Tales and Sketches.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 22, 24 June 1871, Page 16

Tales and Sketches.

THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. A Yachting Story. [From All the Yeab Round.] CHAPTEB I. —THE HEROINES.

St. Arthur’s-on-the*Sea was a bathing town combined with a packet station : and a harbor that, to anyone looking from the inland hills, seemed like a loop of delicate ribbon floating on the water. It was a granite district, and the abundance of plaster, frosting over villas as though they were bride-cakes, made the place glitter and shine in the glare of the sun, like an Italian bay. It was also a yatching station, and two clubs, the Royal St. Arthur’s and the Royal Burgee, frowned and scowled at each other from opposite sides of the jetty. The St. Arthur’s was select, and though founded on a broad platform, by and bye began to black ball various local persons as ‘ low’ and * not the sort of person.’ But the famous rejection of Mr Littlejohn, the solicitor, whom every one knew, and whom many of the * fine’ party —men, for instance, like Foljambe and Knox, ruthless ‘beaners’ —were willing to admit, brought matters to a crisis. Then it was determined to found The Royal Burgee. Once every year a regatta was given by both clubs, conjointly—an act however, in which there was no amity or cordiality. It was imposed by sheer necessity, as neither could have separately borne the cost of entertaining. They gave plates and prizes together; but somehow the St. Arthur’s contrived to bear off any honor or profit that was to be got out of the strangers of rank, much as a lady of condition will ignore the client to whose party she has undertaken to ask guests. The distinguished strangers always chose the St. Arthur’s when offered honorary membership. They were ‘ put up’ to the matter almost before they touched shore by the Reverend Doctor Bailey, who was for ‘ keeping the club pure, sir,’ and threw out, in a careless parenthesis, that ‘ the other place’ was * a kind of poor thing, you know,’ mostly brokers and the shopkeepers,’ well conducted and respectable, and all that: but scarcely the sort of thing. * And it is gratifying forme,’ continued the doctor, a very enormous clergyman, six feet two in height, and portly and weighty without absolute corpulence, ‘ to see persons of that class, banding themselves together for rational relaxation. If they want their club, why shouldn’t they have it ? and Heaven speed their work; and I am told it is exceedingly well conducted, but it is scarcely the place, you see. You are a man of the world, Sir John.’ The Reverend Doctor Bailey, thus mentioned, was vicar of this important and fast rising watering-place. Ia appearance he was a very remarkable looking man of great height; he had a vast broad chest; a flourishing umbrella ; a broad brimmed hat, and an unhealthy florid face; lips that were made for sauces and wines; with a high stiff wall of a white tie, which came up at the side of his neck, and seemed bent on cutting off his ears. The hat lay very far back, and the Reverend Doctor Bailey, stalking along, his head back, his * snub’ nose to the clouds, was as well known an object as the spire of the church he served. That church, with a wise forethought, he had accepted when the place was a poor one. With a true instinct as to its future, he had asked his patron, Lord Frogmore, for the living, and it had been worked up into a most profitable ‘ berth.’ He was a good preacher, or had the reputation of being one, which did as well; and during the season the doctor contributed much to its success by his genteel sermons, in which there was none of that vulgar conventicle language, which he called mere * low poking the fire,’ and which he said fretted unnecessarily the nice and good people who came to hear him. * Not that I would compromise the truth,’ he said, ‘ one hair’s breath. I shall do my sacred work always faithfully and to the best of my power: but the roaring vulgarity of such fellows as that Buckley, who has the little Bethel yonder, does no good.’ There was a parsonage next the church, a very small apostolic mansion. Long » ago it had been given over to the curate at a rent, while the doctor gave his dinner parties up at the Beeches, a handsome gentleman’s seat which he had purchased. There he lived with Mrs Bailey, whose little shrunk figure no one was familiar with, with his daughter Jessica and his son Tom—a young fellow in the army, often spoken of as ‘ the captain.’ These children had unhappily been born when Doctor Bailey was * a mere working curate,’ and had not yet established his connection ; he often regretted that one had not been christened Constantia, after ‘ dear Lady Frogmore,’ and the other St John, a family name of the same house. Nay, turning his regrets still further back, the doctor would bewail his excessive haste in the matter of marriage, when he might have chosen something far more e suitablethe truth being that Mrs Bailey’s origin would not bear heraldic tracing, nor was she even fortified with

