“I don’t wonder that you like it all, Tony,” said he. “You ‘ll never, in all your wanderings, see anything finer.”
“I often say as much to myself,” replied Tony. “As I sit here of an evening, with my cigar, I often say, ‘Why should I go over the world in search of fortune, when I have all that one wants here, – here at my very hand?’ Don’t you think a fellow might be content with it?”
“Content! I could be as happy as a king here!” and for a moment or two Skeffy really revelled in delighted thoughts of a region where the tinkle of a minister’s hand-bell had never been heard, where no “service messengers” ever came, where no dunning tailors invaded; a paradise that knew not the post nor dreamed of the telegraph.
“And as to money,” continued Tony, “one does not want to be rich in such a place. I ‘m as well off here with, we ‘ll say, two hundred a year – we have n’t got so much, but I ‘ll say that – as I should be in London with a thousand.”
“Better! decidedly better!” said Skeffy, puffing his cigar, and thinking over that snowstorm of Christmas bills which awaited him on his return.
“If it were not for one thing, Skeffy, I ‘d never leave it,” said he, with a deep sigh, and a look that said as plainly as ever words spoke, “Let me open my heart to you.”
“I know it all, old fellow, just as if you had confessed it to me. I know the whole story.”
“What do you know, or what do you suspect you know?” said Tony, growing red.
“I say,” said Skeffy, with that tone of superiority that he liked to assume, – “I say that I read you like a book.”
“Read aloud, then, and I ‘ll say if you ‘re right”
“It ‘s wrong with you here, Butler,” said Skeffy, laying his hand on the other’s heart; and a deep sigh was all the answer. “Give me another weed,” said Skeffy, and for some seconds he employed himself in lighting it “There’s not a man in England,” said he, slowly, and with the deliberateness of a judge in giving sentence, – “not a man in England knows more of these sort of things than I do. You, I ‘m certain, take me for a man of pleasure and the world, – a gay, butterfly sort of creature, flitting at will from flower to flower; or you believe me – and in that with more reason – a fellow full of ambition, and determined to play a high stake in life; but yet, Tony Butler, within all these there is another nature, like the holy of holies in the sanctuary. Ay, my dear friend, there is the – what the poet calls the ‘crimson heart within the rose.’ Isn’t that it?”
“I don’t know,” said Tony, bluntly.
And now Skeffy smoked on for some minutes without a word. At length he said, in a solemn tone, “It has not been for nothing, Butler, that I acquired the gift I speak of. If I see into the hearts of men like you, I have paid the price of it.”
“I ‘m not so certain that you can do it” said Tony, half doubting his friend’s skill, and half eager to provoke an exercise of it.
“I ‘ll show whether I can or not. Of coarse, if you like to disclaim or deny – ”
“I ‘ll disclaim nothing that I know to be true.”
“And I am to speak freely?”
“As freely as you are able.”
“Here it is, then, in five words: You are in love, Tony, – in love with that beautiful widow.”
Tony held his head down between his hands, and was silent.
“You feel that the case is hopeless, – that is to say, that you know, besides being of rank and wealth, she is one to make a great match, and that her family would never consent to hear of your pretensions; and yet all this while you have a sort of lurking suspicion that she cares for you?”
“No, no!” muttered Tony, between his hands.
“Well, that she did once, and that not very long ago.”
“Not even that,” said Tony, drearily.
“I know better, – you
do
think so. And I’ll tell you more; what makes you so keenly alive to her change – perfidy, you would like to call it – is this, that you have gone through that state of the disease yourself.”
“I don’t understand you.”
“Well, you shall. The lovely Alice – isn’t that the name?”
Tony nodded.
“The lovely Alice got your own heart only, at second hand. You used to be in love with the little girl that was governess at Richmond.”
“Not a word of it true, – nothing of the kind,” broke out Tony, fiercely. “Dolly and I were brother and sister, – we always said we were.”
“What does that signify? I tried the brother-and-sister dodge, and I know what it cost me when she married Maccleston;” and Skeffy here threw his cigar into the sea, as though an emblem of his shipwrecked destiny. “Mind me well, Butler,” said he, at last; “I did not say that you ever told your heart you loved her; but she knew it, take my word for it. She knew, and in the knowing it was the attraction that drew you on.”
