A Fluttered Dovecote by George Manville Fenn
those two or three lines hastily scribbled upon a piece ofexercise paper.
No! never, never, never will I divulge what they were! Enough that Isay how they made my cheeks burn, my heart throb, and the whole placeturn into an abode of bliss. Why, I could have kissed Mrs Blunt andall the teachers that evening; and when, at tea-time, as I satthoughtful and almost happy--I think that I was quite happy for a littlewhile--Miss Furness said something spiteful and cross, I really don'tthink I minded it a bit.
It did not last long--that very bright rose-colour medium; but there wassomething of it henceforth to make lessons easy, and the time to passless dolefully. I did not answer the first note, nor the second, noryet the third; but I suppose he must have seen that I was notdispleased, or he would not have written so many times; but at last Idid dare to give him a look, which brought note after note for me todevour again and again in solitude. I quite tremble now I write, when Ithink of the daring I displayed in receiving them; but I was brave then,and exultant over my conquest in holding for slave that noble-lookingFrench refugee, whose private history must, I felt, be such a romance,that I quite felt as if I grew taller with importance.
Every note I received was written in his own sweet, sparkling,champagne-like language; and, oh! what progress I made in the tongue,though I am afraid I did not deserve all the praise he bestowed upon me.
Times and times he used to pray for an interview, that I would meet himsomewhere--anywhere; but of course I could not yield to any suchrequest, but told him to be content with the replies I gave him to hisnotes. But still, plan after plan would he propose, and all of them sodreadfully imprudent, and wild, and chivalrous, that nothing could belike it. I know that he would have been a knight or a cavalier had helived earlier; while as to his looks!--ah, me! I fear that there mustbe truth in mesmerism, for I felt from the first that he had someterrible power over me, and could--what shall I say?--there, I cannotthink of a better simile--turn me, as it were, round his finger; andthat is really not an elegant expression. But then, he was so calm, sopensive-looking, and noble, that he might have been taken for one ofByron's heroes--Lara, or Manfred, or the Giaour. Either or all of thesemust have been exactly like him; while to find out that I, LauraBozerne, was the sole object of his worship--Oh! it was thrilling.
I do not know how the time went then, for to me there seemed to be onlyone measurement, and that was the space between Monsieur Achille'slessons. As to the scoldings that I was constantly receiving, I did notheed them now in the least; for my being was filled by one sole thought,while the shadowy, reproachful face of Theodore Saint Purre grew morefaint day by day. It must have been weeks--I cannot tell; months,perhaps--after my entrance as pupil at the Cedars that I retired on someexcuse one afternoon to my dormitory, with a little, sharp,three-cornered note, and tremblingly anxious I tore it open, and readits contents.
And those contents? I would not even hint at them, if it were not thatthey are so necessary to the progress of my confessions.
He said that he had implored me again and again to meet him, and yet Iwas relentless and cruel; and now he had come to the determination towait night by night under the great elm-trees by the side wall, when,even if I would not meet him, he would still have the satisfaction ofstilling the beatings of his aching heart by folding his arms about it,leaning against some solitary, rugged trunk, and gazing upon the casketwhich contained his treasure. I might join him, or I might leave him tohis bitter solitude; but there he would be, night after night, as aguardian to watch over my safety.
It was a beautiful note, and no amount of translating could do itjustice; for after the glowing French in which it was written, ourlanguage seems cold and blank.
What could I do? I could not go, and yet it was impossible to resistthe appeal. How could I rest upon my pillow, knowing him to be alone inthe garden watching, with weary, waiting eyes, for my coming?--for himto be there hour after hour, till the cold dawn was breaking, and thento turn away, with Tennyson, slightly altered, upon his lips,--
"_She_ cometh not, _he_ said."
