Agnes Giberne

“ Emmeline drew another long breath, "Then nobody need be conquered," she said. "Nobody need go down—hopelessly."
"Nobody, Emmie! Never! There is always help to be had—if only one is willing."
Emmeline dashed away one or two tears. "A carriage at the door," she said softly. "And—I do think it is Sir Cyril."
Emmeline's flush and brightness sent a pain to the mother's heart. She could not analyse the causes of her child's pleasure, and it made her fear for the future. Yet what could be said or done? For her husband's sake, she might not check the friendship. ”

“ Miss Moggridge, like Sybella, was fond of lively colouring. The possession of a poetic soul did not imbue her with good taste in clothing her body. To gratify Evelyn, she had suppressed a startling cheese-hued costume, and wore nothing worse than sea-green. Lady Lucas was in black velvet; Mrs. Trevelyan and Evelyn were in black silk; Sybella alone was resplendent in sheeny mauve and snowy lace. Jean's white dress was the simplest imaginable; her only ornament being one large pearl-pin in her abundant hair; but Cyril again told himself that "he had never seen Jean so handsome." ”

“ Jem mastered himself, though every muscle in his face was twitching yet.
"Are you sure you don't mean Oswald?"
"Oh no. Oswald says boys are never pretty; only brave. But I think men are pretty sometimes."
"What do you find pretty in me? Eh?"
Jean found response easy. "Your eyes are pretty," she said. "They look so funny. And your mouth is pretty, only you're getting a horrid moustache. And I like the way you do your hair. It's got a nice wave just on the forehead. And you laugh so often. Nobody's pretty that doesn't smile."
"But Miss Evelyn Devereux smiles." ”

“ Jean saw and understood, the soft side of her nature springing in response.
"You won't mind some day, Cyril."
"Not he," said Jem. "He'll be as plucky as anything! See if he isn't! You must give him time. Everything isn't easy to everybody, you know. It really is braver of Cyril to get half over, feeling as he does, than for you to run backwards and forwards fifty times. Yes, of course, much braver!"—emphatically. "Because one is hard, and the other isn't. Mind, Cyril, don't try it alone for a time or two. Take Jean's hand, and try a few stones. Do a little more every day. ”

“ She had not so loved him while he was with her: but the loneliness of her young widowhood, the sense of having no one to appeal to, caused a magnified sense of his protection and sympathy, of his unvarying kindness, of his unfailing interest in all that had concerned her.
Evelyn forgot now, or thought of as utterly unimportant, the daily frictions, the differences of opinion, which had so worried her. The absolutism of his judgment, the narrowness of his views, became as nothing, seen beside her thousand recollections of his true nobility and goodness, of his pure and upright life. ”

“ One would wish to give one's best years to that work—and then—"
"But not to go on too long," suggested Evelyn. "Not to use up all your powers."
"They could hardly be used up to a better purpose."
"No—only—" she hesitated, dropping her voice, as the General turned to speak with Jean. "Oh, I understand! It must be a splendid life—a life worth living."
"It is a life worth living."
"So different from most people's lives!" and the deep blue eyes, which for a moment had kindled as of old, went forlornly to some far distance, with a listless sadness which struck home to Jem like a keen stab. ”

“ Jean was learning early the sense of loss entailed by such barter. At times the vague loneliness would take shape in a thirst for her mother. When Oswald had treated her to a boyish rebuff, she would lie awake at night, clasping her pillow with both arms, and wondering how it would feel to have a mother's arms thus folded tightly round her. The Ingram part of Jean did so cry out for love and gentleness: while the Trevelyan part was ashamed, and tried to stand independently aloof.
With Jem she had a sense of placid satisfaction, unknown in other quarters. ”

“ A friendship, which is only enhanced by the little partings and meetings and excitements of the one existence, will not always stand the pull of the other. The compact had not long been made before Evelyn began, after her wont, to regret it.
She was sincerely fond of Miss Moggridge; yet this fondness was a mild affair compared with the absorbing and jealous worship of the older lady. Miss Moggridge's dumbness of love lessened under the thawing influence of perpetual nearness; and the ardour of a devotion which could never leave its object alone became a weariness to that object. ”