“But I was not drawn on.”
“Don’t tell me, sir. Answer me just this: Did any man ever know the hour, or even the day, that he caught a fever? Could he go back in memory, and say, it was on Tuesday last, at a quarter to three, that my pulse rose, my respiration grew shorter, and my temples began to throb? So it is with love, the most malignant of all fevers. All this time that you and What’s-her-name were playing brother and sister so innocently, your hearts were learning to feel in unison, – just as two pendulums in the same room acquire the same beat and swing together. You ‘ve heard that?”
“I may; but you are all wrong about Dolly.”
“What would she say to it?”
“Just what I do.”
“Well, we cannot ask her, for she ‘s not here.”
“She is here, – not two miles from where we are standing; not that it signifies much, for, of course, neither of us would do
that
.”
“Not plump out, certainly, in so many words.”
“Not in any way, Skeffy. It is because I look upon Dolly as my own dear sister, I would not suffer a word to be said that could offend her.”
“Offend her! Oh dear, how young you are in these things!”
“What is it, Jenny?” cried Tony to the servant-girl, who was shouting not very intelligibly, from a little knoll at a distance. “Oh, she ‘s saying that supper is ready, and the kippered salmon getting cold, as if any one cared!”
“Don’t they care!” cried Skeffy. “Well, then, they have n’t been inhaling this sea-breeze for an hour, as I have. Heaven grant that love has carried off your appetite, Tony, for I feel as if I could eat for six.”
CHAPTER XXXII. ON THE ROCKS
It was a rare thing for Tony Butler to lie awake at night, and yet he did so for full an hour or more after that conversation with Skeffy. It was such a strange blunder for one of Skeffy’s shrewdness to have made, – so inexplicable.
To imagine that he, Tony, had ever been in love with Dolly! Dolly, his playfellow since the time when the “twa had paidled i’ the burn;” Dolly, to whom he went with every little care that crossed him, never shrinking for an instant from those avowals of doubt or difficulty that no one makes to his sweetheart. So, at least, thought Tony. And the same Dolly to whom he had revealed once, in deepest secrecy, that he was in love with Alice! To be sure, it was a boyish confession, made years ago; and since that Alice had grown up to be a woman, and was married, so that the story of the love was like a fairy tale.
“In love with Dolly!” muttered he. “If he had but ever seen us together, he would have known that could not be.” Poor Tony! he knew of love in its moods of worship and devotion, and in its aspect of a life-giving impulse, – a soul-filling, engrossing sentiment, – inspiring timidity when near, and the desire for boldness when away. With such alternating influence Dolly had never racked his heart. He sought her with a quiet conscience, untroubled by a fear.
“How could Skeffy make such a mistake! That it is a mistake, who would recognize more quickly than Dolly herself; and with what humorous drollery – a drollery all her own – would she not treat it! A rare punishment for your blunder, Master Skeffy, would it be to tell Dolly of it all in your presence;” and at last, wearied out with thinking, he fell asleep.
The day broke with one of those bright breezy mornings which, though “trying” to the nerves of the weak and delicate, are glorious stimulants to the strong. The sea plashed merrily over the rocks, and the white streaky clouds flew over the land with a speed that said it blew hard at sea. “Glorious day for a sail, Skeffy; we can beat out, and come back with a stern-wind whenever we like.”
“I ‘ll anticipate the wish by staying on shore, Tony.”
“I can’t offer you a mount, Skeffy, for I am not the owner of even a donkey.”
“Who wants one? Who wants anything better than to go down where we were yesterday evening, under that big black rock, with the sea before us, and the whole wide world behind us, and talk? When a fellow lives as I do, cooped up within four walls, the range of his view some tiers of pigeon-holes, mere freedom and a sea-breeze are the grandest luxuries in creation;” and off they set, armed with an ample supply of tobacco, the life-buoy of those stragglers in the sea of thought who only ask to float, but not to reach the shore.
