'You wouldn't speak of money-matters now, would you, Harrington?'

'I dislike the subject, I confess,' said Evan.

'And so do I' Harry jumped at the perfect similarity between them. 'You

can't think how it bothers one to have to talk about it. You and I are

tremendously alike.'

Evan might naturally suppose that a subject Harry detested, he would not

continue, but for a whole hour Harry turned it over and over with grim

glances at Jewry.

'You see,' he wound up, 'I'm in a fix. I want to help that poor girl,

and one or two things—'

'It 's for that you want it?' cried Evan, brightening to him. 'Accept it

from me.'

It is a thing familiar to the experience of money-borrowers, that your

'last chance' is the man who is to accommodate you; but we are always

astonished, nevertheless; and Harry was, when notes to the amount of the

largest sum named by him were placed in his hand by one whom he looked

upon as the last to lend.

'What a trump you are, Harrington!' was all he could say; and then he was

for hurrying Evan into the house, to find pen and paper, and write down a

memorandum of the loan: but Evan insisted upon sparing him the trouble,

though Harry, with the admirable scruples of an inveterate borrower,

begged hard to be allowed to bind himself legally to repay the money.

''Pon my soul, Harrington, you make me remember I once doubted whether you

were one of us—rather your own fault, you know!' said Harry. 'Bury

that, won't you?'

''Till your doubts recur,' Evan observed; and Harry burst out, 'Gad, if

you weren't such a melancholy beggar, you'd be the jolliest fellow I

know! There, go after Rosey. Dashed if I don't think you're ahead of

Ferdinand, long chalks. Your style does for girls. I like women.'

With a chuckle and a wink, Harry swung-off. Evan had now to reflect that

he had just thrown away part of the price of his bondage to Tailordom;

the mention of Rose filled his mind. Where was she? Both were seeking

one another. Rose was in the cypress walk. He saw the star-like figure

up the length of it, between the swelling tall dark pillars, and was

hurrying to her, resolute not to let one minute of deception blacken

further the soul that loved so true a soul. She saw him, and stood

smiling, when the Countess issued, shadow-like, from a side path, and

declared that she must claim her brother for a few instants. Would her

sweet Rose pardon her? Rose bowed coolly. The hearts of the lovers were

chilled, not that they perceived any malice in the Countess, but their

keen instincts felt an evil fate.

The Countess had but to tell Evan that she had met the insolvent in

apples, and recognized him under his change of fortune, and had no doubt

that at least he would amuse the company. Then she asked her brother the

superfluous question, whether he loved her, which Evan answered

satisfactorily enough, as he thought; but practical ladies require

proofs.

'Quick,' said Evan, seeing Rose vanish, 'what do you want? I'll do

anything.'

'Anything? Ah, but this will be disagreeable to you.'

'Name it at once. I promise beforehand.'

The Countess wanted Evan to ask Andrew to be the very best brother-in-law

in the world, and win, unknown to himself, her cheerful thanks, by

lending Evan to lend to her the sum of one hundred pounds, as she was in

absolute distress for money.

'Really, Louisa, this is a thing you might ask him yourself,' Evan

remonstrated.

'It would not become me to do so, dear,' said the Countess, demurely; and

inasmuch as she had already drawn on Andrew in her own person pretty

largely, her views of propriety were correct in this instance.

Evan had to consent before he could be released. He ran to the end of

the walk through the portal, into the park. Rose was not to be seen.

She had gone in to dress for dinner. The opportunity might recur, but

would his courage come with it? His courage had sunk on a sudden; or it

may have been that it was worst for this young man to ask for a loan of

money, than to tell his beloved that he was basely born, vile, and

unworthy, and had snared her into loving him; for when he and Andrew were

together, money was not alluded to. Andrew, however, betrayed remarkable

discomposure. He said plainly that he wanted to leave Beckley Court, and

wondered why he didn't leave, and whether he was on his head or his feet,

and how he had been such a fool as to come.

'Do you mean that for me?' said sensitive Evan.

'Oh, you! You're a young buck,' returned Andrew, evasively.

'We common-place business men-we 're out of our element; and there's poor

Carry can't sit down to their dinners without an upset. I thank God I'm

a Radical, Van; one man's the same as another to me, how he's born, as

long as he's honest and agreeable. But a chap like that George Uplift to

look down on anybody! 'Gad, I've a good mind to bring in a Bill for the

Abolition of the Squirearchy.'

Ultimately, Andrew somehow contrived to stick a hint or two about the

terrible dinner in Evan's quivering flesh. He did it as delicately as

possible, half begging pardon, and perspiring profusely. Evan grasped

his hand, and thanked him. Caroline's illness was now explained to him.

'I'll take Caroline with me to-morrow,' he said. 'Louisa wishes to stay

—there 's a pic-nic. Will you look to her, and bring her with you?'