It was too much! I fought as I had fought before, over and over again,thinking of how it would be wicked, wrong, imprudent, unmaidenly. Oh,what dozens of adjectives I did slap my poor face with that afternoon,vowing again and again that I would not heed his note. But it wasunbearable; and at last, with flushed cheeks and throbbing pulses, Iplunged the note beneath the front of my dress, exclaiming,--
"Come what may, I will be there!"
CHAPTER EIGHT.
MEMORY THE EIGHTH--ONE OF MY SINS.
A day had passed--a long, long, dreary day, and a weary, weary night--during which I kept on starting up from sleep to think that I heard avoice whispering the word "Come!"
Come, come, come--ah! the number of times I seemed to hear that word,and sat up in bed, pressing my hair from my ears to listen, to lie downagain with a sigh--for it was only fancy. How could I go? What could Ido? I dare not try to meet him, even though I had vowed that I would.I kept calling myself coward, but that was of no use, for I only ownedto it and made no reply; though towards morning, after I had beenpicturing to myself his weary form leaning watchingly against a tree forhours, and then seemed to see him slowly going disappointed away, I madeanother vow that, come another night, spite of cowardice and anythingelse, I would go.
And then, while I lay thinking of how shocking it would be, and all thatsort of thing, I dropped off asleep to be awakened by a curious buzzingnoise, which was Patty Smith humming a tune--like some horrible greatbluebottle--as she was dressing, for the bell had rung some time before.
And now the next night had come. It was so hot that I could scarcelybreathe, and the tiresome moon would shine so dreadfully bright that itwas like a great, round eye peering between the edge of the blind andthe window-frame to watch my proceedings. Clara was soon in bed, andbreathing hard; while as for Patty Smith, she snored to that degree thatI quite shivered. It must have been her snoring that made me shiver,for as to what I was about to venture, now that I could feel my mindfully made up, I was quite bold, though my heart would beat so loudlythat it went "thump, thump," under the heavy clothes. I had hurriedupstairs first, and was lying in bed quite dressed, though I laywondering whether those two would notice that my clothes were not thereby the bedside. I thought it would never be twelve o'clock, and I triedto think what Achille would be doing. It was so romantic, now that Ihad passed the first feeling of dread, and seemed so much nicer thansitting up in bed in the dark to have a supper of cakes, sweets, andapples, as we used to at the old school when I was young. Ah, yes, whenI was young!--for I felt old now. In another hour I should be down inthe side walk, where the wall skirted the road. But suppose I wereheard upon the stairs, or opening the side door, or Clara should wake,or--
"Oh, you goose!" I exclaimed at last; "pray don't go if you are so muchafraid."
But really it was enough to make any maiden's heart beat.
I had changed his note about from place to place, for I could not partwith it, and I sighed at the very idea of locking it up in my box withthe others; but I had it now, and I could feel the sharp corner prickevery time I moved. I knew it every word by heart, down even to whereit said, "Thine for ever;" and as I whispered it over to myself, I grewmore and more excited, and longed for the time to slip by faster.
At last, when it seemed as though it would never come, I heard thechurch clock faintly striking twelve; and then I shivered again horriblywith that dreadful Patty's snoring, for it was not likely I should haveany foolish fancies about witching hours of midnight, or anything ofthat kind; and then I softly glided out of bed, and stood quite stillfor nearly five minutes, when, all remaining quiet, and the breathing ofClara and Patty sounding regular, I stepped on one side of the brightpathway made by the moonbeams, made my way to the door, and gentlyturned the handle.
I never knew that door to be so noisy before, and I now really trembled;for, as the tiresome thing creaked, I could hear either Clara or Pattytu
rn in bed, and I stopped quite short, expecting every moment to hearmy name pronounced. But no--all was silence and snore. I gently closedthe door after me, and stood in the dark passage, with my heart almostfailing; for I hardly dared stir a step farther, knowing, as I did, thatin the next room slept the Fraulein, while the other two Graces wereonly a few steps farther down the passage. Somebody was breathing sohard that it was almost a snore, and it was not Patty Smith now; andmore than once I was for going back, but I stole on at last, and reachedthe great staircase, where the moon was shining right through theskylight, and making queer shadows upon the wall. But I glided down,and was nearly at the bottom, when, looking up, I felt almost ready tosink--for, in the full glare of the moonlight, there stood a tall figuregazing down at me.
