Tales and Sketches.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 29, 12 August 1871, Page 16

Tales and Sketches.

THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. A Yachting Story. [From All the Year Round.] chapter xviii.—a plot. A fluster, a tramping, a creaking, and blowing : the doctor was beating in. ‘ My dear lord, you here ! This is my daughter. Did you offer any wine or lunch P No. Such a thing ! You should have sent for me.’ ‘ Miss Bailey and I have got on very well.’ . ‘You needn’t stay here. Jessica was already going. * She has a curious, brusque manner my lord. I don’t know how she has picked it up—and, I hope, was not giving any of her new-fangled theories about the bridge ?’ « What bridge ? Dear no. I misunderstood her a little. But I wish to speak to you, doctor. Suppose we go out into the garden ?’ « To be sure. I know that my daughter has been on her »sthetics, and all that. Such folly ! I assure you my lord, I do my best to prevent her troubling people with such nonsense. There is a charming family over here—of course you know them, Sir Charles Panton, and all that; and really, the outrageous manner in which she battles that poor young lady!’ ‘ Indeed,’ said Lord Formanton, on whom fresh lights were breaking every moment. ‘ Oh, that explains a great deal. Your daughter is a very clever young lady; but you are a man of the world, Doctor Bailey. And now I just want to put the matter before you in a business like way.’ The amount of eager assent, hearty endorsement, and cordial promise that came from the doctor, as they walked round and round many times, was wonderful. Delicacy, as the peer soon saw, would be thrown away on such an occasion. * Oh, I saw it, and, I can assure you, discountenanced the business. But my lord, she is beyond my control What you say would be just the thing, suitable in every way. I should be delighted to see it, and so would every one here. So nice, so suitable in every way,’ added the doctor plaintively. / ‘ The whole thing is so embarrassing, 5 said his lordship, ‘and your daughter spoke so plainly ; but you, as a man of the world, see the thing.’ This shape of compliment is jam for many a powder to more besides Doctor Bailey. ‘ You and I are men of the world,’ ‘ Between men of the world like you and me,' have carried many a doubtful proposal The delighted doctor answered, ‘ To be sure, to be sure! You know, my lord, they say here that your son has only to ask and to have. Miss Panton has shown her preference in the most marked manner.’ ‘You don’t tell me thatV cried the peer. * That is good news indeed. Tell me what you know about that.’ This mean and disloyal doctor took the guest’s arm and poured into his ear all the whispers and gossips of the parish ; and the grateful nobleman then proceeded to open those little tempting prospects he had been meditating as he came along. The doctor was transported as his alliance was thus made sure of. ‘You may rely on me,' he said taking the peer’s hands between both his ; ‘ rely on me. I am shocked to think you should have had any anxiety coming from our house. But I’ll take care of the rest now.’ No sooner was he alone than the doctor tramped through his hall, calling, * Here, Jessica! Come, send her down, some one. What is the girl at ? Is there no one to attend ?’ She came down, the traces of tears in her eyes, but resolved and cold. * Now, see here, girl, 5 said the doctor, he never cared about the servants hearing. ‘ This is a nice kettle of fish you have brought us into. Nice thing it is for me, a minister of the place, and all that, to have the highest nobles in the land coming to complain of the scheming and the trepanning of their sons by designing girls! Faugh ! A pretty business your political economy andrubbish havebroughtus into. I’m ashamed of you.’ ‘ Father, I do not wish to talk of this. There has been enough said, and enough degradation for me!’ ‘ For me, you mean ! Am I out of it ? Indecent; so it is. Scampering after a young man of that, sort, heir to one of the finest properties in the kingdom——’ ‘Father, I can’t, I won’t listen to this. Stop; it is cruel—barbarous !’ , * But I won’t stop. A fine, gentlemanly young fellow like that, whom I ask to my dinner table: and a foolish, countrified girl must go baiting her traps ’ ‘ Oh, father !’ Jessica had. sunk down, half on the floor, half buried on the sofa, overcome, not so much by this gross and unseemly attack as by the sudden apparition of a figure in the doorway. The doctor was only put out for a moment, though he saw Conway standing in mute astonishment. ‘ Oh, I have been speaking plainly,’ he said. ‘ Mr Conway, your good father and I have come to a