How delightfully did the hours pass over! At least, so Tony felt, for what a wonderful fellow was Skeffy! What had he not seen or heard or read? What theme was new, what subject unknown to him? But, above all, what a marvellous insight had he into the world, – the actual world of men and women! Great people were not to
his
eyes mighty gods and goddesses, seated loftily on a West-End Olympus, but fallible mortals, with chagrins about the court and grievances about invitations to Windsor. Ministers, too, whose nods shook empires, were humanities, very irritable under the gout, and much given to colchicum. Skeffy “knew the whole thing,” —
he
was not one of the mere audience. He lived in the green-room or in the “flats.” He knew all the secrets of state, from the splendid armaments that existed on paper, to the mock thunders that were manufactured and patented by F. O.
These things Skeffy told like confidences, – secrete he would not have breathed to any one he held less near his heart than Tony. But somehow commonplaces told by the lips of authority will assume an immense authority, and carry with them a stupendous weight; and Tony listened to the precious words of wisdom as he might have listened to the voice of Solomon.
But even more interesting still did he become as he sketched forth, very vaguely indeed, – a sort of Turner in his later style of cloud and vapor, – his own great future. Not very clear and distinct the steps by which he was fated to rise, but palpable enough the great elevation he was ultimately to occupy.
“Don’t imagine, old fellow,” said he, laying his hand on Tony’s shoulders, “that I am going to forget you when that time comes. I’m not going to leave you a Queen’s messenger.”
“What could you make of me?” said Tony, despondently.
“Fifty things,” said the other, with a confidence that seemed to say, “I, Skeffy, am equal to more than this; fifty things. You, of course, cannot be expected to know it, but I can tell you, it’s far harder to get a small place than a big one, – harder to be a corporal than a lieutenant-general.”
“How do you explain that?” asked Tony, with an eager curiosity.
“You can’t understand it without knowing life. I cannot convey to you how to win a trick where you don’t know the game.” And Skeffy showed, by the impatient way he tried to light a fresh cigar, that he was not fully satisfied with the force or clearness of his own explanation; and he went on: “You see, old fellow, when you have climbed up some rungs of the ladder with a certain amount of assurance, many will think you are determined to get to the top.”
“Well, but if a man’s ladder has only one rung, as I imagine is the case with mine!” broke in Tony.
Skeffy looked at his companion for a moment, half surprised that he should have carried out the figure, and then laughed heartily, as he said, “Splice it to mine, my boy; it will bear us both.”
It was no use that Tony shook his head and looked despondingly; there was a hopeful warmth about Skeffy not to be extinguished by any discouragement. In fact, if a shade of dissatisfaction seemed ever to cloud the brightness of his visions, it was the fear lest, even in his success, some other career might be neglected wherein the rewards were greater and the prizes more splendid. He knew, and he did not scruple to declare that he knew, if he had been a soldier he ‘d have risen to the highest command. If he ‘d have gone to the bar, he’d have ended on the woolsack. Had he “taken that Indian appointment,” he ‘d have been high up by this time on the Council, with his eye on Government House for a finish. “That’s what depresses me about diplomacy, Tony. The higher you go, the less sure you are. They – I mean your own party – give you Paris or St. Petersburg, we ‘ll say; and if they go out, so must you.”
“Why must you?” asked Tony.
“For the reason that the well-bred dog went downstairs when he saw certain preparations that betokened kicking him down.
“After all, I think a new colony and the gold-fields the real thing, – the glorious independence of it; you live how you like, and with whom you like. No Mrs. Grundy to say, ‘Do you know who dined with Skeffington Darner yesterday?’ ‘Did you remark the young woman who sat beside him in his carriage?’ and such-like.”
“But you cannot be always sure of your nuggets,” muttered Tony. “I ‘ve seen fellows come back poorer than they went.”
“Of course you have; it’s not every horse wins the Derby, old boy. And I’ll tell you another thing, too; the feeling, the instinct, the inner consciousness that you carry success in your nature, is a rarer and a higher gift than the very power to succeed. You meet with clever fellows every day in the week who have no gauge of their own cleverness. To give an illustration; you write a book, we’ll say.”
“No, I don’t,” blurted out Tony.
“Well, but you might; it is at least possible.”
