Poor Miss Finch Page 9

  CHAPTER THE SEVENTH

  Daylight View of the Man

  WHEN I put out my candle that night, I made a mistake--I trusted entirelyto myself to wake in good time in the morning. I ought to have toldZillah to call me.

  Hours passed before I could close my eyes. It was broken rest when itcame, until the day dawned. Then I fell asleep at last in good earnest.When I woke, and looked at my watch, I was amazed to find that it was teno'clock.

  I jumped out of bed, and rang for the old nurse. Was Lucilla at home? No:she had gone out for a little walk. By herself? Yes--by herself. In whatdirection? Up the valley, towards Browndown.

  I instantly arrived at my own conclusion.

  She had got the start of me--thanks to my laziness in sleeping away theprecious hours of the morning in bed. The one thing to do, was to followher as speedily as possible. In half an hour more, _I_ was out for alittle walk by myself--and (what do you think?) _my_ direction also wasup the valley, towards Browndown.

  A pastoral solitude reigned round the lonely little house. I went onbeyond it, into the next winding of the valley. Not a human creature wasto be seen. I returned to Browndown to reconnoiter. Ascending the risingground on which the house was built, I approached it from the back. Thewindows were all open. I listened. (Do you suppose I felt scruples insuch an emergency as this? Oh, pooh! pooh! who but a fool would have feltanything of the sort!) I listened with both my ears. Through a window atthe side of the house, I heard the sound of voices. Advancing noiselesslyon the turf, I heard the voice of Dubourg. He was answered by a woman.Aha, I had caught her. Lucilla herself!

  "Wonderful!" I heard him say. "I believe you have eyes in the ends ofyour fingers. Take this, now--and try if you can tell me what it is."

  "A little vase," she answered--speaking, I give you my word of honor, ascomposedly as if she had known him for years. "Wait! what metal is it?Silver? No. Gold. Did you really make this yourself as well as the box?"

  "Yes. It is an odd taste of mine--isn't it?--to be fond of chasing ingold and silver. Years ago I met with a man in Italy, who taught me. Itamused me, then--and it amuses me now. When I was recovering from anillness last spring, I shaped that vase out of the plain metal, and madethe ornaments on it."

  "Another mystery revealed!" she exclaimed. "Now I know what you wantedwith those gold and silver plates that came to you from London. Are youaware of what a character you have got here? There are some of us whosuspect you of coining false money!"

  They both burst out laughing as gaily as a couple of children. I declareI wished myself one of the party! But no. I had my duty to do as arespectable woman. My duty was to steal a little nearer, and see if anyfamiliarities were passing between these two merry young people. One halfof the open window was sheltered, on the outer side, by a Venetian blind.I stood behind the blind, and peeped in. (Duty! oh, dear me, painful, butnecessary duty!) Dubourg was sitting with his back to the window. Lucillafaced me opposite to him. Her cheeks were flushed with pleasure. She heldin her lap a pretty little golden vase. Her clever fingers were passingover it rapidly, exactly as they had passed, the previous evening, overmy face.

  "Shall I tell you what the pattern is on your vase?" she went on.

  "Can you really do that?"

  "You shall judge for yourself. The pattern is made of leaves, with birdsplaced among them, at intervals. Stop! I think I have felt leaves likethese on the old side of the rectory, against the wall. Ivy?"

  "Amazing! it _is_ ivy."

  "The birds," she resumed. "I shan't be satisfied till I have told youwhat the birds are. Haven't I got silver birds like them--only muchlarger--for holding pepper, and mustard, and sugar, and so on. Owls!" sheexclaimed, with a cry of triumph. "Little owls, sitting in ivy-nests.What a delightful pattern! I never heard of anything like it before."

  "Keep the vase!" he said. "You will honor me, you will delight me, if youwill keep the vase."

  She rose and shook her head--without giving him back the vase, however.

  "I might take it, if you were not a stranger," she said. "Why don't youtell us who you are, and what your reason is for living all by yourselfin this dull place?"

  He stood before her, with his head down, and sighed bitterly.