perfect understanding on this matter. And he acquits me perfectly.’ * Pray don’t,’ said Conway, raising up Jessica. ‘Will you do me the favor of letting me say a few words to your daughter in private ?’ ‘To be sure. Nothing can be fairer. No, no. I have always been above board —sands purr,’ so he pronounced it. ‘ And I can assure you ’ ‘ You said you would leave me a few moments ?’ This was like taking the doctor by s the shoulders and putting him out. ‘To be sure,’ he said : ‘ and you must have a glass of wine, and " ‘ For Heaven’s sake, leave me,’ said Conway, violently. And then Doctor Bailey retired to consult his Clergy List as to the value of livings, &c. CHAPTER XIX. —A SOLEMN PLEDGE. At that spectacle of the humbled, prostrate Jessica, Conway felt something pierce his heart. Something like shame at his own theatrical refinings, his triflings and elegant manipulations of women’s hearts, came back on him. He saw in a second how such pastime had turned into this ruin and devastation before him. Jessica looked up, and was the first to speak. ‘You see how it has all ended. Yet if I could have helped it you would not have seen me iu this way. But I cannot bear up againstall this mortification — this degradation. My father, your father —if you only knew what has been heaped upon me! I could die this moment. You do not come to tell me that I have had schemes and ’

‘ God forbid, Jessica ! My humiliation has been nearly as great, but more deserved. .As I live, I have no part in this. You will believe me. You saw my father ?’

‘Yes i he camo to treat with the manoeuvring girl of the country —to show her ‘ the thing could not be,’ to speak as a man of the world and of sense, to make all sure —interpose between the bold designing country-town girl and the hope of his family. Oh, that I should have lived to come to this ! I, who tried to behave honorably, that strove to sacrifice myself.’ x * It is dreadful,’ said Conway, eagerly. ‘No one is responsible but me. The wrong must be repaired. It is gross, scandalous, and cruel! I can do it still. Let those who brought ruin on our estates bear the brunt of it. I am not called on to sell myself in the market. And yet Oh, what have I done ! I have done it, Jessica. How mean, base, and contemp tible you will think me !’ Jessica drew herself up. ‘ First understand me,’ she said. ‘ I was ready to love you, and do love you. After the degrading charges made against me, that is over! I may tell you fearlessly I love you, George Conway, because I can never belong to you. You know how they laughed at my firm downright way of speaking. Well, you may depend on it in this case. I have lost you for ever—for ever I am lost to you. But let me know all. They wish you to marry her.’ ‘ Yes,’ said Conway. ‘ And I have just come from her, and done the meanest, most degrading ’ ‘ I can understand. And my enemy, too! This might seem a stab ! but no, she has had to hay you. It is of a piece with all the rest. The soul that lives on money and lands, can get nothing but with money : even love it must buy. I grieve that you should be her victim ;’ ‘ I shall be no victim,’ said he, passionately, * if I can but get free. But, no, no,’ he added, covering his face with his hand, *my own dull, selfish heartlessness was wound in a net about me. For indeed, Jessica, all the time I loved, and said I must love you. Under all that strange misunderstanding I felt myself drawn to your noble, independent, gallant nature. I longed to fight the battle beside you. But a few more days, and in spite of all our little differences, I* must have been drawn to you for ever : I feel it—l know it. But a miserable combination of circumstances has driven me into this. Her father-—my father—our family on the verge of ruin and disgrace—l cannot, alas! say that your letters helped to this misery ; for I saw beneath them, and admired you the more.’ Her face brightened. ‘Well, this is something to hear; this is something to sacrifice. I shall be a heroine after all. After what you have said the blow is nothing. Oh, I do not care to conceal it now. I do grudge this triumph to her. I have said it before, so I may repeat it now when all is over. I grudge you to her; for I know that this is but part of that never dying dislike of me. Now she has succeeded, indeed, and humbled me, but not in the way she imagines. I think of you. When yesterday I saw that bridge in ruins all for the one persistent purpose, it seemed to me to be a presage of a greater ruin to come. I cannot forgive her. No ! Never ! She has robbed you and robbed me ; cast both our hearts together into that stream, just as her workmen may have flung pieces of her bridge. But, oh ! let me know this —as something to take with me —that had all this not happened, you might have felt towards me as one that you had sought