useful connection. But, with a venial exaggeration, if not untruth, the doctor devised conversational pedigrees, spoke of Mrs Bailey’s ‘ family,’ and very largely of * the Bakers of Blackforest.’ Thus much for allusion to the doctor, who was, as it were, viceroy of the place, and was really allowed to take on himself all representative duties. He was, indeed, described as an ‘ overbearing, choloric, insolent fellow,’ by one of the radicals of the town and ‘ a clerical bully,' who, at home, roared at his family, though he was a little afraid of his daughter. A selfish " schemer, with no more religion about him than was confined strictly to his Sunday platitudes. Then, it was owned, he shone, working his arms vigorously, and having a tremendous pair of lungs. Thus much for the doctor’s house. But there is a

family, whose heiress daughter is a heroine of this little piece, who must be noticed before the figures themselves enter from the wing. Panton Park was well back in the country, and the owner, Sir Charles Panton, a true squire and hunting man,’ boasted that the sea could not be seen from his top windows. Yet it was not more than a mile and a half from the bathing town, down in a rich bowl of grass and planting. There, in a great stone palace which the late baronet had built fifty years before, literally not knowing what else to do with his money, lived Sir Charles and daughter. She was heikess -magic title of honor, that has made many hearts thrill more than the loveliest face on this earth. More conjuring has been done with that spell than with any other, which brings with it beauty, grace, wit, honor, virtue, and accomplishment. And Miss Laura Pantos was a heiress combining the blessings of fifteen thousand a year, with ‘ savings,’ a park and mansion, with a town house in Brook street, and what was not the least of all in the eyes of matrons with young candidates, a father, grey, rather stricken in years, though wiry. Such rare attraction soon became well known, and indeed it was said that St. Arthur’s-on-the Sea owed as much to them as to its other natural advantages of fine air and bathing. But she was delicate; had a weak fragile chest, and, though small and refined looking, with a well bred haughty air, seemed bloodless, and was said once to have broken a blood vessel in her throat. Hence she and her father had to pass each winter at one of those hiding places where poor invalids run timorously from Boreas and Eurus. The gossips also said she was flighty and fanciful; gay, too gay, and, for all her delicacy, passionately fond of the world and its delights. Sir Charles had been originally a Mr Wright, a plain unassuming gentleman of very moderate means. He had sent his only child to a ‘ finishing’ school, where also the parson’s daughter, Miss Bailey, had been placed by her father, not from any paternal anxiety to give her the best, that is, the most costly, education possible, but because it might lead to acquaintances, ‘ nice connection, you know,’ for himself. How simple, having thus laid a foundation to proceed in this way, with an engaging smile : * Hot Mr Dashwood, surely F Might I ask any way connected with a charming young lady that was at Dampier House with my little girl P Wonderful! My dear sir, I am a clergyman here, &c.’ It was while this delicate Miss Wright, whose health was so precarious, was here, that the two girls first met. The truth was, the school had accepted Jessica at a reduced premium, for a mere trifle : in fact, the doctor valued his position and possible recommendations, at the difference. Their view was that he would surely do them mischief, and injure the school, if they refused his terms. And it is certain the doctor would have steadily shrugged his shoulders, and pished and poohed the establishment into ruin. ‘ A very poor sort of place, sir ; all sorts of paw-paw people. A lucky escape of sending my girl there !’ But the lady directors true to the instincts of their kind, ‘ took it out’ of the unhappy little hostage thus confided to them, and they had instinct to see that from that indifferent father would come no protest. She was kept there for six years, going through the whole ‘ curriculum,’ such as it was, and going through a course of steady mortification, bitter drudgery, with that hot iron of dependency which the Misses Proudfoot forced steadily, day by day, and hour by hour, to enter into her child’s soul. The vicar’s daughter could not be treated with open disrespect; but it was known to every one that the pale, and worn, and studious child was *on charity,’ more or less. So pale and thoughtful she was now, having

been slowly changed from the gay, romping, rosy cheeked ‘ little thing’ which she had been when she arrived.