“ Dearly as Jean loved Dulveriford Rectory, and the associations of her childhood, she was of too vivid and malleable a nature not to rejoice in the new knowledge springing from now surroundings. Jean learnt more of ease, of freedom, of frank girlish simplicity in those weeks, than in all her previous life. She learnt to hold her own in good-humoured argument; to stand being laughed at, and sometimes even to make others laugh; to be mistress of herself, not alone in action but also in manner. Rigid reserve was fast thawing, and she allowed herself to be affectionate to Mrs. Trevelyan. ”

“ Jean had never before laughed to such an extent; indeed, when once it becomes an admitted fact that somebody is funny, very little wit is needed to set people's risible muscles in motion.
She liked Mr. Cuthbert, certainly. Not as she liked Jem; not as she liked Cyril; not with liking to be named beside her love for Oswald; still, she found him a pleasant companion. Of course he was ages older than herself; why, he actually had a grey hair or two visible. Jean set him down loosely in her girlish mind as "somewhere about forty or fifty," which to a girl not yet seventeen, sounds venerable. ”

“ Trevelyan had failed to make any impression on him.
Jean knew all this, and Mr. Trevelyan's involuntary utterance was a further revelation.
Everything in life against the man! Everything hardening; everything embittering; nothing softening; nothing humanising. Then, how far could he help being what he had become? How far was Barclay responsible? Might he have emerged from such surroundings aught else than the miserable and guilty being that he was? Surely, yes—had he the will to emerge! But could the crippled and stunted will so assert itself? ”

“ Jean knelt on the rug, studying this phase of affairs in the firelight.
"He is very kind," she remarked moderately.
"Yes, you like him, of course. You could not know him, and not like him. But you do not know my husband fully, Jean. Who can—except myself? There are a hundred things that people never hear. He is so ready to take trouble for anybody. And so perfectly honourable—he never could stoop to any of the little mean things which other men do stoop to—even good men sometimes, not thinking. It is such devotion to what he feels to be right. ”

“ This consciousness often drew Jean on to open her mind to Jem, as to no other human being.
"Where is Oswald this afternoon?" Jem asked. "Cricket! Ah, that's unfortunate. And you couldn't get there to look on. What a pity you are a girl, as girls can't join! I say, Jean, suppose you come for a walk with me up the gorge. I'm all alone; and I want somebody."
Which was true—for Jean's sake. He had not wanted somebody for his own sake, unless it were a somebody unattainable.
Jem loved to haunt the gorge these days, for Evelyn's sake. ”

“ If he were kept in by rheumatism, she wandered to Dulveriford Church.
Evelyn cared little what might be said, since she cared little for Dutton people. If any murmur reached her, she smiled her faintly satirical smile, and went on, unmoved. Why should she shape her life to suit the notions of Lady Lucas, or the Atherstones, or a dozen other people, whose very existence was a matter of indifference to her? The only friends she had in the place were the Trevelyans.
General Villiers had shown displeasure more than once at her persistent coldness to those whom he most favoured. ”

“ One ought to be good, but one ought not to be only good. It shouldn't be just mere commonplace goodness."
"It ought to have a distinct character of its own, in each individual," suggested Jem, not a little interested in the play of Jean's face.
"Yes; I suppose that is what I want to say. My father always talks of General Villiers as such a 'very good man;' and it sounds to me as if he said it because he had nothing else to say. But I don't think one loves people merely because they are good—does one? At least I don't. There are numbers of good people that I can't love at all. ”

“ He never had sought to win her: so much Jem could aver. He had resolutely restrained himself; had treated her with mere grave kindness and courtesy; nay, he had even forced a certain sternness, a certain coldness, to cover his burning devotion. The love of a strong man of thirty-five, which has slowly grown for years, in the face of hopeless obstacles, is no light thing. Jem was not like Cyril. He could never hesitate as to whom he loved. Once and again, with all the force of his vigorous Trevelyan nature, he had stamped his passion under foot, and had for a while counted it slain ”

