“Married, again!” said Mr. Eagles; “that is what drives me wild—not the fact, which is harmless enough; but Lord, how grand you all think yourselves! However, it don’t last. You can’t feed upon strawberries and cream all your lives, my dear fellow. You must buckle to at something, or you will be nobody. I don’t like anyone who has passed through my hands, to be nobody. You had better read, Curtis, you had better read.”
“Yes,” said Arthur, vaguely.
He was quite willing to pledge himself to anything so long as Mr. Eagles would but go away, and leave him to listen and make sure if anyone came: or get out into the air and distract his mind from listening. One or the other, he felt, he must do.
“The best thing will be to come back to me,” said Mr. Eagles; “at least you won’t lose your time completely, and you’ll find it a relief. Too many sweets will pall upon you; take them in measure and they are delightful enough. Come, Curtis, I make you an offer I needn’t say, for you know, that I don’t require to go hunting for pupils; but, my good fellow, for your own sake you had better come back.”
“Yes,” said Arthur, with a sudden lightening and ease which diffused itself all over him. There was another sound at the door; and this time it must, there could be no doubt, be Nancy. This relief made it possible for him to listen. His countenance cleared. He had not really known what his fears were, but he felt the vague greatness of them in this sense of immediate ease and relief.
But all the blood rushed to his head again, and the pulses began to beat in his brow when the door opened, and not Nancy appeared, but the maid, showing in the unexpected, and in the circumstances, alarming figure of Durant.
CHAPTER XV.
“THERE is something wrong at home!”
This most natural of all the ideas with which foreboding human nature sees a sudden arrival, sprang to Arthur’s lips almost in spite of himself. He was already so torn by anxiety and alarm that it seemed perfectly appropriate that other griefs should come to distract him, and he scarcely understood the eager “No” with which Durant replied. It was not till they were seated together, one at each side of the fire—Mr. Eagles having taken his departure—that Arthur realized that the burning confusion and pain in his head arose from the fact that his wife had gone out in a fit of passion a few hours ago and had not yet come back, not so very serious a matter—and was not owing to any suddenly heard of calamity, at home.
“No, things are all well, but I have something to say to you, Arthur,” said Durant. And he began a long commission, which Arthur heard vaguely and did not understand. It was to the effect that the post of attaché to a foreign embassy which the young man had wished for, was open to him, and this was coupled with overtures from the parents whose hearts were yearning over Arthur. Probably there is after all nothing so well calculated as long silence to wear out the indignation and resentment of fathers and mothers. However hot these may be at first, the blank misery of knowing nothing about a child beloved, damps and quenches the ardour of offence, and in a great many cases the cruel son or daughter has his or her will out of the sheer intolerableness of this break, and anxiety of the tender hearts on whom this unfeeling passiveness tells more severely than any more actively offensive treatment. This had been working for all these months at Oakley. Hearing nothing! it was almost worse than death, of which this miserable certainty that we shall hear no more of those we have lost, is the greatest bitterness—tempered, however, with the counterbalancing certainty which alone makes us capable of bearing it, that human events are over to them, and that none of the calamities with which we are familiar can happen to those who are beyond the veil. But the Curtises knew that anything or everything might be happening to Arthur, while they had no news of him, and were as ignorant of all his ways as if he had been dead. And when the information came of this vacancy which he had desired so much, the opportunity was not to be resisted. They had said nothing about it to each other for twenty-four hours, and then had burst forth the universal feeling. Let him accept this, and let him come home and bring his wife, if no better might be. She had been insolent, what did it matter? She was the price that must be paid for Arthur; and the moment it became possible to have Arthur, they all felt that they were too ready to pay any price. Lady Curtis had telegraphed for Durant when the general conviction burst forth, and the household at Oakley were now full of excitement, already beginning to prepare rooms for Arthur and his wife, and forgetting all other feelings in the pleasure of seeing their boy again. Durant had lost no time. He was too faithful a friend to consider that Arthur had all but repulsed his friendly offices after the marriage, and that not a word of recollection had reached him from Underhayes during the entire winter. He went down to Oakley at once to receive his commission, and here he was with full credentials. The father and mother made no conditions. If Arthur accepted this appointment, which was the best thing he could do, let him come home and bring his wife. That was all. And it may be supposed that Durant, feeling himself the bearer of proposals both generous and tender, was startled and affronted by the confused and pre-occupied way in which Arthur seemed to listen, not understanding him, starting at every sound outside, continually disturbed, and with a look of nervous agitation which had evidently nothing to do with the question in hand.