I did not shriek, nor turn to run away, for I had self-command enough togovern the emotions struggling for exit; though I wonder that I did notgo mad with fear from
No! never, never, never will I divulge what they were! Enough that Isay how they made my cheeks burn, my heart throb, and the whole placeturn into an abode of bliss. Why, I could have kissed Mrs Blunt andall the teachers that evening; and when, at tea-time, as I satthoughtful and almost happy--I think that I was quite happy for a littlewhile--Miss Furness said something spiteful and cross, I really don'tthink I minded it a bit.
It did not last long--that very bright rose-colour medium; but there wassomething of it henceforth to make lessons easy, and the time to passless dolefully. I did not answer the first note, nor the second, noryet the third; but I suppose he must have seen that I was notdispleased, or he would not have written so many times; but at last Idid dare to give him a look, which brought note after note for me todevour again and again in solitude. I quite tremble now I write, when Ithink of the daring I displayed in receiving them; but I was brave then,and exultant over my conquest in holding for slave that noble-lookingFrench refugee, whose private history must, I felt, be such a romance,that I quite felt as if I grew taller with importance.
Every note I received was written in his own sweet, sparkling,champagne-like language; and, oh! what progress I made in the tongue,though I am afraid I did not deserve all the praise he bestowed upon me.
Times and times he used to pray for an interview, that I would meet himsomewhere--anywhere; but of course I could not yield to any suchrequest, but told him to be content with the replies I gave him to hisnotes. But still, plan after plan would he propose, and all of them sodreadfully imprudent, and wild, and chivalrous, that nothing could belike it. I know that he would have been a knight or a cavalier had helived earlier; while as to his looks!--ah, me! I fear that there mustbe truth in mesmerism, for I felt from the first that he had someterrible power over me, and could--what shall I say?--there, I cannotthink of a better simile--turn me, as it were, round his finger; andthat is really not an elegant expression. But then, he was so calm, sopensive-looking, and noble, that he might have been taken for one ofByron's heroes--Lara, or Manfred, or the Giaour. Either or all of thesemust have been exactly like him; while to find out that I, LauraBozerne, was the sole object of his worship--Oh! it was thrilling.
I do not know how the time went then, for to me there seemed to be onlyone measurement, and that was the space between Monsieur Achille'slessons. As to the scoldings that I was constantly receiving, I did notheed them now in the least; for my being was filled by one sole thought,while the shadowy, reproachful face of Theodore Saint Purre grew morefaint day by day. It must have been weeks--I cannot tell; months,perhaps--after my entrance as pupil at the Cedars that I retired on someexcuse one afternoon to my dormitory, with a little, sharp,three-cornered note, and tremblingly anxious I tore it open, and readits contents.
And those contents? I would not even hint at them, if it were not thatthey are so necessary to the progress of my confessions.
He said that he had implored me again and again to meet him, and yet Iwas relentless and cruel; and now he had come to the determination towait night by night under the great elm-trees by the side wall, when,even if I would not meet him, he would still have the satisfaction ofstilling the beatings of his aching heart by folding his arms about it,leaning against some solitary, rugged trunk, and gazing upon the casketwhich contained his treasure. I might join him, or I might leave him tohis bitter solitude; but there he would be, night after night, as aguardian to watch over my safety.
It was a beautiful note, and no amount of translating could do itjustice; for after the glowing French in which it was written, ourlanguage seems cold and blank.
What could I do? I could not go, and yet it was impossible to resistthe appeal. How could I rest upon my pillow, knowing him to be alone inthe garden watching, with weary, waiting eyes, for my coming?--for himto be there hour after hour, till the cold dawn was breaking, and thento turn away, with Tennyson, slightly altered, upon his lips,--
"_She_ cometh not, _he_ said."
