometime--"Poor Frank Tyrrel!--Perhaps you will say in your turn, PoorClara--but I am not so poor in spirit as you--the blast may bend, but itshall never break me."

  There was another long pause; for Tyrrel was unable to determine withhimself in what strain he could address the unfortunate young lady,without awakening recollections equally painful to her feelings, anddangerous, when her precarious state of health was considered. At lengthshe herself proceeded:--

  "What needs all this, Tyrrel?--and indeed, why came you here?--Why did Ifind you but now brawling and quarrelling among the loudest of thebrawlers and quarrellers of yonder idle and dissipated debauchees?--Youwere used to have more temper--more sense. Another person--ay, anotherthat you and I once knew--he might have committed such a folly, and hewould have acted perhaps in character.--But you, who pretend towisdom--for shame, for shame!--And indeed, when we talk of that, whatwisdom was there in coming hither at all?--or what good purpose can yourremaining here serve?--Surely you need not come, either to renew yourown unhappiness or to augment mine?"

  "To augment yours--God forbid!" answered Tyrrel. "No--I came hither onlybecause, after so many years of wandering, I longed to revisit the spotwhere all my hopes lay buried."

  "Ay--buried is the word," she replied, "crushed down and buried whenthey budded fairest. I often think of it, Tyrrel; and there are timeswhen, Heaven help me! I can think of little else.--Look at me--youremember what I was--see what grief and solitude have made me."

  She flung back the veil which surrounded her riding-hat, and which hadhitherto hid her face. It was the same countenance which he had formerlyknown in all the bloom of early beauty; but though the beauty remained,the bloom was fled for ever. Not the agitation of exercise--not thatwhich arose from the pain and confusion of this unexpected interview,had called to poor Clara's cheek even the momentary semblance of colour.Her complexion was marble-white, like that of the finest piece ofstatuary.

  "Is it possibl
e?" said Tyrrel; "can grief have made such ravages?"

  "Grief," replied Clara, "is the sickness of the mind, and its sister isthe sickness of the body--they are twin-sisters, Tyrrel, and are seldomlong separate. Sometimes the body's disease comes first, and dims oureyes and palsies our hands, before the fire of our mind and of ourintellect is quenched. But mark me--soon after comes her cruel sisterwith her urn, and sprinkles cold dew on our hopes and on our loves, ourmemory, our recollections, and our feelings, and shows us that theycannot survive the decay of our bodily powers."

  "Alas!" said Tyrrel, "is it come to this?"

  "To this," she replied, speaking from the rapid and irregular train ofher own ideas, rather than comprehending the purport of his sorrowfulexclamation,--"to this it must ever come, while immortal souls arewedded to the perishable substance of which our bodies are composed.There is another state, Tyrrel, in which it will be otherwise--God grantour time of enjoying it were come!"

  She fell into a melancholy pause, which Tyrrel was afraid to disturb.The quickness with which she spoke, marked but too plainly the irregularsuccession of thought, and he was obliged to restrain the agony of hisown feelings, rendered more acute by a thousand painful recollections,lest, by giving way to his expressions of grief, he should throw herinto a still more disturbed state of mind.

  "I did not think," she proceeded, "that after so horrible a separation,and so many years, I could have met you thus calmly and reasonably. Butalthough what we were formerly to each other can never be forgotten, itis now all over, and we are only friends--Is it not so?"

  Tyrrel was unable to reply.

  "But I must not remain here," she said, "till the evening grows darkeron me.--We shall meet again, Tyrrel--meet as friends--nothing more--Youwill come up to Shaws-Castle and see me?--no need of secrecy now--mypoor father is in his grave, and his prejudices sleep with him--mybrother John is kind, though he is stern and severe sometimes--Indeed,Tyrrel, I believe he loves me, though he has taught me to tremble at hisfrown when I am in spirits, and talk too much--But he loves me, at leastI think so, for I am sure I love him; and I try to go down amongst themyonder, and to endure their folly, and, all things considered, I docarry on the farce of life wonderfully well--We are but actors, youknow, and the world but a stage."

  "And ours has been a sad and tragic scene," said Tyrrel, in thebitterness of his heart, unable any longer to refrain from speech.

  "It has indeed--but, Tyrrel, when was it otherwise with engagementsformed in youth and in folly? You and I would, you know, become men andwomen, while we were yet scarcely more than children--We have run, whileyet in our nonage, through the passions and adventures of youth, andtherefore we are now old before our day, and the winter of our life hascome on ere its summer was well begun.--O Tyrrel! often and often have Ithought of this!--Thought of it often? Alas, when will the time comethat I shall be able to think of any thing else!"

  The poor young woman sobbed bitterly, and her tears began to flow with afreedom which they had not probably enjoyed for a length of time. Tyrrelwalked on by the side of her horse, which now prosecuted its roadhomewards, unable to devise a proper mode of addressing the unfortunateyoung lady, and fearing alike to awaken her passions and his own.Whatever he might have proposed to say, was disconcerted by the plainindications that her mind was clouded, more or less slightly, with ashade of insanity, which deranged, though it had not destroyed, herpowers of judgment.

  At length he asked her, with as much calmness as he could assume--if shewas contented--if aught could be done to render her situation moreeasy--if there was aught of which she could complain which he might beable to remedy? She answered gently, that she was calm and resigned,when her brother would permit her to stay at home; but that when she wasbrought into society, she experienced such a change as that which thewater of the brook that slumbers in a crystalline pool of the rock maybe supposed to feel, when, gliding from its quiet bed, it becomesinvolved in the hurry of the cataract.

