Margaret Capel, vol. 3

"Oh!" said Sir Hawarth, satisfied that her plea of an engagement was genuine.

Harriet's anger was magnificent. She felt that for once she had lost her self-command, when she excused herself on the plea of being engaged; she, who never hesitated to refuse a partner upon the most trivial reason, and frequently upon no reason at all; and whose right to do so was tolerably well established. She to commit herself! To put herself in the power of Mr. Gage—to be obliged to dance with him to cover a blunder of her own. It was insupportable.

Mr. Gage moved through the figure as carelessly as possible. Harriet never danced a step, hardly vouchsafed her fingers' ends, when it was requisite to give her hand, and never directed to him a single glance from those stormy, dark eyes, that seemed to burn beneath her haughty brows. She never uttered a word even to those about her, but employed herself in opening and shutting her emblazoned fan with the jerk peculiar to Spanish women, which movement completely diverted the eyes of the Conde from his partner to herself. It brought his country more completely home to him than even the pure Castilian in which she had been so ably conversing.

As soon as the quadrille was over, and before the dancers had time to disperse, Harriet turned from her partner without the slightest gesture of acknowledgment, and making a sign to Margaret, walked into the cloak-room, followed by seven or eight gentlemen, more or less in despair at her early departure. She suffered the Conde to put on her shawl, and hand her into the carriage, and parted from him with a smile, and a verse from Calderon. Mr. Humphries and Mr. Gage both attended Margaret, and then got into their own conveyance.

There was a profound silence for a short time. Mr. Singleton felt that something was wrong, and was really so much under the dominion of his niece, that he hardly ventured to make a remark. At last he made bold to say that it was a very good ball.

"Very," replied Margaret.

Harriet said nothing.

Mr. Singleton then complimented Margaret upon the number of hearts she had won, and said he expected to be besieged the next day by her different suitors.

Margaret said that Mr. Singleton was very flattering, and thought no more of the effect she was said to have produced.

"Well, Harriet," said Mr. Singleton after he had cleared his throat two or three times, "you were rather in a hurry to come away this evening."

"Yes, Sir," returned Harriet, in a short decided tone.

"How was that, eh?" asked her uncle.

"I was bored," returned Harriet as shortly as before.

This was conclusive, and an ominous silence prevailed. Margaret feared that Harriet was mortally offended with her, and began to think that her threat of leaving Singleton Manor the next day might come to be put in practice. She felt constrained—distressed. There was not light enough to see Harriet's face, and she hardly knew how to end her suspense. At last she timidly put her hand into that of her wilful friend. Harriet snatched hold of it, and pressed it suddenly to her lips. Margaret was almost affected to tears by this little incident. She hoped that the storm had blown over, but she was satisfied that, at least, Harriet's displeasure did not extend to her.

As soon as the carriage door was opened, Harriet sprang out without waiting for the steps to be let down, and dashed through the hall into the drawing-room. Mr. Singleton saying something about "a storm brewing," handed Margaret out and followed his niece.

She took up her night-candle, nodded to her uncle and beckoned Margaret to follow her. As soon as she reached her dressing-room, she began in silence to take off her ornaments from her dress and hair. Then she held out her hand at a little distance, and watched it for a few moments with great attention. It trembled.

"Margaret, ma mie," said she, raising her head. "I am going to be ill; will you mind sleeping with me for once?"

Margaret willingly gave her consent. Harriet stooped over her desk, and hastily wrote a few lines on a scrap of paper.

"If I am hors-de-combat to-morrow, Margaret," she said, "give this to Mr. Gage."

A stamp of her slender foot, as she pronounced his name, was the only indication of feeling that she betrayed.

Margaret really did not know if it was a cartel of defiance, but she thought it better to promise compliance.

"Then kiss me, ma mie, and go to sleep," said Harriet, "we will talk over our adventures to-morrow."

CHAPTER VI

Mar.    Yes, a letter.She brings no challenge sure.THE MAID IN THE MILL.Val. He must not then be angryThat loses her.Gom. Oh! that were Sir, unworthy.Mir. A little sorrow he may find.Val. 'Tis manly.THE KNIGHT OF MALTA.

