Providence, however, was kinder to the pair. Colin sat on the other side of the table, and perceived that she was putting her little delicate probe into his wound. He thought he saw all the asides and stage directions, and looked at her with a curious, vicarious sense of shame. Colin, indeed, in his new enlightenment, was hard upon Matty. He thought it was all because she would not give up her power over the victim, whom she intended only to torture, that she had thus taken the trouble to re-open the ended intercourse. He could no more have believed that at this moment, while he was looking at her, such a thing was possible as that Matty might have accepted his love, and pledged her life to him, than he could have believed the wildest nonsense that was ever written in a fairy tale. So the moments passed, while the ignorant mortal sat on the opposite side of the table—which was a very fortunate thing for both parties. Nevertheless, it was with a certain sense of contempt for him, as, after all, only an ordinary blind male creature, unconscious of his opportunities, mingled with a thrill of excitement, on her own part, natural to a woman who had just escaped a great danger, that Miss Matty listened to what Colin had to say.
“There is neither guilty nor innocent that I know of,” said Colin; “you have all been very kind to me. It is very good of you to take the pains to understand me. I don’t mean to take advantage of Sir Thomas Frankland’s kindness; but I am not such a churl as to fling it back in his teeth as if it was pride alone that made me refuse it. It is not pride alone,” said Colin, growing red, “but a sense of justice; for what I have done has been done by accident. I will write and explain to Sir Thomas what I mean.”
“Write and explain?” said Matty. “You have twice said you would write. Do you mean that you are going away?”
“As soon as it is possible,” said Colin; and then he perceived that he was speaking with rude distinctness. “Indeed, I have been taking advantage of your uncle’s kindness too long. I have been a useless member of the household for six weeks at least. Yes, I must go away.”
“You speak very calmly,” said Matty. She was a little flushed, and there were tears in her eyes. If they had been real tears she would have hidden them carefully, but as they were only half real she had no objection to let Colin see that she was concealing them. “You are very composed about it, Mr. Campbell. One would think you were going away from a place distasteful to you; or, at least, which you were totally indifferent about. I daresay that is all very right and proper; but I have a good memory, and it appears rather strange to me.”
It was altogether a trying situation for Colin. If she had been able to seduce him into a little recrimination she might have succeeded in dragging the reluctant captive back again into her toils; which, having by this time entirely recovered her senses, was all Miss Matty wanted. Her downcast, tearful eyes, the faltering in her voice, were wonderfully powerful weapons, which the young man was unable to combat by means of mere indifference. Colin, however, being a man of impulses, was never to be calculated on beforehand for any particular line of conduct; and, on the present occasion, he entirely overleaped Miss Matty’s bounds.
“Yes, it is strange,” said Colin. “Perhaps nothing but the sight of death, who has been staring into my eyes for some time, could have shown me the true state of affairs. I have uttered a great deal of nonsense since I came to Wodensbourne, and you—have listened to it, Miss Frankland; and, perhaps, rather enjoyed seeing my tortures and my delights. But nothing could come of that; and when death hangs on behind everything but love flies before him,” said Colin. “It was pleasant sport while it lasted; but everything, except love, comes to an end.”
“Except love,” said Miss Matty. She was terribly piqued and mortified on the surface, and a little humbled and sorrowful within. She had a sense, too, that, for one moment, at the beginning of this interview, she had almost been capable of that sentiment which Colin exalted so highly: and that, consequently, he did her injustice in speaking of it as something with which she had nothing to do. “I remember hearing you talk of that sometimes, in the midst of what you call nonsense now. If you did not understand yourself, you can’t expect that I should have understood you,” she went on. To tell the truth, Miss Matty was very near crying. She had experienced the usual injustice of human affairs, and been punished for her vanity just at the moment when she was inclined to do better; and her heart cried out against such cruel usage. This time, however, she kept her tears quite in subjection and did not show them, but only repeated, “You could not expect that I should understand you, if you did not understand yourself!”
“No; that is true at least,” said Colin, with eyes that strayed beyond her, and had gone off into other regions unknown to Matty. This which had piqued her even at the height of their alliance gave her an excuse for her anger now.
“And when you go off into sentiment I never understand you,” said the young lady. “I will levo l’incomodo, as the Italians say. That shall be your first lesson in the language which my uncle says I am to teach you,” and she turned away with a glance half-spiteful, half-wistful, which had more effect upon Colin than a world of words. He got up to open the door for her, weak as he was, and took her hand and kissed it as she went away. Then Colin took himself laboriously upstairs, having done his day’s work. And so unreasonable was the young man, that Matty’s last glance filled his heart with gentler thoughts of the world in general, though he was not in love any longer. “I was not such a fool after all,” he said to himself; which was a great consolation. As for Matty, she cried heartily when she got to her room, and felt as if she had lost something. Nor did she recover until after luncheon, when some people came to call, and it was her duty to be entertaining, and relieve Lady Frankland. “I hope you said everything that was proper to Mr. Campbell, my dear,” said the lady of the house when lunch was over. And so that chapter came to an end.