  "But my brother Mowbray," she said, "thinks he is right,--and perhaps heis so. There are things on which we may ponder too long;--and were hemistaken, why should I not constrain myself in order to pleasehim--there are so few left to whom I can now give either pleasure orpain?--I am a gay girl, too, in conversation, Tyrrel--still as gay for amoment, as when you used to chide me for my folly. So, now I have toldyou all,--I have one question to ask on my part--one question--if I hadbut breath to ask it--Is _he_ still alive?"

  "He lives," answered Tyrrel, but in a tone so low, that nought but theeager attention which Miss Mowbray paid could possibly have caught suchfeeble sounds.

  "Lives!" she exclaimed,--"lives!--he lives, and the blood on your handis not then indelibly imprinted--O Tyrrel, did you but know the joywhich this assurance gives to me!"

  "Joy!" replied Tyrrel--"joy, that the wretch lives who has poisoned ourhappiness for ever?--lives, perhaps, to claim you for his own?"

  "Never, never shall he--dare he do so," replied Clara, wildly, "whilewater can drown, while cords can strangle, steel pierce--while there isa precipice on the hill, a pool in the river--never--never!"

  "Be not thus agitated, my dearest Clara," said Tyrrel; "I spoke I knownot what--he lives indeed--but far distant, and, I trust, never again torevisit Scotland."

  He would have said more, but that, agitated with fear or passion, shestruck her horse impatiently with her riding-whip. The spirited animal,thus stimulated and at the same time restrained, became intractable, andreared so much, that Tyrrel, fearful of the consequences, and trustingto Clara's skill as a horsewoman, thought he best consulted her safetyin letting go the rein. The animal instantly sprung forward on thebroken and hilly path at a very rapid pace, and was soon lost toTyrrel's anxious eyes.

  As he stood pondering whether he ought not to follow Miss Mowbraytowards Shaws-Castle, in order to be satisfied that no accident hadbefallen her on the road, he heard the tread of a horse's feet advancinghastily in the same direction, leading from the hotel. Unwilling to beobserved at this moment, he stepped aside under shelter of theunderwood, and presently afterwards saw Mr. Mowbray of St. Ronan's,followed by a groom, ride hastily past his lurking-place, and pursue thesame road which had been just taken by his sister. The presence of herbrother seemed to assure Miss Mowbray's safety, and so removed Tyrrel'schief reason for following her. Involved in deep and melancholyreflection upon what had passed, nearly satisfied that his longerresidence in Clara's vicinity could only add to her unhappiness and hisown, yet unable to tear himself from that neighbourhood, or torelinquish feelings which had become entwined with his heart-strings, hereturned to his lodgings in the Aultoun, in a state of mind very littleto be envied.

  Tyrrel, on entering his apartment, found that it was not lighted, norwere the Abigails of Mrs. Dods quite so alert as a waiter at Long'smight have been, to supply him with candles. Unapt at any time to exactmuch personal attendance, and desirous to shun at that moment thenecessity of speaking to any person whatever, even on the most triflingsubject, he walked down into the kitchen to supply himself with what hewanted. He did not at first observe that Mrs. Dods herself was presentin this the very centre of her empire, far less that a lofty air ofindignation was seated on the worthy matron's brow. At first it onlyvented itself in broken soliloquy and interjections; as, for example,"Vera bonny wark this!--vera creditable wark, indeed!--a decent house tobe disturbed at these hours--Keep a public--as weel keep a bedlam!"

  Finding these murmurs attracted no attention, the dame placed herselfbetwixt her guest and the door, to which he was now retiring with hislighted candle, and demanded of him what was the meaning of suchbehaviour.

  "Of what behaviour, madam?" said her guest, repeating her question in atone of sternness and impatience so unusual with him, that perhaps shewas sorry at the moment that she had provoked him out of his usualpatient indifference; nay, she might even feel intimidated at thealtercation she had provoked, for the resentment of a quiet and patientperson has always in it something formidable to th
e professed andhabitual grumbler. But her pride was too great to think of a retreat,after having sounded the signal for contest, and so she continued,though in a tone somewhat lowered.

  "Maister Tirl, I wad but just ask you, that are a man of sense, whetherI hae ony right to take your behaviour weel? Here have you been theseten days and mair, eating the best, and drinking the best, and taking upthe best room in my house; and now to think of your gaun doun and takingup with yon idle harebrained cattle at the Waal--I maun e'en be plainwi' ye--I like nane of the fair-fashioned folk that can say My Jo andthink it no; and therefore"----

  "Mrs. Dods," said Tyrrel, interrupting her, "I have no time at presentfor trifles. I am obliged to you for your attention while I have been inyour house; but the disposal of my time, here or elsewhere, must beaccording to my own ideas of pleasure or business--If you are tired ofme as a guest, send in your bill to-morrow."

  "My bill!" said Mrs. Dods; "my bill to-morrow! And what for no wait tillSaturday, when it may be cleared atween us, plack and bawbee, as it wason Saturday last?"

  "Well--we will talk of it to-morrow, Mrs. Dods--Good-night." And hewithdrew accordingly.

  Luckie Dods stood ruminating for a moment. "The deil's in him," shesaid, "for he winna bide being thrawn. And I think the deil's in me toofor thrawing him, sic a canny lad, and sae gude a customer;--and I amjudging he has something on his mind--want of siller it canna be--I amsure if I thought that, I wadna care about my small thing.--But want o'siller it canna be--he pays ower the shillings as if they were sclatestanes, and that's no the way that folk part with their siller whenthere's but little on't--I ken weel eneugh how a customer looks that'snear the grund of the purse.--Weel! I hope he winna mind ony thing ofthis nonsense the morn, and I'll try to guide my tongue somethingbetter.--Hegh, sirs! but, as the minister says, it's an unrulymember--troth, I am whiles ashamed o't mysell."