  "I know I ought to explain myself," he answered. "I can't be surprised ifpeople are suspicious of me." He paused, and added very earnestly, "Ican't tell it to _you._ Oh, no--not to _you!_"

  "Why not?"

  "Don't ask me!"

  She felt for the table, with her ivory cane, and put the vase down onit--very unwillingly.

  "Good morning, Mr. Dubourg," she said.

  He opened the door of the room for her in silence. Waiting close againstthe side of the house, I saw them appear under the porch, and cross thelittle walled enclosure in front. As she stepped out on the open turfbeyond, she turned, and spoke to him again.

  "If you won't tell _me_ your secret," she said, "will you tell it to someone else? Will you tell it to a friend of mine?"

  "To what friend?" he asked.

  "To the lady whom you met with me last night."

  He hesitated. "I am afraid I offended the lady," he said.

  "So much the more reason for your explaining yourself," she rejoined. "Ifyou will only satisfy _her,_ I might ask you to come and see us--I mighteven take the vase." With that strong hint, she actually gave him herhand at parting. Her perfect self-possession, her easy familiarity withthis stranger--so bold, and yet so innocent--petrified me. "I shall sendmy friend to you this morning," she said imperiously, striking her caneon the turf. "I insist on your telling her the whole truth."

  With that, she signed to him that he was to follow her no farther, andwent her way back to the village.

  Does it not surprise you, as it surprised me? Instead of her blindnessmaking her nervous in the presence of a man unknown to her, it appearedto have exactly the contrary effect. It made her fearless.

  He stood on the spot where she had left him, watching her as she recededin the distance. His manner towards her, in the house and out of thehouse, had exhibited, it is only fair to say, the utmost considerationand respect. Whatever shyness there had been between them, was shynessentirely on his side. I had a short stuff dress on, which made no noiseover the grass. I skirted the wall of the enclosure, and approached himunsuspected, from behind. "The charming creature!" he said to himself,still following her with his eyes. As the words passed his lips, I struckhim smartly on the shoulder with my parasol.

  "Mr. Dubourg," I said, "I am waiting to hear the truth."

  He started violently--and confronted me in speechless dismay; his colorcoming and going like the color of a young girl. Anybody who understandswomen will understand that this behavior on his part, far from softeningme towards him, only encouraged me to bully him.

  "In your present position in this place, sir," I went on, "do you thinkit honorable conduct on your part to decoy a young lady, to whom you area perfect stranger, into your house--a young lady who claims, in right ofher sad affliction, even more than the usual forbearance and respectwhich a gentleman owes to her sex?"

  His shifting color settled, for the time, into an angry red.

  "You are doing me a great injustice, ma'am," he answered. "It is a shameto say that I have failed in respect to the young lady! I feel thesincerest admiration and compassion for her. Circumstances justify me inwhat I have done; I could not have acted otherwise. I refer you to theyoung lady herself."

  His voice rose higher and higher--he was thoroughly offended with me.Need I add (seeing the prospect not far off of _his_ bullying _me_), thatI unblushingly shifted my ground, and tried a little civility next?

  "If I have done you an injustice, sir, I ask your pardon," I answered."Having said so much, I have only to add that I shall be satisfied if Ihear what the circumstances are, from yourself."

  This soothed his offended dignity. His gentler manner began to showitself again.

  "The truth is," he said, "that I owe my introduction to the
young lady toan ill-tempered little dog belonging to the people at the inn. The doghad followed the person here who attends on me: and it startled the ladyby flying out and barking at her as she passed this house. After I haddriven away the dog, I begged her to come in and sit down until she hadrecovered herself. Am I to blame for doing that? I don't deny that I feltthe deepest interest in her and that I did my best to amuse her, whileshe honored me by remaining in my house. May I ask if I have satisfiedyou?"

  With the best will in the world to maintain my unfavorable opinion ofhim, I was, by this time, fairly forced to acknowledge to myself that theopinion was wrong. His explanation was, in tone and manner as well as inlanguage, the explanation of a gentleman.