'My dear Van,' replied Andrew, 'stop with Louisa? Now, in confidence,

it's as bad as a couple of wives; no disrespect to my excellent good

Harry at home; but Louisa—I don't know how it is—but Louisa, you lose

your head, you're in a whirl, you're an automaton, a teetotum! I haven't

a notion of what I've been doing or saying since I came here. My belief

is, I 've been lying right and left. I shall be found out to a

certainty: Oh! if she's made her mind up for the pic-nic, somebody must

stop. I can only tell you, Van, it's one perpetual vapour-bath to me.

There 'll be room for two in my trousers when I get back. I shall have

to get the tailor to take them in a full half.'

Here occurred an opening for one of those acrid pleasantries which

console us when there is horrid warfare within.

'You must give me the work,' said Evan, partly pleased with his hated

self for being able to jest on the subject, as a piece of preliminary

self-conquest.

'Aha!' went Andrew, as if the joke were too good to be dwelt on; 'Hem';

and by way of diverting from it cleverly and naturally, he remarked that

the weather was fine. This made Evan allude to his letter written from

Lymport, upon which Andrew said: 'tush! pish! humbug! nonsense! won't

hear a word. Don't know anything about it. Van, you're going to be a

brewer. I say you are. You're afraid you can't? I tell you, sir, I've

got a bet on it. You're not going to make me lose, are you—eh? I have,

and a stiff bet, too. You must and shall, so there's an end. Only we

can't make arrangements just yet, my boy. Old Tom—very good old fellow

—but, you know—must get old Tom out of the way, first. Now go and

dress for dinner. And Lord preserve us from the Great Mel to-day!'

Andrew mumbled as he turned away.

Evan could not reach his chamber without being waylaid by the Countess.

Had he remembered the sister who sacrificed so much for him? 'There,

there!' cried Evan, and her hand closed on the delicious golden whispers

of bank-notes. And, 'Oh, generous Andrew! dear good Evan!' were the

exclamations of the gratified lady.

There remained nearly another hundred. Evan laid out the notes, and eyed

them while dressing. They seemed to say to him, 'We have you now.' He

was clutched by a beneficent or a most malignant magician. The former

seemed due to him, considering the cloud on his fortunes. This enigma

might mean, that by submitting to a temporary humiliation, for a trial of

him—in fact, by his acknowledgement of the fact, loathed though it was,

—he won a secret overlooker's esteem, gained a powerful ally. Here was

the proof, he held the proof. He had read Arabian Tales and could

believe in marvels; especially could he believe in the friendliness of a

magical thing that astounded without hurting him.

He, sat down in his room at night and wrote a fairly manful letter to

Rose; and it is to be said of the wretch he then saw himself, that he

pardoned her for turning from so vile a pretender. He heard a step in

the passage. It was Polly Wheedle. Polly had put her young mistress to

bed, and was retiring to her own slumbers. He made her take the letter

and promise to deliver it immediately. Would not to-morrow morning do,

she asked, as Miss Rose was very sleepy. He seemed to hesitate—he was

picturing how Rose looked when very sleepy. Why should he surrender this

darling? And subtler question—why should he make her unhappy? Why

disturb her at all in her sweet sleep?

'Well,' said Evan. 'To-morrow will do.—No, take it to-night, for God's

sake!' he cried, as one who bursts the spell of an opiate. 'Go at once.'

The temptation had almost overcome him.

Polly thought his proceedings queer. And what could the letter contain?

A declaration, of course. She walked slowly along the passage,

meditating on love, and remotely on its slave, Mr. Nicholas Frim.

Nicholas had never written her a letter; but she was determined that he

should, some day. She wondered what love-letters were like? Like

valentines without the Cupids. Practical valentines, one might say. Not

vapoury and wild, but hot and to the point. Delightful things! No harm

in peeping at a love-letter, if you do it with the eye of a friend.

Polly spelt just a word when a door opened at her elbow. She dropped her

candle and curtsied to the Countess's voice. The Countess desired her to

enter, and all in a tremble Polly crept in. Her air of guilt made the

Countess thrill. She had merely called her in to extract daily gossip.

The corner of the letter sticking up under Polly's neck attracted her

strangely, and beginning with the familiar, 'Well, child,' she talked of

things interesting to Polly, and then exhibited the pic-nic dress. It

was a lovely half-mourning; airy sorrows, gauzy griefs, you might imagine

to constitute the wearer. White delicately striped, exquisitely trimmed,

and of a stuff to make the feminine mouth water!

Could Polly refuse to try it on, when the flattering proposal met her

ears? Blushing, shame-faced, adoring the lady who made her look

adorable, Polly tried it on, and the Countess complimented her, and made

a doll of her, and turned her this way and that way, and intoxicated her.