The next morning Harriet was in a high fever. Mr. Singleton said she had nobody to thank for it but herself. She had no business at a ball when she was suffering from a severe cold, unless she had chosen to go in a fur cloak. That he wondered how any ladies escaped without catching their death at such places; and that he hoped the servant who was gone for the doctor would not be an hour on the road. Margaret seriously alarmed about her friend, had been making the breakfast in silence, until Mr. Singleton's attack upon Harriet led her to say, with tearful eyes, that she believed Harriet had gone to the ball entirely on her account, and that she felt so very sorry she had not more decidedly opposed it.

Mr. Gage, who had said nothing upon the subject in any way, and who had hardly seemed to know Harriet was not at table, now begged Margaret not to allow herself to feel any concern on that point, for that he believed Miss Conway had been always rather remarkable for her imprudences. Margaret always disliked his polite phrases, and the persuasive interest of his manner, but now they seemed more than ever out of place. The slip of paper that Harriet had entrusted to her was lying folded by her side—she had no idea what it might contain; but now, seeing Mr. Humphries standing at the window with Mr. Singleton, she took it up timidly, and said with a little hesitation:—"Harriet desired me to give you this paper, Mr. Gage."

He took it up very politely, glanced at it, and handed it back to her. It contained only two words:—"Go away."

He drew his chair nearer to Margaret, glanced at the window, and then said in a low voice:—"Perhaps you will tell Miss Conway, that my respect for Mr. and Mrs. Singleton will not admit of my complying immediately with her demand."

"I will," said Margaret.

She felt pleased with his reply, and with his straightforward manner; and she hoped that she was not considered a party concerned in so abrupt a missive. And yet she could hardly help laughing, it appeared to her so very ridiculous.

Mr. Gage took up the paper and looked at it again. "I think I need hardly write an answer," he said.

He seemed as little inclined to be grave as Margaret. She assured him that she would deliver his message faithfully. He twisted up the paper, and seemed about to burn it, when he drew it back, said it was really worth preserving, and added something, as if to himself, about its being "so like a spoilt child."

Like most men, who think a spoilt child the perfection of womankind, until they have her, when their opinion changes inconveniently fast.

Then turning to Margaret, who was about to leave the room, he said "that he could not avoid expressing his thanks for her skilful interference last night; that it was most kind in her to undertake so difficult and unpleasing a task; and for himself, he was grateful to her for preventing what might have been annoying to all parties."

Margaret thought he could not have been more glad than she was to prevent a scene; she made some quiet remark to his compliment, and went back to her friend's room.

For three days, Margaret was a voluntary prisoner with Harriet. Every morning after breakfast, when she was locking up the tea-chest, Mr. Humphries made it a point to sidle up to her, and ask "if she could not make him of any use; if he should not drive over to G–, and get any thing for Miss Conway." He likewise, at the same period, warned Miss Capel against the dangers of attending too closely upon her sick friend.

"It is all very well for a day, you know," he said, "but how any body can stand being shut up in a sick room for so long, I can't imagine; and I really think, Miss Capel, I–" and here Mr. Humphries looked round, as if he was anxious to hide behind some of the furniture, "I think, indeed, you are beginning to look pale."

"Oh! I shall do very well," said Margaret, smiling, "Harriet will soon be down stairs, I hope."

"And in the meantime," said Mr. Gage, with deep anxiety, "I fear you are injuring your health by your kind exertions."

Margaret thought he might as well expend a little of his interest upon Harriet's health, which at that time was in rather a more precarious state than hers, but she said "it was a pleasure to her to sit with Harriet, for she well knew how long the days appeared in illness."

"That is very—I mean it is just what I—you are all goodness, I am sure," faltered Mr. Humphries.

Mr. Gage could not but feel the most sovereign contempt for the manner in which Mr. Humphries attempted to show his interest for Margaret: instead of whispering a well-turned phrase into her long tresses, to stand blushing and stammering like an idiot. So after staring haughtily at both for a moment, he loitered away to the stable.

Margaret had a note to write for Harriet, and as during this process her eyes were fixed on the paper, Mr. Humphries found it less difficult to keep up a conversation with her.

"Does Miss Conway make a good invalid?" he said.

"Yes, indeed," said Margaret, "she is very patient."

"You would be very patient," said Mr. Humphries, with his usual gesture of attempting to hide under the table.

"I hope so," said Margaret, gently; "but sickness is a great trial to every body, Mr. Humphries."

