Tales and Sketches.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 25, 15 July 1871, Page 16

Tales and Sketches.

THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. A Yachting Story. [From An. the Year Round.] CHAPTER VII. —HISTORY MR CONWAY. Lord Formanton, the father of the owner of the schooner yacht Almandine, was a nobleman of great wealth, a busy lord, with a fine park and estate—a noble seat, Formanton, on which there was an elderly archdeacon. The rental was large, and that curious, incomprehensible heir, whom mammas could not make out, had been asked to this house and that, importuned to this castle and that; if he,had made a point of it he might have had files of young ladies of good birth and condition drawn up for his inspection ; a lane of rank and beauty down which he might walk and choose. But nothing could be made of the creature, though with unwearied perseverance they tried him with everything. He gave them credit fox cleverness, owning that with a surprising instinct they had divined some of _his tastes. Nothing could be made of him. He wentaboutin an undecided fashion, half dissatisfied, half seeking for that philosopher’s stone of the ideal soul above all the dross and imperfection of this world, which, if really found, would, by the fatal blight, of familiarity and restlessness,’ in a short time be found unsatisfactory. In every circle is to be found this being, who indeed, as it were, drives ‘a good trade’ in the business, the good looking * misunderstood one,’ who meets now and again one that can understand him a little, who is always in the end turning out a deception. Thus he has to pass on to another. In his early stages such a young man was Mr Conway, but hO'gradually worked himself free of such affectation, though it took a long, long time. When urged to go into politics, the same nicety and hesitation pursued him. No party was up to his ideal: * the representation of a vast number of fellow creatures seemed an aioful trust, from which a man might shrink.” At least he must try and fit himself for the solemn duty ; and so the time, and worse, the opportunity, passed by. Thus with the many advantageous alliances that were proposed to him. That, too, was an awful trust, alas! not to be laid down, as could be the parliamentary one. But what distinguished him from others, and saved him from the category of * fop,’ * ridiculous stuck up fellow,’ was, that all this was conscientious and genuine. It would have worn off like bad plating but for a calamity that really was to color his whole life.

The present Lord Formanton was twice married, as will be seen by turning to the great Golden Book. His first wife, Mr Conway’s mother, was one of the most charming of women : sweet and amiable, charitable and good, as it were savoring the whole household with a delicate fragrance of simplicity, which is known and butto.be described as ‘goodness.’ She was very young when married, and when Mr George Conway was a youth, really looked like his sister. Her husband, a good natured, rather foolish little peer, always fussy, but credulous, was busy with a hundred little trifles in the day, which, through the magnifier of a dull simplicity which never left his eye a moment, were enlarged to vast proportions. They made a very happy trio. There was a softness and sweetness about her which was her special charm. The young worlding, her son, became natural, soft, gentle, and loving, when with her. Being with her he thought education, teaching, and reading were all in her gentle face. She cared as much for him.

Conway had a friend a good dear'older than himself, for whom he had a sort of romantic admiration, and with whom he interchanged a good deal of his epicureanism and scepticism, and whom, he would force his friends to admire rapturously. ‘ I know no type of chivalry like Rochester,’ he would say; ‘ he is the noblest, most unselfish fellow in the world : gentle as a woman, brave as a lion. He was the first who really said, 1 Go poor fly,’ which that snivelling Sterne only imagined his Toby saying.’ This Rochester was a tall, slightly stooped man, a little grizzled, with a soft voice and eye. His gentle mother, Mr Coifrvay insisted, should appreciate and admire this hero, and she would have obliged him in a far more difficult thing •than that. But why dwell on that marvel of stupid blindness, when all the town was looking on and smiling and shaking its head P It duly prophesied, and saw its prophecy fulfiled. Lord Formanton and his son had gone away for a short voyage in a yacht which the most chivalrous of men had insisted upon lending ; and Rochester had been conjured and implored, as he was a chivalrous man, to look after the dear mother whom they, were to leave behind for a week only. The type of chivalry wrung his friend’s hand, and with a certain reluctance, as though he were making a sacrifice promised solemnly to do what was asked. Then came the nine days’ wonder, the inquiries, the mystery, the telegraphing and the ‘ I saw it all along.’ When husband

