第 75 页

to make it rather discordant, though the manner was refined and the

person well-favoured, and though the depreciatory part of it was so

skilfully thrown off as to be very difficult for one not perfectly

acquainted with the English language to understand, or, even

understanding, to take offence at: so simple and dispassionate was its

tone. After finishing his veal in the midst of silence, the speaker

again addressed his friend.

'Look,' said he, in his former tone, 'at this gentleman our host, not

yet in the prime of life, who in so graceful a way and with such courtly

urbanity and modesty presides over us! Manners fit for a crown! Dine

with the Lord Mayor of London (if you can get an invitation) and observe

the contrast. This dear fellow, with the finest cut face I ever saw, a

face in perfect drawing, leaves some laborious life and comes up here

I don't know how many feet above the level of the sea, for no other

purpose on earth (except enjoying himself, I hope, in a capital

refectory) than to keep an hotel for idle poor devils like you and

me, and leave the bill to our consciences! Why, isn't it a beautiful

sacrifice? What do we want more to touch us? Because rescued people of

interesting appearance are not, for eight or nine months out of every

twelve, holding on here round the necks of the most sagacious of dogs

carrying wooden bottles, shall we disparage the place? No! Bless the

place. It's a great place, a glorious place!'

The chest of the grey-haired gentleman who was the Chief of the

important party, had swelled as if with a protest against his being

numbered among poor devils. No sooner had the artist traveller ceased

speaking than he himself spoke with great dignity, as having it

incumbent on him to take the lead in most places, and having deserted

that duty for a little while.

He weightily communicated his opinion to their host, that his life must

be a very dreary life here in the winter.

The host allowed to Monsieur that it was a little monotonous. The air

was difficult to breathe for a length of time consecutively. The cold

was very severe. One needed youth and strength to bear it. However,

having them and the blessing of Heaven--

Yes, that was very good. 'But the confinement,' said the grey-haired

gentleman.

There were many days, even in bad weather, when it was possible to

walk about outside. It was the custom to beat a little track, and take

exercise there.

'But the space,' urged the grey-haired gentleman. 'So small.

So--ha--very limited.'

Monsieur would recall to himself that there were the refuges to visit,

and that tracks had to be made to them also.

Monsieur still urged, on the other hand, that the space was

so--ha--hum--so very contracted. More than that, it was always the same,

always the same.

With a deprecating smile, the host gently raised and gently lowered his

shoulders. That was true, he remarked, but permit him to say that almost

all objects had their various points of view. Monsieur and he did not

see this poor life of his from the same point of view. Monsieur was not

used to confinement.

'I--ha--yes, very true,' said the grey-haired gentleman. He seemed to

receive quite a shock from the force of the argument.

Monsieur, as an English traveller, surrounded by all means of travelling

pleasantly; doubtless possessing fortune, carriages, and servants--

'Perfectly, perfectly. Without doubt,' said the gentleman.

Monsieur could not easily place himself in the position of a person who

had not the power to choose, I will go here to-morrow, or there next

day; I will pass these barriers, I will enlarge those bounds. Monsieur

could not realise, perhaps, how the mind accommodated itself in such

things to the force of necessity.

'It is true,' said Monsieur. 'We will--ha--not pursue the subject.

You are--hum--quite accurate, I have no doubt. We will say no more.'

The supper having come to a close, he drew his chair away as he spoke,

and moved back to his former place by the fire. As it was very cold

at the greater part of the table, the other guests also resumed their

former seats by the fire, designing to toast themselves well before

going to bed. The host, when they rose from the table, bowed to all

present, wished them good night, and withdrew. But first the insinuating

traveller had asked him if they could have some wine made hot; and as

he had answered Yes, and had presently afterwards sent it in, that

traveller, seated in the centre of the group, and in the full heat of

the fire, was soon engaged in serving it out to the rest.

At this time, the younger of the two young ladies, who had been silently

attentive in her dark corner (the fire-light was the chief light in the

sombre room, the lamp being smoky and dull) to what had been said of the

absent lady, glided out. She was at a loss which way to turn when she

had softly closed the door; but, after a little hesitation among the

sounding passages and the many ways, came to a room in a corner of the

main gallery, where the servants were at their supper. From these she

obtained a lamp, and a direction to the lady's room.

It was up the great staircase on the story above. Here and there, the

bare white walls were broken by an iron grate, and she thought as she

went along that the place was something like a prison. The arched door

of the lady's room, or cell, was not quite shut. After knocking at it

two or three times without receiving an answer, she pushed it gently

open, and looked in.

The lady lay with closed eyes on the outside of the bed, protected from

the cold by the blankets and wrappers with which she had been covered

when she revived from her fainting fit. A dull light placed in the deep

recess of the window, made little impression on the arched room. The

visitor timidly stepped to the bed, and said, in a soft whisper, 'Are

you better?'

The lady had fallen into a slumber, and the whisper was too low to awake

her. Her visitor, standing quite still, looked at her attentively.

'She is very pretty,' she said to herself. 'I never saw so beautiful a

face. O how unlike me!'

It was a curious thing to say, but it had some hidden meaning, for it

filled her eyes with tears.

'I know I must be right. I know he spoke of her that evening. I could

very easily be wrong on any other subject, but not on this, not on

this!'

With a quiet and tender hand she put aside a straying fold of the

sleeper's hair, and then touched the hand that lay outside the covering.

'I like to look at her,' she breathed to herself. 'I like to see what

has affected him so much.'

She had not withdrawn her hand, when the sleeper opened her eyes and

started.

'Pray don't be alarmed. I am only one of the travellers from

down-stairs. I came to ask if you were better, and if I could do

anything for you.'

'I think you have already been so kind as to send your servants to my

assistance?'