"I don't think," began Mr. Humphries, looking fixedly at the beautiful fingers that were engaged in folding the note:—"that is, I think—if you were to nurse people, they would not need to be much pitied."

This sentence, which was spoken very fast, and accompanied by strong signs of bashfulness, was received by Margaret as one of the ordinary civilities which young men are in the habit of paying. She carefully traced the direction, and, pausing at the last word, said calmly:—

"Let me see, is Lockwood in Worcestershire or Somersetshire, Mr. Humphries?"

"In Worcestershire," said Mr. Humphries, relieved by finding that his speech had produced no greater effect,—for he had grown extremely red in the face, and felt like a person who had fired a train, and expected some terrible explosion to take place.

However, he had composure enough left to light her a taper, and find the sealing wax, but before Margaret could make use of it, Harriet's maid rushed into the room, and with signs of great agitation informed her that her mistress was much worse, and as she thought, light-headed.

Margaret hastily left the note for Mr. Humphries to seal and dispatch, and ran up stairs. Harriet was much worse; quite delirious, and holding forth to Mrs. Singleton with great eagerness; while she, poor lady, perfectly unable to hear a word she uttered, had no idea of the real state of the case. Margaret saw it directly, took Mrs. Singleton aside, and informed her of Harriet's condition, sent off a servant for a medical man, and took her place firmly by her friend's bedside.

Before night, Harriet was very ill,—was worse—was in danger. Margaret would not go down to dinner; but the kind Mrs. Singleton would not allow her to remain in the room all the evening. She sent her into the drawing-room to make tea, and begged her to remain there till bed time.

Mr. Singleton was walking up and down the room, whistling discordantly. He came up to Margaret, thanked her repeatedly for her kindness to Harriet, and rang the bell for the urn.

Mr. Gage and Mr. Humphries joined her at the tea-table.

"I have not seen you since breakfast," said Mr. Gage, bending across the teacups, "how much I have regretted your absence."

Now Margaret was in very low spirits, feeling solitary and frightened, and perhaps his being a Gage inspired her with confidence, and made her feel a claim upon his sympathy, for she turned her eyes, filled with tears, upon him, and said:—

"Harriet is so ill, Mr. Gage!"

"I am sorry to hear it," he replied coldly.

This sudden check did not produce the effect upon Margaret that it might upon some people. She never cried upon such occasions: she forced back her tears, at once, and sat cold and silent.

Mr. Humphries handed her toast and cakes in vain.

Mr. Gage rose, and employed himself in altering the lamp.

"Does the doctor come again this evening, Miss Capel?" asked Mr. Singleton.

"Yes, Sir, the last thing," replied Margaret, "he asked when the house would be shut up, but Mrs. Singleton desired him to name his own time, and he appointed eleven."

"It is just ten now," said Mr. Singleton, looking at his watch.

Mr. Gage looked at his watch too, which did not seem at all necessary, and then altered the lamp again.

"Who sits up with Harriet to-night?" asked Mr. Singleton.

"Her maid, Sir; Mrs. Singleton would not hear of my sitting up."

"Perfectly right," said Mr. Gage, "if I were Mrs. Singleton, I should be inclined to forbid you the room altogether; you run a great risk of infection."

"I am sure," said Mr. Humphries, "I wish I could be of use; I only wish I could sit up, that's all."

Mr. Gage remarked with much disdain, "that his sitting up with a young lady would possess, at least, the charm of novelty;" and then he turned away and loitered to the fire-place.

Mr. Humphries drew his chair closer to Margaret.

"This is very dull for you, Miss Capel," he began.

"Very sad for me," said Margaret.

"You are not afraid of being with Miss Conway?"

"Not at all; I never was timid about infection."

"I think—(a long pause)—I think you are an angel, Miss Capel."

"Do you, Mr. Humphries," said Margaret unconsciously; her whole mind occupied with Harriet's illness, and the unkind indifference displayed by Mr. Gage.

For a little while Mr. Humphries had to endure a paroxysm of bashfulness; when he recovered, the first words he uttered were: "I like you very much!"

Margaret, who was fitting a steel pen into a mother of pearl handle, replied: "you are very good, Mr. Humphries. Is not this a pretty pen?"

He took it in his clumsy way, and then began to laugh.

"I—I meant," he began; but here his courage failed him, and he gave her back the pen, looking suspiciously at Mr. Singleton and George Gage, who were conversing in whispers at the other end of the room.

