“A very lucky thing for Harry,” said the baronet. “Nobody else would have gone into that canal after him. I can’t conceive how Harry could be such a confounded ass,” Sir Thomas added, with a mortified air. “But as for Campbell, poor fellow, anything that I can do for him—. By Jove, Mary, if he were to die I should never forgive myself.” On the whole, it will be seen that the agitations occasioned by Colin were not confined to his own chamber. As for Harry, he kept silence on the subject, but did not the less feel the inferior position in which his misfortune had left him. He was grateful so far, that, if he could have persuaded Colin to accept any recompense, or done him any overwhelming favour, he would have gladly given that evidence of thankfulness. But, after the first shock of horror with which he heard of the tutor’s danger, it is certain that the mortification of feeling that his life had been saved at the risk of another man’s life, produced in young Frankland anything but a friendly sentiment. To accept so vast an obligation requires an amount of generosity of which Harry was not capable. The two young men were, indeed, placed in this singular relationship to each other, without the existence of a spark of sympathy between them. Not only was the mind of the saved in a sore and resentful, rather than a grateful and affectionate, state; but even the other, from whom more magnanimity might have been expected, had absolutely no pleasure in thinking that he had saved the life of a fellow-creature. That sweet satisfaction and approval of conscience which is said to attend acts of benevolence did not make itself felt in the bosom of Colin. He was rather irritated than gratified by the consciousness of having preserved Harry Frankland from a watery grave, as the apothecary said. The entire household was possessed by sensations utterly unlike those which it ought to have felt when, on the day succeeding his consultation with Lauderdale, Colin for the first time came down stairs. There were still some people in the house giving full occupation to Lady Frankland’s powers of hospitality, and Matty’s of entertainment; but both the ladies heard in a minute or two after his appearance that Mr. Campbell had been seen going into the library. “Perhaps it would be best if you were to go and speak to him, Matty,” said Lady Frankland. “There is no occasion for being too enthusiastic; but you may say that I am very much occupied, or I would have come myself to welcome him. Say anything that is proper, my dear, and I will try and induce Harry to go and shake hands, and make his acknowledgments. Men have such a horror of making a fuss,” said the perplexed mother. As for Matty, she went upon her errand with eagerness and a little agitation. Colin was in the library, seated at the table beside Sir Thomas, when she went in. The light was shining full upon him, and it did not subdue the beatings of Matty’s contradictory little heart to see how changed he was, and out of caves how deep those eyes looked which had taken new meanings unintelligible to her. She had been, in her secret heart, a little proud of understanding Colin’s eyes; and it was humiliating to see the new significations which they had come to during his sickness, and to which she had no clue. Sir Thomas was speaking when she came in; so Matty said nothing, but came and stood by him for a moment, and gave her hand to Colin. When their eyes met, they were both somewhat excited by it, though they were not in love with each other; and then Matty drew a chair to the other side of the table, and looked remorsefully, pitifully, tenderly, on the man whom she supposed her lover. She was surprised that he did not seek her eye, or show himself alive to all her movements, as he used to do; and at that moment, for the first time, it occurred to Matty to wonder whether the absolute possession of Colin’s heart might not be worth a sacrifice. She was tired of Harry, and, to tell the truth, of most other people just then. And the sight of this youth—who was younger than she was, who was so much more ignorant and less experienced than she, and who had not an idea in his head about settlements and establishments, but entertained visions of an impossible life, with incomprehensible aims and meanings in it,—had a wonderfully sudden effect upon her. For that instant Matty was violently tempted;—that is to say, she took it into consideration as actually a question worth thinking of, whether it might not be practicable to accept Colin’s devotion, and push him on in the world, and make something of him. She entertained the idea all the more, strangely enough, because she saw none of the old pleadings in Colin’s eyes.
“I hope you will never doubt our gratitude, Campbell,” said Sir Thomas. “I understand that the doctor has said you must not remain in this climate. Of course you must spend the spring in Nice, or somewhere. It’s charming scenery thereabouts. You’ll get better directly you get into the air. And in summer, you know, there’s no place so good as England—you must come back here. As for expenses, you shall have a travelling allowance over your salary. Don’t say anything; money can never repay——”
“As long as I was Charley’s tutor,” said Colin, “money was natural. Pardon me—I can’t help the change of circumstances; there is no bond between us now—only kindness,” said the young man with an effort. “You have all been very good to me since I fell ill. I came to thank you, and to say I must give up——”
“Yes, yes,” said Sir Thomas; “but you can’t imagine that I will let you suffer for your exertions on my son’s behalf, and for the regard you have shown to my family?”