When the new girl, just come, 1 Wright,’ was know to be the daughter of

a gentleman of slender means, the Misses Proudfoot had some reluctance about accepting her, owing to a possible uncertainty about the premiums. From parents of this undesirable sort the moneys had to be dug out, must be, as it were, crushed and broken up from quartz masses, collected in grains, after long delays, excuses, appeals, &e, Bat the references

were genteel. She was a curious girl—delicate, peevish, fretful, full of humors, ready to complain of her companions, and to turn away from the excellent fare provided for them. She took as many airs as a bishop’s neice whom they once instructed, and whom the bishop an ‘ honorable and reverend,’ came to see in full apron. They hardly knew how to deal with her, for she was dangerous and vindictive, and could injure the school. She had one friend among the girls, who clung to her with a romantic friendship and adoration. This was the parson’s daughter, who from the moment of her arrival, had become her jackal and de fender, her admirer and worshiper. It was inconceivable, the services she rendered, the devotion she paid. She was more useful than an Eton fag, because her services was voluntary. She shielded her from punishment when the other could not shield herself; she followed her with loving eyes, like a faithful dog ; and when ‘ Wright’ (for the young ladies spoke of each other in this way) was sick, stole off to watch her, in defianco of the rules of the establishment. The determined breach of those laws brought a tart letter to the doctor, who came off in a angry fluster, blowing and puffing, and began to revile his child for her scandalous ingratitude for the blessings of a good education. ‘I am told you are going after low mean creatures, sticking to them with a disgusting familiarity, separating yourself from the nice young ladies of the establishment. Do you suppose, girl, I can pay for you here, stinting myself in common luxuries, all for you to follow your grovelling whims and these vulgar tastes ? There are plenty of nice well connected girls in the house whose friendship would be useful, and useful to me too ; and you choose to go puddling in the gutter, making dirt pies ! Faugh ! It’s disgusting.’ the reproof had no effect, and the father even remarked, from the first, a cold insensible look in the eyes of his child, fruits of the excellent training he had been passing her through. The young girl recovered, ‘joined her companions, more pettish and helpless than before, and was received with affectionate rapture by her faithful henchwoman. What was the secret of this singular devotion ? Possibly there was none. It was her hnmor, or there was in the fretful eyes of the other girl a faint expression of suffering which drew her pity irresistably. Sometimes a looh of this sort has strong and permanent fascination. The other showed neither gratitude nor love-, but Jessica was quite content. CHAPTER lI,—THE BEGINNING OE THE VENDETTA. Suddenly, one fine morning, there was a flutter and bustle at Dampier House, and it was known that strangers had arrived : a gentleman, a carriage and four posters. Miss Proudfoot, in agitation, had come herself to fetch Wright from the playground, calling her * darling.’ There was a sweetness and obsequiousness in her manner that was bewildering to the boarders. ‘ Come, darling, your dear father is longing to see you !’ And she gave her—unaccustomed luxury ! a glass of wine in the * study." For with schoolboys and schoolgirls wine is the symbol of unutterable glory and even apotheosis. The chaise and four had spread the news ; all was wonder and speculation. Miss Yentnor, the genteelest, and therefore the haughtiest, girl in the school, who thought the other girls mere ‘ scum,’ whose sister had married a baronet, was awed and even curious. Our affectionate little jackal was in a tumult of delight. Cindrella’s carriage and fonr could not have given much more joy. It betokened something good for her friend and idol.

In the parlor—chamber of horror or of joy, where severe or doting parents sat alternately—she was caught in the arms of her dear father. He was come to tell some great news. Their old cousin Panton had died, that rich, cross old man, and had left them a great fortune, and the beautiful castle by the river, which she could see from Miss Proudfoot’s. They were now rolling in wealth, he and his little girl. At this the delicate girl slid off, and tossed back her head; a curious look of exultation and pride came into her eyes. But they must both lose their dear old name : the name their mamma bore, and take another which was quite as good, however. ‘ What matter,’ she said. ‘ Who would care; but was she to be an heiress ?’ ‘ Yes.’

‘ And to have it all one day ?’ The new Sir Charles was disturbed at this question, and looked at her thoughtfully. ‘ O yes,’ he said with a smile, ‘ after me, of course.’

It was explained to her that the doctors found the air of St. Arthur’s so good for her chest, she must remain a little longer under Miss Proudfoot’s kind care. (How gladly would that lady, had she been permitted, have engraved that high testimonial on her programme : ‘ In testimony of the healthy and salubrious air of her establishment, she is permitted proudly to refer to her distinguished pupil, &c.’) She drew back pettishly at this scheme, but it was shown to her that her stay was