"Can you tell me what o'clock it is, Mr. Humphries?" asked Margaret.

"Twenty minutes to eleven."

"Thank you."

"I shall not hunt to-morrow, Miss Capel," said Mr. Humphries, "somehow—"

He wanted an interpreter; "somehow," meant that while Harriet was ill, he did not think he should quite enjoy a run with the hounds. Margaret understood his meaning and smiled.

Mr. Humphries returned her smile with his usual breadth of expression, revealing a perfect semicircle of dazzling teeth, and then said: "Coming home from hunting, last time—"

"Yes, Mr. Humphries."

"Gage, and I—"

"Yes, Mr. Humphries."

"I wish you would say yes always!"

Here a prodigious smile, and the usual symptoms of vanishing under the table.

"But it would not make sense always, Mr. Humphries," replied Margaret.

"You said that day, you did not believe that people could be in love twice."

"I thought you said so, and I agreed to it," said Margaret, still looking at the pen-holder.

"No, I didn't; you did."

"Oh! was that it? I think it must be near eleven."

Margaret laid down the pen, and rose to leave the room.

Mr. Humphries thought he had better make haste.

"Miss Capel, I say, were you ever in love?" he stammered in much confusion.

Margaret was certainly a little startled. She had been so engrossed by her own thoughts that she had not observed the progress her companion was making.

"If I ever have been," she said tranquilly, "as I am now single, Mr. Humphries, you must suppose it would be an unpleasant subject for me to touch upon."

He seemed struck by her calm, grave manner, but he stumbled on.

"Because, I was in love once—with a very nice girl—when I was at Christ Church; but, for all that, I feel as if—I should be in love again—"

Margaret held out her hand, and said gently, but coldly, "Good night, Mr. Humphries."

He took her hand, kissed it, seemed very much inclined to cry, but let her pass him without a word. He had perfectly understood her manner.

CHAPTER VII

Parlar di te non voglio, e fra le labbraHo sempre il nome tuo: vó dal pensieroCancellar quel sembiante e in ogni oggettoCol pensier lo dipingo.METASTASIO.

In rapid attacks of illness, like that which Harriet suffered from, there is, fortunately, no very long interval of suspense for those interested in the patient.

The next day she was much better, and the day after was able to sit up by her dressing-room fire, and talk and laugh pretty much as usual.

"Oh! by the way," said Harriet, interrupting a lively discussion upon some trifling subject, "did Mr. Gage ever condescend to enquire after me while I was ill?"

Margaret had rather feared this question, but she was obliged to reply that he had not.

Harriet seemed more disturbed by this proof of his indifference than Margaret had ever before seen her.

After a pause she said: "Did he seem—" then, suddenly interrupting herself, she exclaimed, "Pshaw! I will not stoop to enquire what he seemed. Perhaps," she added, after another pause, "I had no reason to expect any-thing else from him."

"I thought it very unkind," said Margaret.

Harriet nodded her head in acquiescence, and remained silently gazing into the fire. Once or twice she felt for her handkerchief, and drew it hastily across her eyes as if she did not wish to be observed.

"The fire makes one's eyes weak," she said at last.

Margaret agreed to it.

"Oh! by the way, how do you get on with Mr. Humphries?" said Harriet, rousing herself.

"He was always very considerate," said Margaret, "and extremely sorry for your illness."

"He is a good soul," said Harriet, "You had better think twice, before you throw him away."

"I do not throw him away," said Margaret smiling; "but I confess I have no desire to captivate him."

"He would make a very good husband, ma mie."

"I dare say," replied Margaret, "but it is all very much out of my way."

"Why you cannot mean to be single for ever," said Harriet. "I assure you I often think who I shall entrap, now that George won't have me."

"Whose fault is that?" asked Margaret.

"I detest him—I hate him from my heart!" exclaimed Harriet. "I would accept Mr. Humphries, to-morrow, or Sir Hawarth Fane, with all the readiness in the world. How dare he remain in this house, when I ordered him to leave it?"

"I told you what he said," replied Margaret.

"Is not Charlotte very late with my tea?" asked Harriet, in her usual manner.

"I think it is rather past the time," replied Margaret.

"The girl grows more careless every day," said Harriet. "I hope George does not make love to her."

