Chapter Twenty One.
In the Thick of the Fight.
“Oh, that ’twere I had been false—not she!”
In the meantime the unconscious Rupert was strolling up and down in front of the house waiting for his uncle to come out, and intending to take him into his confidence and ask for his good offices with Ruth’s guardians. It was well for her that he had no suspicion of what was passing; for little as she guessed it, he would have greatly resented her treachery towards Cheriton as well as towards himself. But Rupert was in high spirits, and when Mr Lester joined him, he told his tale with the best grace that he could. His uncle was pleased with the news, and questioned him pretty closely upon all its details, shook his head over the previous difficulties which Rupert admitted, told him that he was quite right to be open with him, congratulated him when he owned to having met with success with the lady herself, and, pleased with being consulted, threw himself heart and soul into the matter.
As they came up towards the back of the house, they met Alvar, who, rather hastily, asked if they had seen Cheriton.
“He went to take a walk. I am afraid he will be tired,” he explained.
“Eh, Alvar, you’re too fidgety,” said his father good-humouredly. “There’s Cheriton, looking at the puppies.”
Alvar looked, and beheld a group gathered in the doorway of a great barn, the figures standing out clear in the sunshine against the dark shadow behind. Nettie was standing in the centre with her arms apparently full of whining little puppies; the mother, a handsome retriever, was yelping and whining near. Buffer was barking and dancing in a state of frantic jealousy beside her. Bob and Jack were disputing over the merits of the puppies. Dick Seyton, with a cigar in his mouth, was leaning lazily against the barn door, while Cheriton, looking, to Alvar’s anxious eyes, startlingly pale, was standing near.
“But say, Cherry, say,” urged Nettie, “which of them are to be kept? Don’t you think this is the best of all?”
“That,” interrupted Bob, “that one will never be worth anything. Look, Cherry, this one’s head—”
“Bob, what are you about here at this time in the morning?” said his father. “I told you I must have some work done these holidays. Be off with you at once.”
“Cherry said yesterday he would come and help me,” growled Bob.
“I want him,” said Mr Lester. “Got a piece of news for you, Cherry. No secret, Rupert, I suppose?”
“I’ll tell Cherry presently,” said Rupert, thinking the audience large and embarrassing.
Cheriton started, and the unseeing look went out of his eyes, and for one moment he looked at Rupert as if he could have knocked him down. Then the reflection of his own look on Alvar’s face brought back the instinct of concealment, the self-respect that held its own, while all their voices sounded strange and confused, and he could not tell how often his father had spoken to him or how long ago.
“I think I can guess your news,” he said. “But I must go in. Come back to the house with me, Rupert.”
He spoke rather slowly, but much in his usual manner. Rupert was aware that the news might not be altogether pleasant to him; but he had the tact to turn away with him at once; while Alvar watched them in utter surprise, the wildest surmises floating through his mind. But what Cherry wanted was to hear whether Rupert would confirm what Ruth had told him; somehow he could not feel sure if it were true.
“How long have you been engaged?” he said; “that was what you were going to tell me, wasn’t it?”
“My uncle is frightfully indiscreet,” said Rupert, with a conscious laugh. “Nothing has been settled yet with the authorities; but we have understood each other for some time. She—she’s one in a thousand, and I don’t deserve my luck.”
Rupert was very nervous; he had always thought that Cheriton had a boyish fancy for Ruth, though he was far from imagining its extent, and he was divided between a sense of triumph over him and a most real desire not to let the triumph be apparent, or to give him unnecessary pain. Being successful, he could afford to be generous, and talked on fast lest Cherry should say something for which he might afterwards be sorry.
“I suppose we haven’t kept our secret so well as we thought,” he said, laughing, “as you guessed it so quickly. All last spring I was afraid of Alvar’s observations.”
“Did Alvar know? He might have—he might—?” Cheriton stopped abruptly, conscious only of passion hitherto unknown. He never marvelled afterwards at tales of sudden wild revenge. In that first hour of bitter wrong he could have killed Rupert, had a weapon been in his hand, have challenged him to a deadly duel, had such a thought been instinctive to his generation. Rupert did not look at him, or the wrath in his eyes must have betrayed him. He longed to revenge himself, to tell Rupert all; even his sense of honour shook and faltered in the storm. “She promised me! She kissed me!” The words seemed to sound in his ears, something within held them back from his lips. Another moment, and Alvar touched his arm.
“Come in, Cherito, the wind is cold,” he said. “Come in with me.”
Rupert, glad to close the interview, little as he guessed how it might have ended, turned away, saying, with a half-laugh, “I must go and check Uncle Gerrald’s communications; they are too premature.”
Then Cheriton felt himself tremble from head to foot; he knew that Alvar was talking, uttering words of vehement sympathy, but he could not tell what they were.
“You came in time—you came in time to save me!” said Cheriton wildly, as his senses began to recover their balance. He turned away his face for a few moments, then spoke collectedly.
“Thank you. That is all over now! You see I’m not strong yet. You will not see me like this again. The one thing is to prevent any one from guessing, above all my father.”
“But, my brother, how can you—you cannot conceal from all that you suffer?” said Alvar, dismayed.
“Cannot I? I will,” said Cheriton, with his mouth set, while his hands still trembled.