to be under quite altered conditions. She was to have a room to herself, no lessons, wine every day, doctors every week, to walk in the garden by herself or with any young friend whom she preferred to keep her company. She reflected : these bribes were not to be resisted. Miss Proudfoot had in the kindest manner given permission. It was not mentioned then that Miss Proudfoot had in the kindest manner given permission. It was not mentioned then that Miss Proudfoot had in the kindest manner also agreed to accept double the usual payment, in return for these privileges. She called it being a ‘ parlor boarder.’ In future that name of Panton made the whole glory of that white plastered house, with ‘ grounds’ at the back overlooking the sea. This was a kind of melodious bell, of gold or other precious metal, on which the Principal rang with never flagging vigor, triple and quintuple bob majors on the subject of their former illustrious pupil. They were privileged in their programmes, to refer to Miss Panton, of Panton Castle, who had received instruction in the establishment. [Reference was also permitted to Sir Charles Panton, of Panton. On Tuesdays and Saturdays the pupils were accorded the kind permission to take recreation in the grounds of Panton Castle. To the parents and guardians who had audience, the Misses Proudfoot, with most ingenious powers of apropos, contrived continually to draw in Sir Charles Panton and his daughter, met every doubt and objection with the same august names and illustrated the progress of the studies, by scenes from the happy era when Miss Panton pursued her studies there ; and a favorite tableau, as it were, often brought forward for the visitor, was one in which was grouped their illustrious pupil and that other young lady. The change in Laura from this hour was scarcely conceivable. The new wealth of a sudden made her healthy, animated, and also inexpressibly arrogant. She rose into a sort of queenship, taking indescribable airs, which, alas for the sycophancy which repeats itself even at this small end of the worldly telescope, was accepted and endured by the school and its heads. But the worst feature was this : it was noted that she quite ‘ dropped’ her old friend and worshipper. This conspicuous ingratitude even surprised these other worldings, for they had been saying to each other, ‘ That now Wright (or Panton) would settle half her money upon Bailey.’ For a long time the clergyman’s daughter herself could not see this strange conduct, marked as it was, and unmistakable even when she ran up to her idol at first, scarcely able to contain her delight, and was repulsed pettishly. For this and for many more instances of ungracious behavior she could find excuses. It was so natural now that Laura should have much to think of; how could she think of her in this turn of fortune ! Any overlooking was almost proper. When Miss Panton was seen ‘ walking’ with a new friend, suddenly elected to intimacy, no other than the young lady whose sister had married the baronet, she was not staggered. The public understood it perfectly : the new heiress was growing ‘ fine ;’ but her young worshipper alone could not believe it, and would not. She would sooner disbelieve her senses or suppose that two and two made three, than accept the possibility of such an ungrateful change. She returned again and again, the other grew more and more arrogant; and from her ‘ new’ nice friend she was inseparable. One day when they were engrossed in talk, and the future heiress was explaining what state they would have at Panton, how many horses she would keep, &c. (her favorite theme), Jessica approached humbly. * Well, what is it ?’ the other said, peevishly. ‘ I don't want you. You are always 'persecuting me .’ Each of these nine words was a stab, each went deeper, until at last she could have given a scream. Some date a whole change in their system, their life itself, from a fit of sickness, from some shock ; and it was so with her. She retired almost reeling. What she could not see before she was forced to see now, as though some one were thrusting the flame of a candle close to her eyes. From'that moment she shrank from Laura quite scared ; though she was still open to explanation of some kind. But the gap or chasm opened finally when the time came for the heiress to go away home, when she heard some of the pupils talking over every incident of the departure as though it were that of a royal personage. Her father, Sir Charles, had given her leave to choose a friend ‘ whom she liked’ from among the girls, to take home with her to amuse her during the vacation. This news produced the most tremendous excitement —some even said that Miss Proudfoot herself nourished faint hopes of being the selected companion, having performed prodigies in the way of obsequious adoration of her pupil, fawning on her, and plying her with praises of herself and of her * dear good father.’ The young girl, quite overset with her sudden turn of prosperity, did not care to restrain herself from any extravagance, and behaved with an amusing wantonness of arrogance,

holding out hopes to some, but all the while pledged to her dear friend the baronet’s sister-in-law. To others she made promises, but the faithful worshipping Jessica she passed over. When the morning came, and the carriage was waiting at the door, and the whole house was obsequiously gathered to see her go forth with her chosen companion, the baronet’s sister-in-law, there was prodigious embracing all round ; the clergyman’s daughter standing at a distance, with a strange look upon her face, a kind of bewildered stare. It at last came to her turn, and with a sort of constraint Laura turned to bestow her parting accolade. But, to Miss Proudfoot’s horror, Jessica, cold, stiff, and with a steady stare in her eyes, drew back. 5 No,’ she said ; * I cannot. I could not touch you—not for the whole world.* ‘ As you please,’ said the other coolly, and getting into the carriage, drove away in her glory, the principals and scholars being inexpressibly shocked at this conduct. But from that hour all noticed a most singular change in the parson’s daughter, who advanced at one stride half way on her path to womanhood. That discovery made her cold and hard, as she was before impulsive and affectionate ; calculating and distrustful, a most * disagreeable creature,’ it was pronounced, but far more able to hold her own and get on in the world.