and son came rushing home, they found their house empty, their hearth desolate. The death of the erring wife soon followed. In Mr George Conway this blow caused a surprising change. He could not at first believe it. It was more likely that words had failed of their meaning, and men gone mad. Nature, life, religion, must have turned upside down, if such a terrible belying of fair promise, and innocence, was allowed. When the truth at last came home to him, it quite changed him, and he had done with chivalry for ever. Further, though he scorned revenge, he secretly longed for an opportunity when he could strike some blow, take some step which should commit him, as it were, and show himself gjflpdeast how he despised his, former chivalry. In his manner and behaviour there was little changed : he affected to be all politeness and graciousness, but he was in a wary ambuscade, ready to welcome the first opportunity. That done, he felt that his soul would be more at rest. It was in this temper that he found himself at St. Arthur’s, and in the humor also, that if he found any girl likely to fancy him he would enjoy tempting her to give him her heart, and would then depart with as little mark on his own as his yacht would leave on the waters behind her. The peer was crushed and overwhelmed. Friends said, * he was utterly broken.’ He moped, took no interest in life, was out of gear, and then to the surprise of no one, married again. His son made no protest, knowing that his father was ‘weak,’ as it is called, and scarcely responsible, as another would be. He saw, too, that his father ‘ wanted some one to take care of him.’ But this new wife proved to be a lady of almost frantic extravagance. The castle was refitted and refurnished. She was lavish in halls and entertainments, jewels and dresses; and the Formanton estate, already heavily encumbered, soon began to creak and groan, as it were, like the great dinner table at one of their banquets, under mortgages and even bills of sale. According to the vulgar phrase, the Formantons were ‘ going it,’ almost gal-, loping it indeed. Conway soon learned a great deal about the two young heroines of St. Arthur’s. He heard their whole history, from the school upwards, but in the shape of two different stories. On one side he heard : she saved her life at that place, watching her, following her, like -a dog, worshipping her, ‘ doing’ every lesson for her. The heiress, when she got money, threw her slave over in the shabbiest, meanest way. There was a good deal of jealousy, too, at the bottom; for Miss Jessica always came in Miss Panton’s way, and was most admired. From the aristocrats of the place he Tieard: That parson’s daughter was a forward, self sufficient girl, always pushing herself to the front, preaching radical stuff about the poor being as good as the rich. When her friend got rich, she determined to take possession of her, to stick to her like a burr; which plan the good sense of Miss Panton saw through, and with very proper spirit resented. The parson’s daughter had never forgotten this rebuff, and ever since had been trying to revenge herself. He knew perfectly how to translate this stuff. The true version of the Panton party should be something of this sort P ‘ Spoiled child, growing into a spoiled woman, with quick passions and humors. Much pride which made her fancy she detected a wish to make the most of small obligations, the feeling of being inferior in sense and intellect, though so much superior in wealth.’ For the ugly portrait of Jessica he substituted the following: * A high spirited girl, cast upon a desert island. That vile windbag of a father, everybody about her, below her in wit and acuteness: full of trust and affection, and having foolishly thought she had found some pearl of price in a vety ordinary nature, had set her whole heart on embellishing and beautifying the same. Bitter disappointment at the fall, and shattering, of what was only a plaster image—a protest against the unfair and haughty advantage so inferior a mind could take of her.’ Mr Conway was quite satisfied with this analysis, which he flattered' himself was superior to the rude judgement of ‘ the rustics.’ So interesting indeed did he find the process of observation, that though there was a general flutter among the yachts now that the racing was over, he thought he would remain ‘ a day or two’ longer—that india rubber period which, in the hands of the purposeless, can stretch from hours to months. CHAPTER VIII.—THE RIVALS. Panton Castle was exceedingly valuable to the neighborhood, either as a show place for the rustics and tourisls, or for the gossips as something to talk about. The house, pictures, gardens, &c, were nothing remarkable; and the tourists generally ought to have come away with a sense of disappointment. Yet, when a number are led about in a herd, and bidden to admire this and that, it is surprising how every one is more or less impressed. The housekeeper, Mrs Silvertop, had a contemptuous severity of manner to the sightseers, conveying that she was constrained by duty and orders from autho-

rity to let them have a glimpse of all these fine things. She had invented well sounding names, not known to the family, for the various parts of the house ; and Sir Charles himself was one day infinitely amused at overhearing that he had a ‘ grand corridor’ with a ‘ State Dining ’All,’ a ‘ Grand Steckess,’ with other magnificent titles. The visitors always took the most extraordinary interest in objects of family use, and seemed to regard a * bit of work’ earlessly left on a table, with something of a fetish like awe and mystery. The showwoman, without the least conscious knowledge of human nature, stimulated public interest by perpetually saying, * Please don’t touch the family’s things.’ ‘Be so good as not to take up henything.’ Devoid of these foolish pretensions, it was a handsome house, and a handsome place. The demesne was really noble, and stretched away, a vast level of rich land, with heavy old trees spi’ead thickly over it, and nodding drowsily in the breeze. At the end of the lawn they grew into a fringe, behind which could be seen the river Pann, a broad and strong stream, which did useful hard labor, further down, in its working clothes, as it were, and became rough, and even savage ; but passing by here was quite an elegant and well bred stream, fit for a gentleman’s residence. A hair’s breath, the turn of a card, a feather’s weight, are all hackneyed illustrations of the power of some slight incident to disturb the course of events in human life ; and the peculiar situation of this river Pann, in relation to Panton Castle, and the method of crossing it, was to have a mysterious effect on two families. As just described, it was a noble river, full and brimming over, with a strong current and high banks. To pull across it would require a stout pair of yeoman’s arms. The land on both sides of the river belonged to the Pantons ; but by a sort of indulgence a light and elegant iron bridge had been thrown across the river, and the rustics were allowed to cross to the opposite bank, which was laid out in a sort of pleasure ground, with rockeries and shrubberies and winding walks. It was all Sir Charles’s land ; and the Jack Cades of the district were always imputing to him designs of enclosure, and of robbing the people of their rights—if he could .