'A rich husband, Polly, child! and you are a lady ready made.'

Infamous poison to poor Polly; but as the thunder destroys small insects,

exalted schemers are to be excused for riding down their few thousands.

Moreover, the Countess really looked upon domestics as being only half-

souls.

Dressed in her own attire again, Polly felt in her pockets, and at her

bosom, and sang out: 'Oh, my—Oh, where! Oh!'

The letter was lost. The letter could not be found. The Countess grew

extremely fatigued, and had to dismiss Polly, in spite of her eager

petitions to be allowed to search under the carpets and inside the bed.

In the morning came Evan's great trial. There stood Rose. She turned to

him, and her eyes were happy and unclouded.

'You are not changed?' he said.

'Changed? what could change me?'

The God of true hearts bless her! He could hardly believe it.

'You are the Rose I knew yesterday?'

'Yes, Evan. But you—you look as if you had not slept.'

'You will not leave me this morning, before I go, Rose? Oh, my darling!

this that you do for me is the work of an angel-nothing less! I have

been a coward. And my beloved! to feel vile is agony to me—it makes me

feel unworthy of the hand I press. Now all is clear between us. I go: I

am forgiven.'

Rose repeated his last words, and then added hurriedly:

'All is clear between us? Shall I speak to Mama this morning? Dear

Evan! it will be right that I should.'

For the moment he could not understand why, but supposing a scrupulous

honesty in her, said: 'Yes, tell Lady Jocelyn all.'

'And then, Evan, you will never need to go.'

They separated. The deep-toned sentence sang in Evan's heart. Rose and

her mother were of one stamp. And Rose might speak for her mother. To

take the hands of such a pair and be lifted out of the slough, he thought

no shame: and all through the hours of the morning the image of two

angels stooping to touch a leper, pressed on his brain like a reality,

and went divinely through his blood.

Toward mid-day Rose beckoned to him, and led him out across the lawn into

the park, and along the borders of the stream.

'Evan,' she said, 'shall I really speak to Mama?'

'You have not yet?' he answered.

'No. I have been with Juliana and with Drummond. Look at this, Evan.'

She showed a small black speck in the palm of her hand, which turned out,

on your viewing it closely, to be a brand of the letter L. 'Mama did

that when I was a little girl, because I told lies. I never could

distinguish between truth and falsehood; and Mama set that mark on me,

and I have never told a lie since. She forgives anything but that. She

will be our friend; she will never forsake us, Evan, if we do not deceive

her. Oh, Evan! it never is of any use. But deceive her, and she cannot

forgive you. It is not in her nature.'

Evan paused before he replied: 'You have only to tell her what I have

told you. You know everything.'

Rose gave him a flying look of pain: 'Everything, Evan? What do I know?'

'Ah, Rose! do you compel me to repeat it?'

Bewildered, Rose thought: 'Have I slept and forgotten it?'

He saw the persistent grieved interrogation of her eyebrows.

'Well!' she sighed resignedly: 'I am yours; you know that, Evan.'

But he was a lover, and quarrelled with her sigh.

'It may well make you sad now, Rose.'

'Sad? no, that does not make me sad. No; but my hands are tied.

I cannot defend you or justify myself; and induce Mama to stand by us.

Oh, Evan! you love me! why can you not open your heart to me entirely,

and trust me?'

'More?' cried Evan: 'Can I trust you more?' He spoke of the letter: Rose

caught his hand.

'I never had it, Evan. You wrote it last night? and all was written in

it? I never saw it—but I know all.'

Their eyes fronted. The gates of Rose's were wide open, and he saw no

hurtful beasts or lurking snakes in the happy garden within, but Love,

like a fixed star.

'Then you know why I must leave, Rose.'

'Leave? Leave me? On the contrary, you must stay by me, and support me.

Why, Evan, we have to fight a battle.'

Much as he worshipped her, this intrepid directness of soul startled him-

almost humbled him. And her eyes shone with a firm cheerful light, as

she exclaimed: 'It makes me so happy to think you were the first to

mention this. You meant to be, and that's the same thing. I heard it

this morning: you wrote it last night. It's you I love, Evan. Your

birth, and what you were obliged to do—that's nothing. Of course I'm

sorry for it, dear. But I'm more sorry for the pain I must have

sometimes put you to. It happened through my mother's father being a

merchant; and that side of the family the men and women are quite sordid

and unendurable; and that's how it came that I spoke of disliking

tradesmen. I little thought I should ever love one sprung from that

class.'

She turned to him tenderly.

'And in spite of what my birth is, you love me, Rose?'

'There's no spite in it, Evan. I do.'