“ AN UNWILLING WITNESS.
"The world goes up, and the world goes down,
And the sunshine follows the rain;
And yesterday's sneer, and yesterday's frown
Can never come over again,
Sweet wife:
No, never come over again."
C. KINGSLEY.
"INDOORS, my love? That is right. It seems disposed to snow," observed General Villiers, entering the boudoir half-an-hour later. "Miss Trevelyan here!"
"Snow!" repeated Evelyn, turning to the window. "How pretty! Look, Jean—such great soft feathers. Yes, Jean has been here some time. I shall keep her to tea, and let Walters see her home. ”

“ Cyril sat down in an easy attitude, facing Jean. "You haven't told me yet—are you pleased to see me again? After such an age! I told aunt Sybella that go home I would this summer; and if she chose to stay away, I should go alone. So she cried and gave in. Crying doesn't mean much with her. Just a little ebullition of feeling. Such rot! Tearing over the Continent for nothing. I've seen ruined castles enough to last for twenty years. Well, you haven't told me yet—are you pleased?"
"You don't allow one a chance to say anything. Cyril, I do believe you never will grow up." ”

“ Jean came to another break, and Mr. Trevelyan knew that she was sorely tried. "I can't see—Being dead doesn't make a man right in every single thing he ever did and said!"
"Not precisely!" with a grim smile at the mode of expression. "It only lends more charity to our judgments."
"But if I were Evelyn, I don't think I could make myself feel and believe what I didn't really feel and believe, only because I wanted to agree with him." ”

“ It was the face of one to be not only loved, but leant upon. You might be sure, so leaning, that Jean would not give way beneath the strain. Giving way is commonly far more a matter of weak will, than of weak muscle, bodily or mental. Jean might break, but she would not bend. It is the feeble natures that bend. The strong hold out, and rather die than yield.
Jean studied Jem in return; not quite able to make him out. A certain burden pressed upon him, which he failed to hide. The grey eyes were troubled beneath their pleasant sparkle, and a weight on the forehead drew the brows often together. ”

“ He had found his way to the drawing-room sofa, and there it seemed most merciful to leave him undisturbed. None in the house could guess at the real cause of his prostration—could know how the haunting vision of those sad violet eyes never left him for a moment. Jem saw them continually, whether his own aching eyes were open or shut.
"I'm sure I don't know what's to be done. He doesn't seem fit to go," said Madame Collier, when six o'clock came.
Jean would hardly have been more startled by the fall of a stack of chimneys than by the implied doubt. ”

“ An artist ought to be like a poet, able to dive deeper and rise higher than common men. You wouldn't think much of a poet who is always telling you that grass is green and the sky blue. Anybody can do as much, without poetic power. But half the modern painters don't tell us more, don't go deeper than the outside . . . I'm afraid Oswald would call all this 'bosh;' but, you know, you can't be in leading-strings to Oswald all your life. Oswald doesn't know everything; and you have brains enough to think for yourself."
Jean was still too much amazed to be able to analyse her own sensations. ”

“ Though pale, Evelyn was braver now—now when Jean began to feel that some cause for uneasiness really did exist. Suppose General Villiers had missed his way in the blinding snow? This was not absolutely impossible even on the high road. A false turn might have carried him far out of his route, before he discovered his mistake, and might mean some risk of chill for an elderly man. As for the footpath across the marshes, Jean scouted the idea as absurd. No man in his senses would choose such a path on such an afternoon, even though the high road might mean nearly a mile farther round. ”

“ Little as Sybella knew it, she was slowly killing her last remnants of power over Cyril. A gentle and loving woman might have guided him with a rein of silk, might have done with him almost what she would. His affectionateness could have been worked upon to any extent. But unauthorised attempts at control roused all his latent powers of resistance; and ill-temper on her side deadened feeling on his. Nothing is so deadening to affection as the constant friction of an uncertain and irritable temper. Cyril had once been really fond of Miss Devereux ”