The walks were indeed charming, cut half way up the bank, and through the rich plantation that run along it, and were affected by many, not so much for recreation as in the hope of glimpses of what ‘ the family’ were doing. In old times before the new bridge was built, that broad river barrier cut them off utterly, opposed itself sternly ; and they had to walk a full quarter of a mile down to the old bridge, where again they were checked by the great gateway of Panton Castle, its tower and archway—handsome and ivy grown ; a strong wall sweeping straight down to the very bank, going down thence into the very water and pitilessly cutting off all approach. When the little girls of the town were told the conventional stories of Beautiful Princesses living in palaces of gold and diamonds, there thoughts flew away to Panton Castle, where the enormously wealthy heiress was reigning: or to the glittering carriage with the bright plunging steeds, in which she reclined, as if on a sofa. The station master had stories of the countless chests and packages of all sizes and weights which were coming down every day from London ; each supposed to contain some shape of * whim,’ and not cared for when it arrived. Her rooms, Mrs Silvertop reported, were filled with treasures—* wardrobes’ of silks, and satins, and laces ; and her dresses a ‘ strewin’ the very floor.’ .

Yet for all this luxury her life was only less dull than that of the poorest of the girls about her. The air of the place was not too rude for her tender chest; it was a sort of sheltered Torquay, and her residence there became almost enforced. She found no pleasure in the common excitements. Balls and plays she was forbidden; she did not care at all for work or music, and for reading only a little. She and her father sat together nearly every evening in the great drawing room alone, with their costly furniture. The only resource was the recurring dinner party, the dull legitimate comedy with the same actors over and over again. There was a curious languor of intellect about her, and yet her eyes were full of light and quickness, roved to the right and to the left, there was ablush, quick to her checks, an animation in her voice. She did not want for hasty passions, and excitement came, could be more excited than her fellows. Yet there was an irregular charm about her, an almost Indian fitfulness.

Dudley, often the object of her humor, protested against, yet grown indispensable, had just come in. He always went out like a chiffonnier, with a basket on his back to collect news. ‘ A pic-nic of two hundred over the grounds this morning, the gardener says.’ And not a leaf touched,’ said her father, coming in after Dudley. ‘ Very kind of them,’ cried his daughter. ‘ I fear, dearest, we must keep up Laura Bridge after all. These honest people are

establishing fresh claims, on us every day. And I hear they are going to present you with a silver bowl, or something in the shape of a bridge. I just got a hint of it.’ This quite turned her thoughts. She was full of eagerness and curiosity, and clapped her hands with delight. * Dear, goodie papa, do find out for me. I want to see it quick. lam dying to know.’--

‘ I’ll make it out to-day for you,’ said Dudley. ‘Do you know, I fear, dear, it would look ungracious to pull the bridge down after so generous an intention. You would not like to be unpopular, dear ?’ ‘ No, no ; if they are such nice people, poor creatures, why should we keep them out ? I don’t like to see them all scattered about on nice gardens and pouring over my bridge like ants ; but ’ ‘ Good child, you have quite delighted me ! It was making me wretched. You know, as landowners, we must be considerate to the lower class, even at inconvenience to ourselves. Tell me, dear. lam sending up to town, would you like the decorator down ? As you don’t like your new boudoir, we shall have the man here again. By the way, dear, we are having this dinner party. Bailey and his daughter—— ’

‘Yes: she said she’d come. I’m so glad.’ ‘ That little sparring excites you,' said Dudley. ‘By the way, Conway told me he was coming up here.’ ‘ As gentlemanly a man as ever I met. We must ask him to dinner. So well informed and clever, and good looking too.There, chick, I wish you’d throw the handkerchief at him. I know his father well: good blood—fine old family, though extravagant.’ * I think him a coxcomb, and would not walk on the same side of the street with him.’ ‘ There’s not much chance of him. He’s in the aesthetic country; and those Baileys have seized on him body and soul. He is always up there, and selfish ‘ Old Bailey’ has half sunk a dozen boats going out to drink sherry on board the yacht. That scheming Miss Jessica has the whole sum set down in figures in an account book, and she will regularly * tot it up’ until he is caught.’ * Jessica win him ! Lord Formanton’s son ! It is a folly, and impossible,’ said the heiress, excitedly. *I am sure it is,’ said Dudley. * Yet she is very deep and clever, and if she once sets her mind on a thing, I declare it is quite on the cards. He made some speech to me about her being so dramatic, and I know the yacht has not had orders for sailing. She is not the first parson’s daughter that has drawn a peer out of the river.’