Hard for him, while his heart was melting to caress her, the thought that

he had snared this bird of heaven in a net! Rose gave him no time for

reflection, or the moony imagining of their raptures lovers love to dwell

upon.

'You gave the letter to Polly, of course?'

'Yes.'

'Oh, naughty Polly! I must punish you,' Rose apostrophized her. 'You

might have divided us for ever. Well, we shall have to fight a battle,

you understand that. Will you stand by me?'

Would he not risk his soul for her?

'Very well, Evan. Then—but don't be sensitive. Oh, how sensitive you

are! I see it all now. This is what we shall have to do. We shall have

to speak to Mama to-day—this morning. Drummond has told me he is going

to speak to her, and we must be first. That 's decided. I begged a

couple of hours. You must not be offended with Drummond. He does it out

of pure affection for us, and I can see he's right—or, at least, not

quite wrong. He ought, I think, to know that he cannot change me. Very

well, we shall win Mama by what we do. My mother has ten times my wits,

and yet I manage her like a feather. I have only to be honest and

straightforward. Then Mama will gain over Papa. Papa, of course, won't

like it. He's quiet and easy, but he likes blood, but he also likes

peace better; and I think he loves Rosey—as well as somebody—almost?

Look, dear, there is our seat where we—where you would rob me of my

handkerchief. I can't talk any more.'

Rose had suddenly fallen from her prattle, soft and short-breathed.

'Then, dear,' she went on, 'we shall have to fight the family. Aunt

Shorne will be terrible. My poor uncles! I pity them. But they will

come round. They always have thought what I did was right, and why

should they change their minds now? I shall tell them that at their time

of life a change of any kind is very unwise and bad for them. Then there

is Grandmama Bonner. She can hurt us really, if she pleases. Oh, my

dear Evan! if you had only been a curate! Why isn't your name Parsley?

Then my Grandmama the Countess of Elburne. Well, we have a Countess on

our side, haven't we? And that reminds me, Evan, if we're to be happy

and succeed, you must promise one thing: you will not tell the Countess,

your sister. Don't confide this to her. Will you promise?'

Evan assured her he was not in the habit of pouring secrets into any

bosom, the Countess's as little as another's.

'Very well, then, Evan, it's unpleasant while it lasts, but we shall gain

the day. Uncle Melville will give you an appointment, and then?'

'Yes, Rose,' he said, 'I will do this, though I don't think you can know

what I shall have to endure-not in confessing what I am, but in feeling

that I have brought you to my level.'

'Does it not raise me?' she cried.

He shook his head.

'But in reality, Evan—apart from mere appearances—in reality it does!

it does!'

'Men will not think so, Rose, nor can I. Oh, my Rose! how different you

make me. Up to this hour I have been so weak! torn two ways! You give

me double strength.'

Then these lovers talked of distant days—compared their feelings on this

and that occasion with mutual wonder and delight. Then the old hours

lived anew. And—did you really think that, Evan? And—Oh, Rose! was

that your dream? And the meaning of that by-gone look: was it what they

fancied? And such and such a tone of voice; would it bear the wished

interpretation? Thus does Love avenge himself on the unsatisfactory Past

and call out its essence.

Could Evan do less than adore her? She knew all, and she loved him!

Since he was too shy to allude more than once to his letter, it was

natural that he should not ask her how she came to know, and how much the

'all' that she knew comprised. In his letter he had told all; the

condition of his parents, and his own. Honestly, now, what with his

dazzled state of mind, his deep inward happiness, and love's endless

delusions, he abstained from touching the subject further. Honestly,

therefore, as far as a lover can be honest.

So they toyed, and then Rose, setting her fingers loose, whispered: 'Are

you ready?' And Evan nodded; and Rose, to make him think light of the

matter in hand, laughed: 'Pluck not quite up yet?'

'Quite, my Rose!' said Evan, and they walked to the house, not quite

knowing what they were going to do.

On the steps they met Drummond with Mrs. Evremonde. Little imagining how

heart and heart the two had grown, and that Evan would understand him,

Drummond called to Rose playfully: 'Time's up.'

'Is it?' Rose answered, and to Mrs. Evremonde

'Give Drummond a walk. Poor Drummond is going silly.'

Evan looked into his eyes calmly as he passed.

'Where are you going, Rose?' said Mrs. Evremonde.

'Going to give my maid Polly a whipping for losing a letter she ought to

have delivered to me last night,' said Rose, in a loud voice, looking at

Drummond. 'And then going to Mama. Pleasure first—duty after. Isn't

that the proverb, Drummond?'

She kissed her fingers rather scornfully to her old friend.

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Confident serenity inspired by evil prognostications

Enamoured young men have these notions

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I always wait for a thing to happen first

I never see anything, my dear

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End of this Project Gutenberg Etext of Evan Harrington, v4

by George Meredith