"Oh! Harriet—impossible! a gentleman—"

"Why my dear," said Harriet drily, "such things have been done once or twice—it is a very wicked world; she has some nonsense in her head, I am sure, for she marked a whole set of handkerchiefs wrong for me the other day."

At this moment Charlotte came in with the tea-things, Harriet leaned over the tray, and surveyed the cups.

"Charlotte!" she exclaimed, "where is the cream jug?"

"Oh, dear, Miss Conway! I forgot it. I will bring it up in a minute."

"Charlotte!" exclaimed Harriet, with a tragic frown, "you are in love."

Charlotte gave a prodigious start, but she denied the charge.

"Oh! dear me, Miss Conway, how you can say so," she simpered. "It is only your fun. I thank goodness, I keep myself to myself."

"Very good," said Harriet, "I don't care how many hearts you break, only don't lose your own."

Charlotte thought this a famous joke—she tossed her head, laughed and disappeared.

But a few days after, while she was dressing her young mistress; after having committed a series of blunders, which were enough to try the patience of anybody, she stood quite still, and began to cry.

Harriet was very good-natured to her servants; she threw herself into a chair, stifled a strong inclination to laugh, and begged to know what was the matter.

"If you would please to speak for me, Miss Conway," sobbed the agitated Charlotte.

"Speak for you? Do you mean that you wish me to give you a character? Certainly, when you leave, if you mean to leave me. I did not know you wished to go away."

Charlotte shook her head.

"What can be the matter then, Charlotte; is my Aunt Singleton displeased with you?"

Another shake, and a burst of sobbing.

"Are you ill! You had better let me give you some medicine," said Harriet, looking for the key of her medicine chest.

"Perhaps, Miss Conway, did not know that Mr. Gage was going to leave Singleton Manor."

Harriet turned pale. No she did not know it. "When was he going?"

Charlotte knew nothing about Mr. Gage; she only knew that his horses were to set off for Chirke Weston the day after to-morrow.

"But you are hardly crying after Mr. Gage's horses," said Harriet, making a desperate effort to rally her spirits.

"Mr. Thompson!" sobbed the damsel.

"Oh! he is the objection—what have you to say against Mr. Thompson? Mr. Gage's groom, I conclude."

Mr. Thompson had made Charlotte an offer; very respectful, and very devoted, Charlotte said he was. She confessed that Mr. Thompson was not indifferent to her, but he was so much in awe of his master, that he could not muster up courage to confess his weakness.

"But why does he not give Mr. Gage warning?" asked Harriet.

"Because," Charlotte said, "Mr. Thompson had a very good salary; (Charlotte was always genteel in her language; she never hinted at wages,) and it might be a very long time before he got such another situation, and he could less afford to lose it, if he had a wife to support."

"Then, Charlotte, you must wait," said Harriet with decision; "it is no great hardship, how many ladies are obliged to wait—Mr. Gage will never suffer a married man in his service, moving as he does from place to place. You can never expect to have every thing you wish, I shall be happy to forward your interests when it is in my power, but just now it is clearly impossible."

"If you would only speak to Mr. Gage for Henry," said Charlotte, hiding her face in her apron.

"I do not believe an angel would be able to persuade him to keep a married man in his service," said Harriet, "as for me I have no influence at all with Mr. Gage—Thompson and you must wait."

"We were married this morning!" cried the waiting-woman with another torrent of tears.

Harriet felt very angry at first; and she exclaimed, "Charlotte, I am ashamed of you!" but she disliked to see people cry, and it occurred to her that it was rather a dreary method of spending one's wedding-day; so she softened down, said that she would consult with her aunt about them, and try to make the best of a bad bargain. "But I warn you," she said "that you will both lose your places, the only thing left is for us to try and find you others."

"If Miss Conway would be so good as to break the news to Mr. Gage, for Henry dared not."

"Very good," said Harriet, "I have no objection. Thompson need not be afraid that Mr. Gage would shoot him; but if he is too delicate, I will undertake it, I am not afraid of Mr. Gage. But how, in the name of goodness, Charlotte, did you become so intimate with Thompson. Living as you do in the housekeeper's room, where Aunt Singleton does not allow any of the men?"

For Mrs. Singleton had a peculiar custom of having every female servant under the eye of the housekeeper, at meals, and other leisure times; while the butler presided over the men servants, both high and low, in like manner; so that they had no business together at all in that house.