John Halifax [65]
trammels of formal custom. She held out her hand to him.
"I thank you very much, Mr. Halifax. If I wanted help I would ask you; indeed I would."
"Thank YOU. Good-night."
He pressed the hand with reverence--and was gone. I saw Miss March look after him: then she turned to speak and smiled with me. A light word, an easy smile, as to a poor invalid whom she had often pitied out of the fulness of her womanly heart.
Soon I followed John into the parlour. He asked me no questions, made no remarks, only took his candle and went up-stairs.
But, years afterwards, he confessed to me that the touch of that hand--it was a rather peculiar hand in the "feel" of it, as the children say, with a very soft palm, and fingers that had a habit of perpetually fluttering, like a little bird's wing--the touch of that hand was to the young man like the revelation of a new world.
CHAPTER XII
The next day John rode away earlier even than was his wont, I thought. He stayed but a little while talking with me. While Mrs. Tod was bustling over our breakfast he asked her, in a grave and unconcerned manner, "How Mr. March was this morning?" which was the only allusion he made to the previous night's occurrences.
I had a long, quiet day alone in the beech-wood, close below our cottage, sitting by the little runnel, now worn to a thread with the summer weather, but singing still. It talked to me like a living thing.
When I came home in the evening Miss March stood in front of the cottage, with--strange to say--her father. But I had heard that his paroxysms were often of brief continuance, and that, like most confirmed valetudinarians, when real danger stared him in the face he put it from him, and was glad to be well.
Seeing me coming, Miss March whispered to him; he turned upon me a listless gaze from over his fur collar, and bowed languidly, without rising from his easy chair. Yes, it was Mr. March--the very Mr. March we had met! I knew him, changed though he was; but he did not know me in the least, as, indeed, was not likely.
His daughter came a step or two to meet me. "You are better, I see, Mr. Fletcher. Enderley is a most healthy place, as I try to persuade my father. This is Mr. Fletcher, sir, the gentleman who--"
"Was so obliging as to ride to S----, last night, for me? Allow me to thank him myself."
I began to disclaim, and Miss March to explain; but we must both have been slightly incoherent, for I think the poor gentleman was never quite clear as to who it was that went for Dr. Brown. However, that mattered little, as his acknowledgments were evidently dictated more by a natural habit of courtesy than by any strong sense of service rendered.
"I am a very great invalid, sir; my dear, will you explain to the gentleman?" And he leaned his head back wearily.
"My father has never recovered his ten years' residence in the West Indies."
"'Residence?' Pardon me, my dear, you forget I was governor of--"
"Oh, yes!--The climate is very trying there, Mr. Fletcher. But since he has been in England--five years only--he has been very much better. I hope he will be quite well in time."
Mr. March shook his head drearily. Poor man! the world of existence to him seemed to have melted lazily down into a mere nebula, of which the forlorn nucleus was--himself. What a life for any young creature--even his own daughter, to be bound to continually!
I could not help remarking the strong contrast between them. He, with his sallow, delicately-shaped features--the thin mouth and long straight nose, of that form I have heard called the "melancholy nose," which usually indicates a feeble, pensive, and hypochondriac temperament; while his daughter--But I have described her already.
"Mr. Fletcher is an invalid too, father," she said; so gently, that I could feel no pain in her noticing my infirmity; and took gratefully a seat she gave me, beside that of Mr. March. She seemed inclined to talk to me; and her manner was perfectly easy, friendly, and kind.
We spoke of commonplace subjects,
"I thank you very much, Mr. Halifax. If I wanted help I would ask you; indeed I would."
"Thank YOU. Good-night."
He pressed the hand with reverence--and was gone. I saw Miss March look after him: then she turned to speak and smiled with me. A light word, an easy smile, as to a poor invalid whom she had often pitied out of the fulness of her womanly heart.
Soon I followed John into the parlour. He asked me no questions, made no remarks, only took his candle and went up-stairs.
But, years afterwards, he confessed to me that the touch of that hand--it was a rather peculiar hand in the "feel" of it, as the children say, with a very soft palm, and fingers that had a habit of perpetually fluttering, like a little bird's wing--the touch of that hand was to the young man like the revelation of a new world.
CHAPTER XII
The next day John rode away earlier even than was his wont, I thought. He stayed but a little while talking with me. While Mrs. Tod was bustling over our breakfast he asked her, in a grave and unconcerned manner, "How Mr. March was this morning?" which was the only allusion he made to the previous night's occurrences.
I had a long, quiet day alone in the beech-wood, close below our cottage, sitting by the little runnel, now worn to a thread with the summer weather, but singing still. It talked to me like a living thing.
When I came home in the evening Miss March stood in front of the cottage, with--strange to say--her father. But I had heard that his paroxysms were often of brief continuance, and that, like most confirmed valetudinarians, when real danger stared him in the face he put it from him, and was glad to be well.
Seeing me coming, Miss March whispered to him; he turned upon me a listless gaze from over his fur collar, and bowed languidly, without rising from his easy chair. Yes, it was Mr. March--the very Mr. March we had met! I knew him, changed though he was; but he did not know me in the least, as, indeed, was not likely.
His daughter came a step or two to meet me. "You are better, I see, Mr. Fletcher. Enderley is a most healthy place, as I try to persuade my father. This is Mr. Fletcher, sir, the gentleman who--"
"Was so obliging as to ride to S----, last night, for me? Allow me to thank him myself."
I began to disclaim, and Miss March to explain; but we must both have been slightly incoherent, for I think the poor gentleman was never quite clear as to who it was that went for Dr. Brown. However, that mattered little, as his acknowledgments were evidently dictated more by a natural habit of courtesy than by any strong sense of service rendered.
"I am a very great invalid, sir; my dear, will you explain to the gentleman?" And he leaned his head back wearily.
"My father has never recovered his ten years' residence in the West Indies."
"'Residence?' Pardon me, my dear, you forget I was governor of--"
"Oh, yes!--The climate is very trying there, Mr. Fletcher. But since he has been in England--five years only--he has been very much better. I hope he will be quite well in time."
Mr. March shook his head drearily. Poor man! the world of existence to him seemed to have melted lazily down into a mere nebula, of which the forlorn nucleus was--himself. What a life for any young creature--even his own daughter, to be bound to continually!
I could not help remarking the strong contrast between them. He, with his sallow, delicately-shaped features--the thin mouth and long straight nose, of that form I have heard called the "melancholy nose," which usually indicates a feeble, pensive, and hypochondriac temperament; while his daughter--But I have described her already.
"Mr. Fletcher is an invalid too, father," she said; so gently, that I could feel no pain in her noticing my infirmity; and took gratefully a seat she gave me, beside that of Mr. March. She seemed inclined to talk to me; and her manner was perfectly easy, friendly, and kind.
We spoke of commonplace subjects,