“ I don't care for young people or boys. There is always a want in them. Why should you talk as if there were such a very great difference between you and me? I think age has more to do with mind than body."
The words dropped slowly from her soft rosy lips, each with an intonation of serious thought. General Villiers was swept away by them. He took her hands into his own, kissing again and again the slender fingers.
"My little girl! Can it be true? Will you be mine? Could you make up your mind to marry me, my Evelyn—to let my home be yours?"
"Marry you! Live at Dutton Park!" ”

“ Jean believed in Oswald as of old, loving him with the warmest love she had at command. No human being had ever yet been dearer to her than Oswald, and nothing else could equal that delight of her heart, a day with Oswald. As of old, she lavished pure gold, to receive brass in exchange.
Still, an afternoon with Jem brought pleasure. She had always looked up to Jem, rested on Jem's judgment, given Jem cousinly affection. There was a placid satisfaction in the certainty that Jem never misunderstood her, which she could not feel in Oswald's companionship. ”

“ He knew little of Miss Devereux.
Evelyn made a move as if to go. "Come, Cyril—" she said; "we will walk round by the bridge. I suppose you have had enough of the stepping-stones for one day."
"There's a prettier path to the Brow up the glen—crossing the rustic bridge," observed Jem. "But of course you know."
"Oh, I know it all. I have spent so many of my holidays here—only not very lately. That is my favourite ramble. But it is supposed to be too lonely for me, with only Cyril; and somehow nobody is ever free to escort us."
"Why, I go alone anywhere," said Jean. ”

“ Do you understand? You must grow into a real man before you speak—strong and brave and good—a man she can respect and lean upon, not a twopence-halfpenny creature in a coat."
The words sank deep; deeper than Jem knew.
"Yes, I will!" said Cyril.
"And don't mind waiting. Don't be easily disheartened, or get into a tiff and throw it up, because she isn't to be had at the first go. If she's worth winning, she's worth waiting for."
Cyril heaved a sigh. Sybella was always giving vent to audible expirations of air, and the trick is infectious.
"I think Jean is just exactly like Rachel," he said. ”

“ We could get home quickly from there—if—but Jean must not hear yet—till we know! To lose—both—at one blow! It would be too terrible!"
Jem did not at once reply. He had seldom passed through a sharper ordeal than this interview. The whole force of his powerful will was needed to restrain the rush of feeling, aroused by her look of sorrow, to hold back words and looks which must have revealed his love. He had long ceased to ask whether or no he loved Evelyn. He knew only too well that he never had loved, and never could love, any other woman. ”

“ If one cannot hope to shine in any other respect, one may at least seek to excel in the matter of aches and pains.
Mr. and Mrs. Trevelyan were in a steady swing of talk; Giles Cuthbert in subdued and sleepy tones made himself agreeable to Evelyn; Cyril kept Lady Lucas going; and Jean, far from looking bored, enjoyed her companion—a pleasant and gentlemanly young fellow, when he could be kept clear of certain controversial subjects which were to him as a red rag to a bull. ”

“ The lane curved hither and thither, in aimless fashion: having on either side a hedge, with trees at intervals. Slanting rays from the sun lighted up the right hand hedge with a dim glory, and fell upon the patches of dull lichen which decorated an aged elm trunk, smitten into ruggedness by prolonged hardships of wind and weather.
"Things are beautiful everywhere," said Jean. "Even in a flat country like this."
"It is not Dulveriford," responded Jem. And as if this supplied the opening for which he had waited, he went on—
"How is your father? And—" in a lower voice, "Mrs. Villiers?" ”

“ Ingram at once, Stowe—and wait here till—No, only Jean with me!" As Sybella drew near. "Only Jean!"
Sybella fell back.
Evelyn passed away with Jean, and Stowe vanished to obey the order.
"Well! I really do think—" gasped the astonished lady. "I really do! And I her aunt! And as for Jean Trevelyan! But she always was demented about those Trevelyans! Such a stupid uninteresting girl! And Mr. Trevelyan as stiff as a poker—the most disagreeable man I ever saw! I am sure they are the last people I would ever go to in trouble. ”