XXIV
Felise gave Ruy an apple, and then another till the six were gone. He thrust his nostrils into her hand, and pushed her with his face for more. As he moved it brought Robert, who held him, close to Felise. Once again he felt the caress of her dress, even the touch of her arm.
The contrast between them was very marked. Her clear complexion, her golden hair; her form so beautifully shaped that even the loveliness of her face was overlooked. You must forget her form before you could see her features.
His black countenanceтБатАФblack like a piece of wood that has lain for years in the rain; his colourless eye; his round stout frame expressive of ungraceful strength.
But Ruy, greedy for more apples, would not stand still. Robert lost the touch of her arm, and the caress of her dress.
тАЬHe is a fine horse,тАЭ said Felise; тАЬI cannot understand why his owner sold him. Did you not say he wanted money?тАЭ
тАЬHis rent was overdue,тАЭ said Robert. At ordinary times he would not have let this out; at the moment he was abstracted from himself to such a degree that his lips answered without the consent of his mind. тАЬHis Lady Day rent was overdueтБатАФandтБатАФand I bought the horse.тАЭ
тАЬThat he might have the money to pay.тАЭ
тАЬYes.тАЭ
тАЬAnd the price was?тАЭ
тАЬSixty pounds.тАЭ
тАЬI thought you said seventy yesterday.тАЭ
тАЬNoтБатАФdid I?тАЭ
The horse-dealerтАЩs instinct had for the time deserted him. He forgot to add ten pounds to the sum he had really given.
тАЬIs he very much in difficulty?тАЭ asked Felise, growing bolder.
тАЬI am not sureтАЭ (this was the truth); тАЬI should like to know.тАЭ
Felise was obliged to move, as Ruy worked his face too forcibly against her. She walked with Robert towards the stables, thinking if there was any other leading question she could put. She could not think of another.
тАЬNow may I ask you a favour?тАЭ said Felise, as Robert, having handed Ruy over to the charge of a carter, was returning with her towards the house.
тАЬCertainly.тАЭ
тАЬWill you not let old Abner Brown stay in his cottage? He cannot live very much longer.тАЭ
RobertтАЩs mental condition stiffened instantly. The request brought him back from the glamour into which he had been thrown.
тАЬHe has already been there much longer than he ought,тАЭ he said. тАЬI believe it is a year since he ceased to work.тАЭ
тАЬYesтБатАФthink; he worked up to within one year of eighty-fourтБатАФsurely that should plead for him.тАЭ
тАЬI have to consider the estate,тАЭ said Robert. тАЬYou know the circumstancesтБатАФhe cannot do any work, nor can his wife; we want the cottage for those who can.тАЭ
тАЬBut has he not earned a little repose, Mr.┬аGodwin?тАЭ
тАЬHe can have it in the workhouse.тАЭ
тАЬDo not say soтБатАФdo not mention that dreadful place. It would kill the old man to leave his garden.тАЭ
тАЬThey will let him sweep up the leaves and weed the paths at the workhouse.тАЭ
тАЬHe is very, very old, Mr.┬аGodwin; he has lived in that cottage more than forty years, and all the trees in the garden are his own plantingтБатАФthere are apples, and a cherryтБатАФтАЭ
тАЬWe want the cottageтБатАФwe must have it; I know several who will be glad of it.тАЭ
тАЬThey are no expense,тАЭ continued Felise, тАЬbecause their son keeps them; let them stay.тАЭ
тАЬIt is impossible! as for young Abner, he ought not to live in our cottage and work off the estate.тАЭ
тАЬHe works for Mr.┬аGoring,тАЭ said Felise, beginning to grow angry; but she checked it for the sake of the aged couple. тАЬMr.┬аGodwin, I will pay youтБатАФwhat is the rent of the cottage?тАЭ
тАЬTwo shillings a week.тАЭ
тАЬI will pay it, then you will lose nothing.тАЭ
тАЬThe rent is paid now,тАЭ said Godwin. тАЬYou misunderstand; we lose the manтАЩs work who should live there.тАЭ
тАЬOh, but they are so old!тАЭ
тАЬThere is the workhouse.тАЭ
тАЬThey will never go there.тАЭ
тАЬThey must; the parish will not allow outdoor relief.тАЭ
тАЬMr.┬аGodwin, do let them stay; I have set my heart upon it.тАЭ
Who else could have resisted her? The argument and the trace of anger which had begun to rise had brightened her colour and warmed her whole appearance. Robert refused her point-blank. The stored-up passion of so many years, causing an irresistible reflex action, forced him to oppose her. After this appeal from her, now he knew she wished it, had a sign shone in the heavens still he would not have yielded.
Felise, recognising his stubborn mood, forbore to press further; she spoke for a few minutes with Miss Godwin, and left.
In the afternoon Mr.┬аGoring came home, having consulted his solicitor, who thought that probably there was a right to enclose the spring, as it was on private property, though within a few yards of the highway. The question would be an awkward one; it might cost hundreds of pounds to decide it; he advised his client to have nothing to do with it.
тАЬThis is indeed a right!тАЭ said Mr.┬аGoring тАЬTime it is that such тАШrightsтАЩ should be abolishedтБатАФthe word itself is reversed in alluding to them. Has any man a тАШright,тАЩ then, to enclose the air, the light? Doubtless, if it could be done, there are those who would enclose the ocean and claim it as private property.тАЭ
He set out that very evening with Abner to construct a dipping-place in a part of the stream that passed through his little property, intending also to open a footpath to it for the use of the inhabitants.