“Why? You have done no wrong,” said Alvar. “Are you the first who has been deceived by a faithless woman? She is but a woman, my brother; there are others. You feel now that you could stab your rival to revenge yourself. Ah, that will pass; she’s only a woman. Heavens! I tore my hair. I wept. I told all my friends of my despair; it was the sooner over. You will find others.”
“We usually keep our disappointments to ourselves,” said Cheriton coldly. “I could not forgive any betrayal. Now I’ll go in by myself. I’ll come down to lunch. As you say, I’m not the first fellow who has been made a fool of.”
“What will he do?” thought Alvar as he reluctantly left him. “He would forgive his rival sooner than himself. They pretend to feel nothing, my brothers, that gives them much trouble. If I were to tell a falsehood to please them, they would despise me; but Cherito will tell many falsehoods to hide that he grieves.”
Cheriton gathered himself up enough to hide his rage and grief, hardly enough in any way to struggle with them, and the suffering was as uncontrollable and as exhausting as the pain and fever of his late illness. It shut out even more completely the remembrance of anything but his own sensations. And it was all so bitter—he felt the injury so keenly—he had not yet power to feel the loss. He kept up well, however, and during the next two or three days his father saw nothing amiss; while Alvar, though anxious about his health, regarded the misery as a phase that must have its way. But Nettie declared that Cherry was cross, and Jack, who had lately acquired the habit of noticing him, felt that he was not himself. It was difficult to define; but it seemed to him as if his brother never looked, spoke or acted exactly as might have been expected. Things seemed to pass him by.
The twelfth of August proving hopelessly wet and wild, even Mr Lester could not think his joining the shooting party allowable, and Cheriton expressed a proper amount of disappointment; but Jack recollected that when they had all been speculating on the weather the night before, Cherry had hardly turned his head to look at it. He would not let Alvar stay at home with him, and felt glad to be free from observation.
In the meantime matters had not gone much more pleasantly at Elderthwaite. Ruth was in such dread of discovery that even in Rupert’s presence she could not be at ease. Her conscience reproached her, and she was by no means sure that Rupert was quite unsuspicious, for he talked a good deal about his cousin, and once said that he thought him much changed by his illness. Neither was she happy with Virginia, towards whom a certain amount of confidence was necessary, as she could not lead her to suppose that all had been freshly settled with Rupert; and Virginia, who was usually reticent and shy, questioned her closely as to Rupert’s behaviour and modes of action. Indeed she marvelled at her cousin’s ignorance, for Alvar seemed to her to imply displeasure in every look. He came seldom to Elderthwaite, and, when there, scarcely spoke of Cherry. Ruth could only hurry her return to her grandmother, which was to take place in a few days; but an Oakby dinner-party, in honour of the engagement, could not be avoided. Ruth dared not have a head-ache or a cold, and in a tremor most unlike her usual self she prepared to meet her two lovers face to face. If Cheriton had any mercy for her, or any feeling for himself, he would avoid her. How little she had once thought ever to be afraid of Cherry! But he was there, with a flower in his coat, and plenty of conversation, apparently on very good terms with Rupert, and facing the greeting with entire composure. He even ate his dinner; he sat, not opposite Ruth, but low down on the other side of the table, while she had Alvar for her neighbour—a very silent one, as Virginia, on his other side, remarked with a sigh. It would have been natural for her to talk to Rupert, who sat on the other side of her, but she felt Cheriton’s eyes on her in all their peculiar intenseness of expression. Ruth was very sensitive, and they seemed to mesmerise her; she grew absolutely pale, and she knew that Rupert saw it. How could Cheriton be so cruel!
Her white face and drooping lip flashed the same thought to Cheriton himself. What a coward he was thus to revenge himself! He turned his head away with a sudden rush of softening feeling. Disappointed love and jealousy had, she told him, driven her mad—what were they making of him? At least it was more manly to let her alone.
“Cheriton, I want a word with you,” said Rupert, turning into the smoking-room when the party was over. “Of course, you have a right to refuse to answer me, but—I can’t but observe your manner. Do you consider yourself in any way aggrieved by my engagement?”
It did not occur to Cheriton that, if Rupert had had full trust in Ruth, he would never have put such a question. He was conscious of such unusual feelings that he knew not how far he stood self-betrayed in manner. Rupert was his cousin, almost as intimate as a brother, and he could not resent the question quite as if it had come from a stranger. It could have been answered by a short negative, leaving the sting that had prompted it where it had been before. Full of passion and resentment as Cheriton still was, he could not now have broken his word and deliberately betrayed the girl who had betrayed him.
He was silent for a minute; still another part was open. At last he looked up at Rupert and said,—
“I made her an offer—she has refused me. Don’t mind my way—there’s an end of it.”
“Cherry, you’re a good fellow, a real good fellow—thank you!” said Rupert warmly. “I’m sorry, with all my heart.”
“Don’t think about me,” repeated Cheriton rather stiffly. “But I’ll say good-night.”
He was so obviously putting a great force on himself that Rupert, feeling that he could not be the one to offer sympathy, would not detain him; but as he gave his hand a hearty squeeze, Cherry, with another great effort, said,—
“I do wish her—happiness,” then turned away and hurried upstairs.