Joan Haste by H. Rider Haggard (cat reading book .TXT) đź“–
- Author: H. Rider Haggard
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that it is somewhat paralysing to a modest man unexpectedly to find
himself confronted by the young woman whom his family desire him to
marry.
“How do you do?” he ejaculated at last: “I think that we have met
before.” And he held out his hand.
“Yes, we have met before,” she answered shyly and in a low voice,
touching his sun-browned palm with her delicate fingers, “when you
were at home last Christmas year.”
“It seems much longer ago than that,” said Henry—“so long that I
wonder you remember me.”
“I do not see so many people that I am likely to forget one of them,”
she answered, with a curious little smile. “I dare say that the time
seemed long to you, abroad in new countries; but to me, who have not
stirred from Monk’s Lodge, it is like yesterday.”
“Well, of course that does make a difference;” then, hastening to
change the subject, he added, “I am afraid I was very rude; I thought
that you were my sister. I can’t imagine how you can read in this
light, and it always vexes me to see people trying their eyes. If you
had ever kept a night watch at sea you would understand why.”
“I am accustomed to reading in all sorts of lights,” Emma answered.
“Do you read much, then?”
“I have nothing else to do. You see I have no brothers or sisters, no
one at all except my father, who keeps very much to himself; and we
have few neighbours round Monk’s Lodge—at least, few that I care to
be with,” she added, blushing again.
Henry remembered hearing that the Levingers were considered to be
outside the pale of what is called society, and did not pursue this
branch of the subject.
“What do you read?” he asked.
“Oh, anything and everything. We have a good library, and sometimes I
take up one class of reading, sometimes another; though perhaps I get
through more history than anything else, especially in the winter,
when it is too wretched to go out much. You see,” she added in
explanation, “I like to know about human nature and other things, and
books teach me in a second-hand kind of way,” and she stopped
suddenly, for just then Ellen entered the room, looking very handsome
in a low-cut black dress that showed off the whiteness of her neck and
arms.
“What, are you down already, Miss Levinger!” she said, “and with all
your things to unpack too. You do dress quickly,”—and she looked
critically at her visitor’s costume. “Let me see: do you and Henry
know each other, or must I introduce you?”
“No, we have met before,” said Emma.
“Oh yes! I remember now. Surely you were here when my brother was on
leave last time.” At this point Henry smiled grimly and turned away to
hide his face. “There’s not going to be any dinner-party, you know. Of
course we couldn’t have one even if we wished at present, and there is
no one to ask if we could. Everybody is in London at this time of the
year. Mr. Milward is positively the only creature left in these parts,
and I believe mother has asked him. Ah! here he is.”
As she spoke the butler opened the door and announced—“Mr. Milward.”
Mr. Milward was a tall and good-looking young man, with bold prominent
eyes and a receding forehead, as elaborately dressed as the plain
evening attire of Englishmen will allow. His manner was confident, his
self-appreciation great, and his tone towards those whom he considered
his inferiors in rank or fortune patronising to the verge of
insolence. In short, he was a coarse-fibred person, puffed up with the
pride of his possessions, and by the flattery of women who desired to
secure him in marriage, either themselves or for some friend or
relation.
“What an insufferable man!” was Henry’s inward comment, as his eyes
fell upon him entering the room; nor did he change his opinion on
further acquaintance.
“How do you do, Mr. Milward?” said Ellen, infusing the slightest
possible inflection of warmth into her commonplace words of greeting.
“I am so glad that you were able to come.”
“How do you do, Miss Graves? I had to telegraph to Lady Fisher, with
whom I was going to dine to-night in Grosvenor Square, to say that I
was ill and could not travel to town. I only hope she won’t find me
out, that is all.”
“Indeed!” answered Ellen, with a touch of irony: “Lady Fisher’s loss
is our gain, though I think that you would have found Grosvenor Square
more amusing than Rosham. Let me introduce you to my brother, Captain
Graves, and to Miss Levinger.”
Mr. Milward favoured Henry with a nod, and turning to Emma said, “Oh!
how do you do, Miss Levinger? So we meet at last. I was dreadfully
disappointed to miss you when I was staying at Cringleton Park in
December. How is your mother, Lady Levinger? Has she got rid of her
neuralgia?”
“I think there has been some mistake,” said Emma, visibly shrinking
before this bold, assertive man: “I have never been at Cringleton Park
in my life, and my mother, Mrs. Levinger, has been dead many years.”
“Oh, indeed: I apologise. I thought you were Miss Levinger of
Cringleton, the great heiress who was away in Italy when I stayed
there. You see, I remember hearing Lady Levinger say that there were
no other Levingers.”
“I am afraid that I am a living contradiction to Lady Levinger’s
assertion,” answered Emma, flushing and turning aside.
Ellen, who had been biting her lip with vexation, was about to
intervene, fearing lest Mr. Milward should make further inquiries,
when the door opened and Mr. Levinger entered, followed by her father
and mother. Henry took the opportunity of shaking hands with Mr.