It was too much! I fought as I had fought before, over and over again,thinking of how it would be wicked, wrong, imprudent, unmaidenly. Oh,what dozens of adjectives I did slap my poor face with that afternoon,vowing again and again that I would not heed his note. But it wasunbearable; and at last, with flushed cheeks and throbbing pulses, Iplunged the note beneath the front of my dress, exclaiming,--
"Come what may, I will be there!"
CHAPTER EIGHT.
MEMORY THE EIGHTH--ONE OF MY SINS.
A day had passed--a long, long, dreary day, and a weary, weary night--during which I kept on starting up from sleep to think that I heard avoice whispering the word "Come!"
Come, come, come--ah! the number of times I seemed to hear that word,and sat up in bed, pressing my hair from my ears to listen, to lie downagain with a sigh--for it was only fancy. How could I go? What could Ido? I dare not try to meet him, even though I had vowed that I would.I kept calling myself coward, but that was of no use, for I only ownedto it and made no reply; though towards morning, after I had beenpicturing to myself his weary form leaning watchingly against a tree forhours, and then seemed to see him slowly going disappointed away, I madeanother vow that, come another night, spite of cowardice and anythingelse, I would go.
And then, while I lay thinking of how shocking it would be, and all thatsort of thing, I dropped off asleep to be awakened by a curious buzzingnoise, which was Patty Smith humming a tune--like some horrible greatbluebottle--as she was dressing, for the bell had rung some time before.
And now the next night had come. It was so hot that I could scarcelybreathe, and the tiresome moon would shine so dreadfully bright that itwas like a great, round eye peering between the edge of the blind andthe window-frame to watch my proceedings. Clara was soon in bed, andbreathing hard; while as for Patty Smith, she snored to that degree thatI quite shivered. It must have been her snoring that made me shiver,for as to what I was about to venture, now that I could feel my mindfully made up, I was quite bold, though my heart would beat so loudlythat it went "thump, thump," under the heavy clothes. I had hurriedupstairs first, and was lying in bed quite dressed, though I laywondering whether those two would notice that my clothes were not thereby the bedside. I thought it would never be twelve o'clock, and I triedto think what Achille would be doing. It was so romantic, now that Ihad passed the first feeling of dread, and seemed so much nicer thansitting up in bed in the dark to have a supper of cakes, sweets, andapples, as we used to at the old school when I was young. Ah, yes, whenI was young!--for I felt old now. In another hour I should be down inthe side walk, where the wall skirted the road. But suppose I wereheard upon the stairs, or opening the side door, or Clara should wake,or--
"Oh, you goose!" I exclaimed at last; "pray don't go if you are so muchafraid."
But really it was enough to make any maiden's heart beat.
I had changed his note about from place to place, for I could not partwith it, and I sighed at the very idea of locking it up in my box withthe others; but I had it now, and I could feel the sharp corner prickevery time I moved. I knew it every word by heart, down even to whereit said, "Thine for ever;" and as I whispered it over to myself, I grewmore and more excited, and longed for the time to slip by faster.
At last, when it seemed as though it would never come, I heard thechurch clock faintly striking twelve; and then I shivered again horriblywith that dreadful Patty's snoring, for it was not likely I should haveany foolish fancies about witching hours of midnight, or anything ofthat kind; and then I softly glided out of bed, and stood quite stillfor nearly five minutes, when, all remaining quiet, and the breathing ofClara and Patty sounding regular, I stepped on one side of the brightpathway made by the moonbeams, made my way to the door, and gentlyturned the handle.
I never knew that door to be so noisy before, and I now really trembled;for, as the tiresome thing creaked, I could hear either Clara or Pattytu
I did not shriek, nor turn to run away, for I had self-command enough togovern the emotions struggling for exit; though I wonder that I did notgo mad with fear from