In the carriage which was taking Laura away that happy day their sat a young man of thirty, with very dark eyes, a forbidding uninviting expression, which some would have called ‘ a scowl/ People would have passed by him without sympathy ; but any ope who came in contract with him in any trifling contention, say about a seat, went from him flushed and put out, and saying, ‘ That ill conditioned fellow!’ This gentleman, a friend of her father’s, was Mr Dudley, a distant cousin, who came very often to school to see his relation. It has known even to the girls that she did not relish these visits— ‘ He was so dark and ugly,’ she said to her friends —and that every time he brought her presents she always seemed merely to endure him. Some of the girls, however, thought him ‘ deeply piratical’ and interesting, and also that he could smile sweetly. But when she had left the school, and was established in all her splendor, as Miss Panton, of Panton Castle, her proceedings became of profound interest to the neighborhood. It was seen also that Dudley was always about the place, either staying at the castle, or in the town, where he would appear in a small yacht at unexpected seasons. As the school girl became a ‘ young lady,’ it seemed to be her humor to exhibit that strange fitfulness and uncertainty of humor which wealth and indulgence had now made her character. For him her father had a curious pity or partiality, and was ever saying, ‘Let us have that poor fellow Dudley here, He’s your terrier dog, your worshipper.’ At which she would protest fretfully that she hated and loathed him, and would almost cry if the plan were persisted in. And, yet as a curious trait in her character, when her father at first would yield to her, thinking he was gratifying her, there would be another turn, and she would be fretful again at being taken at her word. To them both he was very useful, almost necessary, because he was eager and willing. People wondered at this unmeaning alteration in so ‘ ordinary’ a girl, a girl, too, who had none of the redeeming virtues of spoiled or ill-regulated minds, namely, a wild and generous impulsiveness which hurries them into what is right. She, indeed, had more of the qualities which belong to the meaner animals; the uncertainty and spitefulness in small matters of the monkey. But there did at times come in her face a strange expression of desertion, of questing and seeking for help, which set every string in Dudley’s heart a jangling. He was half indignant with himself for this unmeaning partiality, and at first struggled to free himself, but like a true spoiled child, when she saw he had nearly succeeded, she exerted her powers, and made him her slave again. It was about that era, when she had left school some three or four years, that she took a freak —for it was no more—of exhibiting this power in a most singular way. She had with her, on a visit, that baronet’s sisterin law, who had gone away from school with her, and whom she had treated in her favorite fitful way. This girl, it occurred to her one day, should marry .Dudley.. Shs set her heart on it, it was a new whim, and it should be done, just as she should have that horse or dress from her father, though it cost a thousand pounds. And to this task she set herself so petulantly and so desperately that Dudley saw he must gratify her, or else incur her bitter dislike. He was well off, the baronet’s sister-in-law was not, and was eager to be married. To the surprise of his friends, to that of Sir Charles, and to the overflowing triumph of Miss Panton, this extraordinary marriage was brought about; though almost at once the new wife found that she had not her husband’s heart, and, being impetuous and passionate, they separated within a few

months, and Dudley came himself to tell Laura Panton the news. ‘1 hope you are satisfied with your handiwork,’ he said bitterly. ‘ Tou can do no more, now—at least to us. She laughed lightly, and from that time —about four years before this story begins —treated him with more gentleness and toleration. She seemed to consider him promoted to a responsible station, and herself privileged to consult him and make him useful. He seemed to be quite happy in this mastiff like office, and came and went as he chose; and any new guest at Panton often wondered at the dark, moody, and scrowling man, whose eyes glared so, and who spoke so little, save when he, the guest, touched on her , and the scrowling man became eloquent. «Yes, look at her speaking face. 1 here is a whole world behind it. They think here, because she will be so rich, and all that, that she has no other title. I know her well, and tell you there is a strange charm about this girl which would attract if she had not a farthing, Look, look at her now; see as she turns her face to the lamp ! I cannot tell you the effect on me.’ The guest cannot see it, but thinks privately this is a very strange wild creature of a man.