Levinger to study his appearance somewhat closely—an attention that
he noticed was reciprocated.
Mr. Levinger was now a man of about sixty, but he looked much older.
Either because of an accident, or through a rheumatic affection, he
was so lame upon his right leg that it was necessary for him to use a
stick even in walking from one room to another; and, although his hair
was scarcely more than streaked with white, frailty of health had
withered him and bowed his frame. Looking at him, Henry could well
believe what he had heard—that five-and-twenty years ago he was one
of the handsomest men in the county. To this hour the dark and sullen
brown eyes were full of fire and eloquence—a slumbering fire that
seemed to wax and wane within them; the brow was ample, and the
outline of the features flawless. He seemed a man upon whom age had
settled suddenly and prematurely—a man who had burnt himself out in
his youth, and was now but an ash of his former self, though an ash
with fire in the heart of it.
Mr. Levinger greeted him in a few courteous, well-chosen words, that
offered a striking contrast to the social dialect of Mr. Milward—the
contrast between the old style and the new—then, with a bow, he
passed on to offer his arm to Lady Graves, for at that moment dinner
was announced. As Henry followed him with Miss Levinger, he found
himself wondering, with a curiosity that was unusual to him, who and
what this man had been in his youth, before he drifted a waif to
Bradmouth, there to repair his broken fortunes by a mésalliance with
the smack owner’s daughter.
“Was your father ever in the Army?” he asked of Emma, as they filed
slowly down the long corridor. “Forgive my impertinence, but he looks
like a military man.”
He felt her start at his question.
“I don’t know: I think so,” she answered, “because I have heard him
speak of the Crimea as though he had been present at the battles; but
he never talks of his young days.”
Then they entered the dining-room, and in the confusion of taking
their seats the conversation dropped.
MR. LEVINGER PUTS A CASE
At dinner Henry found himself seated between Mr. Levinger and his
daughter. Naturally enough he began to make conversation to the
latter, only to find that, either from shyness or for some other
reason, she would not talk in public, but contented herself with
replies that were as monosyllabic as she could make them.
Somewhat disappointed, for their short tĂŞte-Ă -tĂŞte interview had
given promise of better things, Henry turned his attention to her
father, and soon discovered that he was a most interesting and
brilliant companion. Mr. Levinger could talk well on any subject, and
whatever the matter he touched, he adorned it by an aptness and
facility of illustration truly remarkable in a man who for twenty
years and more was reported to have been little better than a hermit.
At length they settled down to the discussion of archæological
questions, in which, as it chanced, Henry took an intelligent
interest, and more particularly of the flint weapons used by the early
inhabitants of East Anglia. Of these, as it appeared, Mr. Levinger
possessed one of the best collections extant, together with a valuable
and unique series of ancient British, Danish and Saxon gold ornaments
and arms.
The subject proved so mutually agreeable, indeed, that before dinner
was over Mr. Levinger had given, and Henry had accepted, an invitation
to stay a night or two at Monk’s Lodge and inspect these treasures,
and this, be it said, without any arrière-pensée—at any rate, so
far as the latter was concerned.
In the silence that followed this pleasant termination to their talk
Henry overheard Milward pumping Miss Levinger.
“Miss Graves tells me,” he was saying, “er—that you live in that
delightful old house beyond—er—Bradmouth—the one that is haunted.”
“Yes,” she answered, “if you mean Monk’s Lodge. It is old, for the
friars used it as a retreat in times of plague, and after that it
became a headquarters of the smugglers; but I never heard that it was
haunted.”
“Oh! pray don’t rob me of my illusion, Miss Levinger. I drove past
there with your neighbours the Marchams; and Lady Marcham, the
dowager—the one who wears an eye-glass I mean—assured me that it was
haunted by a priest running after a grey nun, or a grey nun running
after a priest, which seems more likely; and I am certain she cannot
be mistaken: she never was about anything yet, spiritual or earthly,
except her own age.”
“Lady Marcham may have seen the ghost: I have not,” said Emma.
“Oh, I have no doubt that she has seen it: she sees everything. Of
course you know her? She is a dear old soul, isn’t she?”
“I have met Lady Marcham; I do not know her,” answered Emma.
“Not know Lady Marcham!” said Milward, in affected surprise; “why, I
should have thought that it would have been as easy to escape knowing
the North Sea when one was on it; she is positively surrounding.
What do you mean, Miss Levinger?”
“I mean that I have not the honour of Lady Marcham’s acquaintance,”
she replied, in an embarrassed voice.
“If that cad does not stop soon, I shall shut him up!” reflected
Henry.
“What! have you quarrelled with her, then?” went on Milward
remorselessly. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, for she is a bad
enemy; and, besides, it must be so awkward, seeing that you have to
meet her at every house about there.”
Emma looked round in despair; and just
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