  And, besides--though he was a little too effeminate for my taste--hereally was such a handsome young man! His hair was of a fine brightchestnut color, with a natural curl in it. His eyes were of the lightestbrown I had ever seen--with a singularly winning gentle modest expressionin them. As for his complexion--so creamy and spotless and fair--he hadno right to it: it ought to have been a woman's complexion, or at least aboy's. He looked indeed more like a boy than a man: his smooth face wasquite uncovered, either by beard, whisker, or mustache. If he had askedme, I should have guessed him (though he was really three years older) tohave been younger than Lucilla.

  "Our acquaintance has begun rather oddly, sir," I said. "You spokestrangely to me last night; and I have spoken hastily to you thismorning. Accept my excuses--and let us try if we can't do each otherjustice in the end. I have something more to say to you before we part.Will you think me a very extraordinary woman, if I suggest that you mayas well invite _me_ next, to take a chair in your house?"

  He laughed with the pleasantest good temper, and led the way in.

  We entered the room in which he had received Lucilla; and sat downtogether on the two chairs near the window--with this difference--that Icontrived to possess myself of the seat which he had occupied, and so toplace him with his face to the light.

  "Mr. Dubourg," I began, "you will already have guessed that I overheardwhat Miss Finch said to you at parting?"

  He bowed, in silent acknowledgment that it was so--and began to toynervously with the gold vase which Lucilla had left on the table.

  "What do you propose to do?" I went on. "You have spoken of the interestyou feel in my young friend. If it is a true interest, it will lead youto merit her good opinion by complying with her request. Tell me plainly,if you please. Will you come and see us, in the character of a gentlemanwho has satisfied two ladies that they can receive him as a neighbor anda friend? Or will you oblige me to warn the rector of Dimchurch that hisdaughter is in danger of permitting a doubtful character to force hisacquaintance on her?"

  He put the vase back on the table, and turned deadly pale.

  "If you knew what I have suffered," he said; "if you had gone throughwhat I have been compelled to endure--" His voice failed him; his softbrown eyes moistened; his head drooped. He said no more.

  In common with all women, I like a man to _be_ a man. There was, to mymind, something weak and womanish in the manner in which this Dubourg metthe advance which I had made to him. He not only failed to move mypity--he was in danger of stirring up my contempt.

  "I too have suffered," I answered. "I too have been compelled to endure.But there is this difference between us. _My_ courage is not worn out. Inyour place, if I knew myself to be an honorable man, I would not allowthe breath of suspicion to rest on me for an instant. Cost what it might,I would vindicate myself. I should be ashamed to cry--I should speak."

  That stung him. He started up on his feet.

  "Have _you_ been stared at by hundreds of cruel eyes?" he burst outpassionately. "Have _you_ been pointed at, without mercy, wherever yougo? Have you been put in the pillory of the newspapers? Has thephotograph proclaimed _your_ infamous notoriety in all the shop-windows?"He dropped back into his chair, and wrung his hands in a frenzy. "Oh, thepublic!" he exclaimed; "the horrible public! I can't get away fromthem--I can't hide myself, even here. You have had your stare at me, likethe rest," he cried, turning on me fiercely. "I knew it when you passedme last night."

  "I never saw you out of this place," I answered. "As for the portraits ofyou, whoever you may be, I know nothing about them. I was far too anxiousand too wretched, to amuse myself by looking into shop-windows before Icame here. You, and your name, are equally strange to me. If you have anyrespect for yourself, tell me who you are. Out with the truth, sir! Youknow as well as I do that you have gone too far to stop."

  I seized him by the hand. I was wrought up by the extraordinary outburstthat had escaped him to the highest pitch of excitement: I was hardlyconscious of what I said or did. At that supreme moment, we enraged, wemaddened each other. His hand closed convulsively on my hand. His eyeslooked wildly into mine.

  "Do you read the newspapers?" he asked.

  "Yes."

  "Have you seen----?"

  "I have _not_ seen the name of 'Dubourg'----"

  "'My name is not 'Dubourg.'"

  "What is it?"

  He suddenly stooped over me; and whispered his name in my ear.

  In my turn I started, thunderstruck, to my feet.

  "Good God!" I cried. "You are the man who was tried for murder lastmonth, and who was all but hanged, on the false testimony of a clock!"