“It is not.”
“Well, let us take something else. You are about to try something that has a great reward attached to it, if successful; you want, we ‘ll suppose, to marry a woman of high rank and large fortune, very beautiful, – in fact, one to whom, according to every-day notions, you have not the slightest pretensions. Is n’t that a strong case, eh?”
“Worse than the book. Perhaps I ‘d better try authorship,” said Tony, growing very red; “but make the case your own, and I ‘ll listen just as attentively.”
“Well, here goes; I have only to draw on memory,” said he, with a sigh; “I suppose you don’t remember seeing in the papers, about a year and a half ago, that the Prince of Cobourg Cohari – not one of our Cobourgs, but an Austrian branch – came over to visit the Queen. He brought his daughter Olga with him; she was called Olga after the Empress of Russia’s sister. And such a girl! She was nearly as tall as you, Tony, – I’ll swear she was, – with enormous blue eyes, and masses of fair hair that she wore in some Russian fashion that seemed as if it had fallen loose over her neck and shoulders. And were n’t they shoulders! I do like a large woman! a regular Cleopatra, – indolent, voluptuous, dreamy. I like the majestic languor of their walk; and there is a massive grandeur in their slightest gesture that is very imposing.”
“Go on,” muttered Tony, as the other seemed to pause for a sentiment of concurrence.
“I was in the Household in those days, and I was sent down with old Dollington to Dover to meet them; but somehow they arrived before we got down, and were comfortably installed at the ‘Lord Warden’ when we arrived. It did not matter much; for old Cohari was seized with an attack of gout, and could not stir; and there I was, running back and forward to the telegraph office all day, reporting how he was, and whether he would or would not have Sir James This or Sir John That down to see him! Dollington and he were old friends, fortunately, and had a deal to say to each other, so that I was constantly with Olga. At first she was supremely haughty and distant, as you may imagine; a regular Austrian Serene Highness grafted on a beauty, – fancy that! but it never deterred
me
; and I contrived that she should see mine was the homage of a heart she had captivated, not of a courtier that was bound to obey her. She saw it, sir, – saw it at once; saw it with that instinct that whispers to the female heart, ‘He loves me,’ ere the man has ever said it to himself. She not only saw, but she did not discourage, my passion. Twenty little incidents of our daily life showed this, as we rambled across the downs together, or strolled along the shore to watch the setting sun and the arrival of the mail-boat from Calais.
“At last the Prince recovered sufficiently to continue his journey, and I went down to order a special train to take us up to town the following morning. By some stupid arrangement, however, of the directors, an earlier announcement should have been given, and all they could do was to let us have one of the royal carriages attached to the express. I was vexed at this, and so was Dollington, but the Prince did not care, in the least; and when I went to speak of it to Olga, she hung down her head for an instant, and then, in a voice and with an accent I shall never forget, she said, ‘Ah, Monsieur Darner, it would appear to be your destiny to be always too late!’ She left me as she spoke, and we never met after; for on that same evening I learned from Dollington she was betrothed to the Duke Max of Hohenhammelsbraten, and to be married in a month. That was the meaning of her emotion, – that was the source of a sorrow that all but overcame her; for she loved me, Tony, – she loved me! not with that headlong devotion that belongs to the wanner races, but with a Teutonic love; and when she said, ‘I was too late,’ it was the declaration of a heart whose valves worked under a moderate pressure, and never risked an explosion.”
“But how do you know that she was not alluding to the train, and to your being late to receive them on the landing?” asked Tony.
“Ain’t you prosaic, Tony, – ain’t you six-and-eight-pence! with your dull and commonplace interpretation! I tell you, sir, that she meant, ‘I love you, but it is in vain, – I love you, but another is before you, – I love you, but you come too late!’”
“And what did you do?” asked Tony, anxious to relieve himself from a position of some awkwardness.
“I acted with dignity, sir. I resigned in the Household, and got appointed to the Colonial.”
“And what does it all prove, except it be something against your own theory, that a man should think there is nothing too high for his reach?”
“Verily, Tony, I have much to teach you,” said Skeffy, gravely, but good-naturedly. “This little incident shows by what slight cas