Felise inquired if he had heard anything in Maasbury about Mr.┬аBarnardтАЩs alleged pecuniary difficulties.
тАЬNo,тАЭ said Goring. тАЬWhy do you wish to know?тАЭ
тАЬThere seems so much trouble about us,тАЭ replied Felise discreetly. тАЬSo many farmers failingтБатАФthat is all.тАЭ
Nor had Mary Shaw discovered anything.
Felise turned over Miss BarnardтАЩs Dante scrapbook, wishing the owner would come for it.
Next morning she went over again to GodwinтАЩs, fed Ruy with apples, petted him and praised him, talked a little while with Robert, and begged for old AbnerтАЩs cottage. In vain.
Four times in succession she visited Ruy, fed him, petted him, stroked him, and seemed more and more loth to leave him.
The fifth morning she did not come; Robert waited and worked with his hands, but she did not come. This was the Saturday; Sunday he did not think it at all likely she would come. He never slept, nor even attempted to do so on the Saturday or Sunday night. How he passed them it is difficult to tell, but he constantly moved something or other about with his hands. Two nights without sleep did not leave much trace on his bronze face; but his heartтАЩs bitterness was worn deeper within him, as a storm wears gullies in the rock.
Already, so swift is gossip, the hamlet had begun to talk of Miss Goring and Mr.┬аGodwin. Though Felise had helped them in so many ways, though her uncle was actually at that moment working for them, they could not say a good word, they could not credit her with any motive but greed of money.
тАЬShe be a-looking after old GodwinтАЩs gold.тАЭ тАЬSelling herself to the old miser.тАЭ тАЬHope his money will choke her.тАЭ тАЬNever thought there was much in her, did you?тАЭ
Such was the tone of their comments.
Felise was disappointed; Miss Barnard had not called for the Dante scrapbook; after her bold effort she seemed no nearer her object. But an idea had been gradually forming itself in her mind, and on Monday she started, always impetuous, to put it into practice.
She went over and fed Ruy once more with apples, Ruy was as greedy of them as a miser of coin; she talked with Robert, and presently asked him for how much he would sell the horse?
тАЬSeventy pounds,тАЭ said Robert.
тАЬBut you only gave sixty for him.тАЭ
тАЬI have to make my turnтБатАФmy profit,тАЭ said Robert.
тАЬWill you sell him to me?тАЭ
тАЬOf course.тАЭ
тАЬI will buy him,тАЭ said Felise.
тАЬYou shall have himтБатАФseventy pounds.тАЭ
тАЬSixty.тАЭ
тАЬNoтБатАФno.тАЭ
тАЬSixty-five.тАЭ
тАЬImpossible.тАЭ
тАЬSixty-seven.тАЭ
тАЬI couldnтАЩt.тАЭ
тАЬSixty-sevenтБатАФthat is seven pounds profit, and all in a few days,тАЭ said Felise.
тАЬSeventy pounds,тАЭ said Robert decidedly, and Felise saw that it was no use to bargain.
тАЬVery well, seventyтБатАФI will bring you the money this evening; you will not part with him to anyone else in the meantime?тАЭ
тАЬWhy, noтБатАФcertainly not.тАЭ
тАЬI will come then, this evening.тАЭ
She returned home, and asked Mr.┬аGoring for the pony-carriage to drive into the town; it was prepared, and she started alone.
So soon as she had left, Robert Godwin said to himself that he had been foolish to part with the horse so easily. She had so set her mind on the horse, he might have asked ninety safely. If he had kept him till the hunting-season some gentleman might have taken a fancy for him and gone still higher, perhaps a hundred and twenty. For the price of a horse is the price of a fancy, and goes up like stocks and shares when buyers are in the vein. Why, very likely she knew of someone who would give her ninety or a hundred for such a horse; very likely that was the secret of her eagerness to secure him. Robert felt that he had been тАЬhad;тАЭ it hurt his semiprofessional pride as a horse-dealer now and then, generally heavily to his gain.
The miser and the loverтБатАФdespair, hope, and angerтБатАФwere they not strangely mingled in this man?
A passionate lover would have given his lady the horse in a moment, especially if as rich as Robert Godwin. With all his riches, and his secret passion, he had but once given her a present. One fair-dayтБатАФeight years sinceтБатАФfor a marvel he spent fourpence (the groat is still a unit in country places) at a stall on тАЬfairings,тАЭ a sort of sweet biscuit, thinking he might see her as he came home. He did see her, and gave her the groatтАЩs worth of тАЬfairings;тАЭ the child took them silently, not without some awe of his black face.
He had cleared ten pounds profit, and he was torturing himself because he feared he had missed an opportunity to make twenty.
Yet his hands were never still because of his unmanageable passionтБатАФhe must work with them constantly; his heartтАЩs bitterness was full to overflowing because he could not have her; the hope her presence gave was like a sword splitting his very heart in two. She stood by him and his lips were dumbтБатАФcommonplaces are dumbnessтБатАФhis lips were closed with iron-bolts; he could not say one word to indicate his meaning, to seek her favour.
Are we cynical moderns right, after all, in our discredit of Fate? Could there possibly be some fate here, some of that irresistible destiny which in Sophocles carries its tyrant will through generation after generation? Petty circumstances unregarded lead men on, from step to step, from thought to thought, action to action; is this Fate?
The greed of the miser; the agony of the lover who knows that he cannot be loved; the pitiless animosity of the tyrant turning by reflex action against the creature of his love; the sharp sword of a hope that only shows what might be ifтБатАФthese are terrible goads.