“I wish you would understand,” said Colin, with vexation. “I have explained to Lady Frankland more than once. It may seem rude to say so, but there was no regard for your family involved in that act, at least. I was the only one of the party who saw that your son had gone down. I had no wish to go down after him—I can’t say I had any impulse, even; but I had seen him, and I should have felt like his murderer if I had not attempted to save him. I am aware it is an ungracious thing to say, but I cannot accept praise which I don’t deserve,” said Colin, his weakness bringing a hot sudden colour over his face; and then he stopped short, and looked at Sir Thomas, who was perplexed by this interruption, and did not quite know how to shape his reply.
“Well, well,” said the baronet; “I don’t exactly understand you, and I daresay you don’t understand yourself. Most people that are capable of doing a brave action give queer explanations of it. That’s what you mean, I suppose. No fellow that’s worth anything pretends to fine motives, and so forth. You did it because you could not help it. But that does not interfere with my gratitude. When you are ready to go, you will find a credit opened for you at my bankers, and we must see about letters of introduction, and all that; and I advise you, if you’re going to Italy, to begin the language at once if you don’t know it. Miss Matty used to chatter enough for six when we were there. I daresay she’d like nothing better than to teach you,” said Sir Thomas. He was so much relieved by the possibility of turning over his difficult visitor upon Matty, that he forgot the disadvantages of such a proposal. He got up, delighted to escape and to avoid any further remonstrance, and held out his hand to Colin. “Delighted to see you downstairs again,” said the baronet; “and I hope you’ll bring your friend to dinner with you to-night. Good-bye just now; I have, unfortunately, an engagement—”
“Good-bye,” said Colin. “I will write to you all about it.” And so the good-hearted Squire went away, thinking everything was settled. After that it was very strange for the two who had been so much together to find themselves again in the same room, and alone. As for Colin, he did not well know what to say. Almost the last time he had been by Matty’s side without any witnesses, was the time when he concluded that it was only his life that he was throwing away for her sake. Since that time what a wonderful change had passed over him! The idea that he had thought her smile, a glance of her eye, worth such a costly sacrifice, annoyed Colin. But still her presence sent a little thrill through him when they were left alone together. And, as for Miss Matty, there was some anxiety in her face as she looked at him. What did he mean? was he taking a desperate resolution to declare his sentiments? or what other reason could there be for his unusual silence? for it never occurred to her to attribute it to its true cause.
“My uncle thinks you have consented to his plan,” said Matty; “but I suppose I know what your face means better than he does. Why are you so hard upon us, I wonder? I know well enough that Harry and you never took to each other; but you used to like the rest of us—or, at least, I thought so,” said the little siren. She gave one of her pretty glances at him under her eyelashes, and Colin looked at her across the table candidly, without any disguise. Alas! he had seen her throw that same glance at various other persons, while he stood in the corner of the drawing-room observing everything; and the familiar artillery this time had no effect.
“I have the greatest respect for everybody at Wodensbourne,” said Colin; “you did me only justice in thinking so. You have all been very good to me.”
“I did not say anything about respect,” said Miss Matty, with pouting lips. “We used to be friends, or, at least, I thought so. I never imagined we were to break off into respect so suddenly. I am sure I wish Harry had been a hundred miles away when he came to disturb us all,” said the disarmed enchantress. She saw affairs were in the most critical state, and her words were so far true that she could have expressed her feelings best at that moment by an honest fit of crying. As this was impracticable, Miss Matty tried less urgent measures. “We have caused you nothing but suffering and vexation,” said the young lady, dropping her voice and fixing her eyes upon the pattern of the table-cover, which she began to trace with her finger. “I do not wonder that we have become disagreeable to you. But you should not condemn the innocent with the guilty,” said Miss Matty, looking suddenly up into his eyes. A touch of agitation, the slightest possible, gave interest to the face on which Colin was looking; and perhaps all the time he had known her she had never so nearly approached being beautiful; as certainly, all the time, she had never so narrowly escaped being true. If things had been with Colin as they once were, the probability is that, moved by her emotion, the whole story of his love would have poured forth at this emergency; and, had it done so, there is a possibility that Matty, carried away by the impulse of the moment, might have awoke next morning the affianced wife of the farmer’s son of Ramore.