Miss Pan ton listened with kindling eyes. ‘ She! she! How dare you even think of such a thing ? We will not have it —she shall be exposed. She thinks that will put her on a level with me. I tell you, papa, and Dudley, it must not be, and you must see and prevent it!’ She looked over angrily at Dudley ; she was now walking up and down the room in a high state of excitement, her lips working as if speaking, her eyes darting from one side to the other- Her father soothed her. Dudley, looking out of the window, said slowly: ‘ Well! here, now, is Conway himself.’ CHAPTER IX. —A VISIT. Conway had ridden out, and was now entering, calm, composed and handsome. The young heiress looked up and advanced to meet him with a sudden eagerness of welcome. Dudley smiled as he saw this change. Conway had on his best man of the world suit, let off his various conversational fireworks, determining, as his habits was, to make a good effect, and leave behind him a delightful impression of regret. The eyes of heiress were fasteneded on him all the time.

He had been tempted out there by the piquant accounts he had been hearing of the vendetta between the two girls. He half purposely began to speak of the clergyman and his family. ‘ His daughter is a very remarkable person, with such a thoughtful and original mind. She should be in a larger field.’ The heiress moved impatiently. * Yes, Jessica talks like a book, or sometimes like a man, they say.’ ‘You are old friends, I am told,’ said Conway, ‘so you can appreciate her better.’

‘ There were thirty girls at the school,’ the heiress said, impatiently, ‘ when I was there. They are not all old friends, I presume. I have never seen them since. Yet the people here always insist on making us bosom friends, that cannot be parted a moment. I am really getting tired of it.’

Conway laughed. ‘May I speak the truth ? Well, I heard something quite the reverse, almost as I sailed into harbor, that there were two young ladies here, each at the head of a party, captains of opposing armies, whose little contests gave the only animation to the place.’ ‘ The poor low gossips here talk of anything, and invent anything : we all despise them, and papa would not stay here but

for my health. As for Jessica, or Miss Bailey, I know little or nothing about her. She is truly of the same class.’ * Clergymen and there families are usually allowed a sort of brevet rank,’ said Conway, smiling. ‘Or if there is defect in the father, there is great indulgence to the daughter.’ The spoiled rich girl looked at him uneasily. ‘ Oh, she has quite brought you round to her party. That is always her way, artfully trying to make friends with every one. I never was taught those little devices. Or I suppose the art is born with you.’ This seemed like a complaint, and the tone of her voice troubled Conway. * Perhaps,’ he said, * the game is not worth the candle, and perhaps Miss Panton has the art all this time, though not conscious of it. She has been kind enough to give me a chance already, and I came out to say how happy I should be to avail myself of it.’

The emotions of the heiress were as fitful as they were vehement. She smiled, laughed, at this compliment, an insipid and third hand one out of Conway’s stock, and said abruptly : ‘lam so glad. Yes, we shall be great friends, I am not strong minded in the least’ (there was no need, Conway thought, for her to make that declaration) * but I should be sorry to do so. Dudley says there is something repulsive in being strong minded and able to talk.’ As Conway looked out at the hothouses and choice beds of flowers, he wondered at seeing groups of rustics scattered about, who appeared to be looking at the flowers with much the same title that he had. At last he said ;

‘ Oh, see! these are the people Miss Bailey spoke of.’ ‘ She spoke of! And what did she speak ?’ ‘ Well, I forget exactly, except that they had some right to smell the flowers God gave us, and enjoy your grounds. Sir Charles is wonderfully indulgent.’ ‘ It is all on sufferance, I can assure you. But papa is laughed at for admitting them.’

* Miss Jessica would not laugh at him, I assure you. She shows a most just concession to popular rights, and thinks it no compliment: it should be universal over the country.’ * Does she—does she ? So do all who are without land. We are absurdly indulgent. The place swarms on show days with this canaille. It is intolerable.’ And she stamped her foot impatiently. ‘ Still you have a great advantage here,’ said Conway, ‘ in this barrier of a river—and such a noble river! Nature, true aristocrat, meant it no doubt to keep off the canaille.’

Lunch was then announced, and the guest presently departed much interested in this strange, wayward girl. {To be continued .)