'No, not I; that was my sister. Are you better?'

'Much better. It is only a slight bruise, and has been well looked to,

and is almost easy now. It made me giddy and faint in a moment. It had

hurt me before; but at last it overpowered me all at once.' 'May I stay

with you until some one comes? Would you like it?'

'I should like it, for it is lonely here; but I am afraid you will feel

the cold too much.'

'I don't mind cold. I am not delicate, if I look so.' She quickly moved

one of the two rough chairs to the bedside, and sat down. The other as

quickly moved a part of some travelling wrapper from herself, and drew

it over her, so that her arm, in keeping it about her, rested on her

shoulder.

'You have so much the air of a kind nurse,' said the lady, smiling on

her, 'that you seem as if you had come to me from home.'

'I am very glad of it.'

'I was dreaming of home when I woke just now. Of my old home, I mean,

before I was married.'

'And before you were so far away from it.'

'I have been much farther away from it than this; but then I took

the best part of it with me, and missed nothing. I felt solitary as I

dropped asleep here, and, missing it a little, wandered back to it.'

There was a sorrowfully affectionate and regretful sound in her voice,

which made her visitor refrain from looking at her for the moment.

'It is a curious chance which at last brings us together, under this

covering in which you have wrapped me,' said the visitor after a

pause;'for do you know, I think I have been looking for you some time.'

'Looking for me?'

'I believe I have a little note here, which I was to give to you

whenever I found you. This is it. Unless I greatly mistake, it is

addressed to you? Is it not?'

The lady took it, and said yes, and read it. Her visitor watched her as

she did so. It was very short. She flushed a little as she put her lips

to her visitor's cheek, and pressed her hand.

'The dear young friend to whom he presents me, may be a comfort to me

at some time, he says. She is truly a comfort to me the first time I see

her.'

'Perhaps you don't,' said the visitor, hesitating--'perhaps you don't

know my story? Perhaps he never told you my story?'

'No.'

'Oh no, why should he! I have scarcely the right to tell it myself at

present, because I have been entreated not to do so. There is not much

in it, but it might account to you for my asking you not to say anything

about the letter here. You saw my family with me, perhaps? Some of

them--I only say this to you--are a little proud, a little prejudiced.'

'You shall take it back again,' said the other; 'and then my husband is

sure not to see it. He might see it and speak of it, otherwise, by some

accident. Will you put it in your bosom again, to be certain?'

She did so with great care. Her small, slight hand was still upon the

letter, when they heard some one in the gallery outside.

'I promised,' said the visitor, rising, 'that I would write to him after

seeing you (I could hardly fail to see you sooner or later), and tell

him if you were well and happy. I had better say you were well and

happy.'

'Yes, yes, yes! Say I was very well and very happy. And that I thanked

him affectionately, and would never forget him.'

'I shall see you in the morning. After that we are sure to meet again

before very long. Good night!'

'Good night. Thank you, thank you. Good night, my dear!'

Both of them were hurried and fluttered as they exchanged this parting,

and as the visitor came out of the door. She had expected to meet the

lady's husband approaching it; but the person in the gallery was not

he: it was the traveller who had wiped the wine-drops from his moustache

with the piece of bread. When he heard the step behind him, he turned

round--for he was walking away in the dark. His politeness, which

was extreme, would not allow of the young lady's lighting herself

down-stairs, or going down alone. He took her lamp, held it so as to

throw the best light on the stone steps, and followed her all the way

to the supper-room. She went down, not easily hiding how much she was

inclined to shrink and tremble; for the appearance of this traveller was

particularly disagreeable to her. She had sat in her quiet corner before

supper imagining what he would have been in the scenes and places within

her experience, until he inspired her with an aversion that made him

little less than terrific.

He followed her down with his smiling politeness, followed her in,

and resumed his seat in the best place in the hearth. There with the

wood-fire, which was beginning to burn low, rising and falling upon him

in the dark room, he sat with his legs thrust out to warm, drinking the

hot wine down to the lees, with a monstrous shadow imitating him on the

wall and ceiling.

The tired company had broken up, and all the rest were gone to bed

except the young lady's father, who dozed in his chair by the fire.

The traveller had been at the pains of going a long way up-stairs to his

sleeping-room to fetch his pocket-flask of brandy. He told them so, as

he poured its contents into what was left of the wine, and drank with a

new relish.

'May I ask, sir, if you are on your way to Italy?'

The grey-haired gentleman had roused himself, and was preparing to

withdraw. He answered in the affirmative.

'I also!' said the traveller. 'I shall hope to have the honour

of offering my compliments in fairer scenes, and under softer

circumstances, than on this dismal mountain.'

The gentleman bowed, distantly enough, and said he was obliged to him.

'We poor gentlemen, sir,' said the traveller, pulling his moustache dry

with his hand, for he had dipped it in the wine and brandy; 'we poor

gentlemen do not travel like princes, but the courtesies and graces of

life are precious to us. To your health, sir!'

'Sir, I thank you.'

'To the health of your distinguished family--of the fair ladies, your

daughters!'

'Sir, I thank you again, I wish you good night. My dear, are

our--ha--our people in attendance?'

'They are close by, father.'

'Permit me!' said the traveller, rising and holding the door open, as

the gentleman crossed the room towards it with his arm drawn through his

daughter's. 'Good repose! To the pleasure of seeing you once more! To

to-morrow!'

As he kissed his hand, with his best manner and his daintiest smile,

the young lady drew a little nearer to her father, and passed him with a

dread of touching him.

'Humph!' said the insinuating traveller, whose manner shrunk, and whose

voice dropped when he was left alone. 'If they all go to bed, why I must

go. They are in a devil of a hurry. One would think the night would be