for and found ! that you could have loved and cherished, and taught, and made like to yourself. You may know this now that all is at an end, and that we never go back on what has happened. In the long, dark night of my life this will be a little lamp, always kept burning.’ ‘ You noble girl,’ cried Conway, scarcely knowing what he was about to say. ‘ Why did I not learn all this before ? Your true, faithful nature and my own foolish heart were between ; and I say to you solemnly were anything to break this off—anything to happen which should set us both free and looking towards each other—l would swear to rush back to your feet.’ He was gone. Jessica looked after him long and wildly. ‘ This is the comfort he leaves me, as he thinks ! It is but planting another dagger in my heart. ‘Oh !’ she added, passionately, ‘that I may be taught not to forgive her, but to hate her with a growing hate for this work of hers !’

She remained long in that state. Her father then strode in. ‘ Where is he ?’ he said. ‘ I told them fo show him into my study. Mr Dudley, I mean.’ ‘ He was not here,’ she said, coldly. ‘Oh! Come. Notragics. Show some sense. Make the best of all this. It is to be made up to me. Lord Formanton is a man of honor.’ Thus Dr Bailey. The scorn in Jessica’s face! ‘I see! It is all becoming clearer every moment. A ou are to be paid for this.’ ‘No insolence to me, ma'am. I have done my duty. Where’s Mr Dudley? He went in through the greenhouse.’ ‘He is not here, and I do not want to see him.’ She left the room. Mr Dudley could not be found, to the great ill humor of the doctor. But Mr Dudley was a very impatient man, and very likely, having got into the greenhouse and heard voices in the drawing room, he was not to be kept waiting, and went away in disgust. CHArTER XX. —FATHER- AND DAUGHTER. Meanwhile, during these days, the Grundys.of the seaport were kept in a fever of excitement by the various dramatic events : the sudden illness of the Queen of Panton, her no less mysterious recovery ; the open defiance—the throwing down the gauntlet—in that removal of the bridge, which had actually been sold, and was lying there on the banks in pieces, waiting removal. There was much angry feeling about this injudicious step, more than perhaps its value deserved, and it was felt that Sir Charles had hopelessly forfeited all chance of sitting for the borough. More interested still were they in the struggle between the two girls, now it would seem approaching a crisis ; and, best of all, wild and delightful rumors were afloat that the battle was for the fascinating Conway, who, it was believed, had offered for the heiress, but was fiercely claimed by that bold and fearless parson’s daughter. They had made out a complete theory. It was for this Lord Formanton had come down specially, and it was for this that Doctor Bailey was seen posting about, taking strides of extra length. Miserable days of flurry and agitation followed for one of the actresses in that scene, the hapless Jessica, who found all her boasted training and resolution melting down in the hot fires of agitation and excitement. Leaden weights seemed to be hung round her heart; she listened eagerly for reports and news, but could hear little. It was said, indeed, that the yacht was at last going away. The sailors were making their purchases and getting in stores. A dinner of a farewell nature — the news as usual coming via Silvertop—was preparing at the castle, at which it was believed something certain would transpire as to what was making the public mind so feverish. Lord Formanton had remained a few days and was actually a guest at the castle, that cunning nobleman wishing, no doubt, to keep watch and ward against one whose designs he still feared, and who might attempt a surprise. Long after, he often described her as ‘ one of the most dangerous girls he ever met.’ They all saw little of the hero, who seemed to keep on board his vessel. To Jessica this suspense was growing intolerable. She longed for him to be gone, to be married, to be doing something, to be writing. She felt the life she herself led was growing unendurable; something of action even the life of a governess, was preferable. Her father and his coarse violence, or violent coarseness, was too much.

It was the morning of that dinner, the morning, too, of what was to be for her a very remarkable day. She sat at the gloomy breakfast table, silent as usual, while her father opened his letters. He did not at all relish her new manner, as it brought a sort of inconvenience. He read one with great eagerness. ‘ Conway off this evening. Hallo ! I must see him at once. Yery odd his father has not answered me. He had better not forget his obligations to me. Do you know anything of this ?’ he added, bluntly. ‘No, of course you don’t. What’s over you, girl ? Have you lost your tongue ? D’ye want to make out a grievance against me, because I did my duty as a clergyman ? I didn’t want to have my house turned into a mantrap. I didn’t

want to have snares and gins set here.’ She rose up. ‘ I can’t bear this, father,’ she said, passionately. ‘lt must end here. It will kill me if it goes on. That you have no affection, no heart for me, I have seen long ago. But you must spare me, in common humanity. Above all, do not speak of that— what I suppose are the wages for which you sold me and my happiness. I suppose they are not forthcoming. It is a just judgment.’ His large hand stopped as it was carrying a bit of toast to his lips; his great eyes stared at her. ‘ Oh, what treachery unexampled to sell your own daughter’s chance of happiness !’ She went on, ‘ I always knew my duty to you, and performed it. I put up with unkindness, selfishness, and coarse rudeness before strangers; what you didin private I did not heed, because I was a daughter and you my father, and a clergyman besides. If it were told, say from a pulpit, that one in the land could enter into a bargain, and deliberately arrange for his own child's disappointment and misery, it would be disbelieved. They would say it might do for a novel/

For once Doctor Bailey, a little taken back at this view, attempted to justify himself hotly. ‘ I made no bargain. Don’t talk to me ! Are you in your right mind ? lam entitled to my promotion : no one more so, Heaven knows. Haven’t I slaved, and for you and the ungrateful pack in this house, long enough ? And so you thought you were sure of the man, Lord Formanton’s son ? You have the assurance ’

‘And you deny it in addition. For shame, father.’

‘ Don’t speak to me, ma’am ! How dare you be insolent, or bring me to account! I, that am filling your idle mouths from the sweat of my brow——’

• Exactly,' she said, coldly. ‘ That is what I have been thinking over these few days. I cannot stay here longer. It is chilling my very heart. I find neither warmth nor sunshine, nor anything that helps me to live. If I stay on in this atmosphere I shall be changed into something unnatural. I cannot stand it. I must go out of this, or I shall die, body and soul.’ * What insolence ! Ito be talked to in this manner ! Then go. Pack out as soon as you like. You better think twice about it, though, I tell you this ma’am: you shan’t stay here, in my house, until you come and apologise humbly to me for your insolence. Nice things I have to put up with.’

‘ I do apologise to you,’ she said calmly, ‘ if I have offended ; but I must leave this house. I shall get duller, and my reason will go, if I stay. We were all made for kindness, and a kind word, at least once in the year; while from you, I cannot call to mind when I have ever received a gracious or a tolerant word. Heaven forgive you, father and make you gentler and more human.’

He was about to throw open the floodgates, and let the dirty torrent of his wrath come bursting out, carrying stones and all sorts of coarse matter with it, when they were interrupted by a visitor. It was Dudley, with an almost malignant air of satisfaction on his face. He looked at her curiously, and with her old instinct she disdained to fly, but kept her ground. CHAPTER XXI.—A FATAL MEETING. He was full of news. First, the perfect recovery of Miss Panton, who was now bright, sparkling, full of spirits, and happy. ‘ We all know the physician,’ he added, significantly, ‘ and I am glad of it now, though I was opposed to it before. I own I thought he was a trifler and philanderer, but now we all see he was in earnest.’

‘ A most proper match,’ said the doctor eagerly. ‘ I had Lord Formanton here in this room. Perfect nobleman.’

‘We won’t see the future bridegroom at dinner to-day, though. Conway has got a telegram from home, and the yacht, they say, will sail this very evening.’ She did not start at this news, as Dudley seemed to expect, though it made her blood run swiftly. ‘ They are going away,’ he went on, ‘ soon, and I suppose will all meet in London.’ ‘ Most proper—most proper,’ said the doctor. ‘ St. George’s, Hanover square : the right thing of course.’ * Then I have a piece of news that will not please Miss Bailey. That unlucky bridge is down at last, and actually sold into the next county. So ends the great bridge question, and when we look back on all the warmth and excitement, how absurd it seems !—all about an iron bridge. So I said to Miss Panton this morning, but she pointed to the pieces, and said : “Another victory for mo !” ’ , * Let her take care,’ said Jessica; ‘ acts of oppression like this cry aloud for judgment, which is sure to come.’ ‘ What pulling down an old bridge ?’ said Dudley. ‘ Is the girl mad or a fool ?’ said the doctor, roughly. * Oh!’ said Dudley, slowly, ‘ Miss Bailey has reason, good reason, for all this heat. If she were candid enough she would own it.’

* But I warn her,’ said Jessica * and as

you are her friend and champion, I ask you to warn her. I wish her no ill, as I stand here, though this and other steps have been taken to injure me. Take cave she be not reckoned with in time, for all her wealth.’ Dudley’s face was contorted with rage. ‘ Threats to that angel ! Upon my word here is an esprit fort. Threaten her. because she has been successful in getting wealth and honor, and the liking and love of friends ?’ ‘ You judge these things according to your nature,’ said Jessica, calmly, and rising to go away.’ * I utter no threats, though I understand the insinuation. Let her reckon with her own conscience for all her treatment of me, beginning so long ago. Only I again warn her, she whose life is so precarious, these things are not allowed to go on without punishment.’ ‘ How noble, how generous !’ said Dudley, bitterly. ‘We understand your insinuation, Miss Bailey. But the Almighty does not give us all strong chests and iron blood vessels.’ She did not answer him, but left the room. A version of that scene was over the town before evening ; how Miss Bailey had publicly defied her rival through Mr Dudley, and warned her that she would be punished. Before evening, too, that defiance had reached that very rival. Jessica was left to think upon this strange news. So Conway was going away and the familiar image of the pretty yacht, to which the place had grown so accustomed, would be seen no more. Well, indeed, might the doctor utter his unmeant self-benediction, ‘ God bless me !’ This, indeed would be a relief ; it would bring a term, and end to the act, as it were. Once he was gone, something would be over; it was like the criminal longing for the day of execution. She herself could not go till he had gone ; then she would go, rush out on the world. She dared not think that he would come to say good bye. Even if he did, she felt she could not see him, but still for him not to make the attempt seemed almost too stoical. But the miserable day wore on and he never came. About three a sailor arrived with a letter. I am summoned away suddenly. All has been arranged at Panton ; and I shall go through it all, as you would expect me to do, with honor and loyalty. We must not look back—at least I dare not Yet remember how solemnly I am bound to you and you to me. From that there can be no escape. Much may happen between; one of the thousand and one chances of the world may turn up I have told her bluntly—and I should have loathed myself if i had not —how I had been forced so suddenly into this match. She only thinks me the more noble for the confession. Yet still be patient. I have a strange instinct that something must interpose between me and this unworthy, this sinful holocaust. I have been weak, foolish, and culpable; but do not deserve such a fate. Neither have you deserved it. I owe you the amende of a life ; and as this cannot be paid, I shall find some way. Only wait and hope : wait and hope, at least, until this day two months hence. This is the last letter I may write to you. Dearest, injured Jessica, good-bye.

Often and often sjie read these words over as the day wore on, and evening approached, and the doctor, in full tenue, drove away to his dinner at the castle. At her window, removed from that blustering influence, she could see the little port below, and a strange fascination made her fasten her eyes upon the yacht lying peacefully there, ill-fated barque, that had brought her such misery and yet such happiness. Even as she watched she saw signs that foreshadowed departure—sails half drooped, ready to spring into position at a word, boats passing to and fro, and rowing round. He was going, sailing away, having accomplished his double work. He had conquered both, and she, that other, had conquered her. As she watched, the idea sent a chill to her very heart. As long as that elegant craft reposed there—the first thing she saw in the morning —though all was ended, it still was a symbol, a sign that he was there still. But after this day, that vacant space and lonely harbor. She was, indeed, anxious that she herself was gone, gone out on the world. She had long made her little plan. She had some money in her own right, and there was a good aunt, or elderly cousin—it matters not much which —who was kind and sympathetic, though she was dull and old-fashioned enough, with whom she could live. ;

She watched until she felt herself oppressed with fluttering anxiety, and then a strange feeling took possession of her to go out, breathe the air, and wander up some private way, and look at that house which held her rival. The suspense was intolerable. Most probably he was up there, exchanging some last good-bye. Bitter, and even despairing, thoughts came on her, of how short lived, after all, are the most intense dramatic feelings ; sure to give way, in a short time, before the prose workings of life. (To he continued.)