shakespeare’s romeo lost his reason in a night, and, however illogical the intoxications of youth may seem, they are of finer gold than the cold-tempered alloys of age.
jeffray rode through the woods that evening, and heard the birds singing in the thickets, and saw the gloom creeping up over the mysterious hills, the gray sky cracking in the west to let through the red and molten lava of the setting sun. thrush challenged thrush on many a glimmering spire, blackbirds piped it mellowly, linnets twittered in the gorse. soon the plaintive chiding of the wryneck would be heard amid the meadows and the thickets. the wild woods seemed full of sound, of all the joyous outpourings of life, the massed chantings of the forest choristers. the gorse glimmered, wind-flowers shivered in the shade, the cuckoo-flower was unfolding its finials of lilac and white. overhead the great trees breathed and murmured, tossing their hands to the setting sun.
jeffray’s whole soul was filled with melancholy delight. was not this black-haired bess akin to all this beauty, this starting forth of colors, this uprushing of sound? the light in her eyes, surely it had set his soul on fire. and the sweet scent of her clothes, like hay on a june morning, should he forget it to the day of his death?
he slept but little that night, tossing to and fro—and thinking of bess. even when he slept he dreamed of her, and waking—seemed to catch her face looking out at him from the gloom. ever and again, with a rallying of his loyalty to jilian, he strove to put the thought of the girl out of his head. it was but the old battle betwixt nature and the sentimental but very jealous ordinances of civilization. on the one hand, romance pleaded, on the other, prosaic proprieties of life propounded the doctrine of peace and respectable monotony.
richard came from his bedroom feeling feverish and heavy about the eyes next morning. it was but a just judgment on the physical part of him, he imagined, for the emotional debauch of yesterday. he ate his breakfast in solitude, staring morosely out of the window, and watching the clouds move across the sky. depression had followed on exaltation, and he was moved to regard the passion of yesterday in a somewhat more stern and moral light. no, he would not meet bess on thursday. if she were in trouble she could come to him at rodenham and he would help her. heavens, if his escapade came to miss jilian’s ears there would be excitement enough for him in the home of the hardacres! he would go and see jilian that very morning. her presence would chasten him and enable him to realize more acutely the disloyalty of his attraction towards poor bess.
probably miss hardacre was puzzled by her betrothed’s melancholy as they walked on the terrace that day with jilian’s two spaniels playing about her feet. the lady’s quick wits were soon at work to discover the meaning of her dear richard’s moodiness. had she been oversharp with him concerning poor mary sugg? jeffray smiled at her with genuine candor, and confessed that the parson’s daughter had nothing to do with his depression. he was vexed with a headache; so much miss hardacre could cajole from him, and it was enough to enable her to be sympathetic.
“la, richard,” she confessed, regarding him very gravely, “you look quite feverish and ill. would you like to lie down in the house? quiet, tib! down tobe! your master has a headache. drat the dogs; how noisy they are, to be sure!”
miss hardacre flicked her handkerchief at the spaniels, who, imagining that the lady was challenging them to a game, yapped and growled with greater vigor.
“deuce take the dogs!”
richard had his hand to his head.
“don’t vex yourself, jilian,” he said, “it is nothing, i thank you.”
“you look very white, richard.”
“it is the megrims—perhaps—”
some sudden suspicion seemed to seize upon miss hardacre’s heart. she looked at her betrothed keenly, with an anxious hardening of her eyes and mouth.
“richard?”
“yes, dear—”
“have you been in rodenham village?”
jeffray stared at her questioningly.
“not for a week,” he said.
“supposing it should be—oh—horrible! my head is in a whirl.”
jeffray flushed up as though jilian had suddenly discovered all that was in his heart.
“i do not understand you, jilian,” he said.
miss hardacre had drawn a little apart from jeffray, and was waving her scented handkerchief under her nose.
“supposing you are sickening for the small-pox, richard,” she said.
“jilian!”
“you look very feverish. no, please do not come too near me.”
“am i so terrible to look at?”
“oh, richard, i am sure i am about to faint.”
jeffray had grown pale of a sudden. was there anything prophetic in miss hardacre’s words, or was it his own fancy that made him feel chilly about the heart? he drew away from his betrothed, put his hand to his forehead, and felt that it was hot and moist.
he glanced at jilian, who was walking unsteadily with her eyes half closed, the spaniels still yapping at her heels.
“certainly i feel feverish,” he confessed; “shall i give you my arm, jilian? no. perhaps i had better keep away from you.”
miss hardacre’s face had gone an ashy yellow behind the blushes that still bloomed upon her cheeks.
“richard,” she said, “go home at once and send for surgeon stott, from rookhurst. it is not safe for you to remain near me.”
jeffray was gazing at her searchingly, wondering how much she loved him since her first thoughts seemed for herself.
“i think you are right,” he said, slowly.
jilian still played with her handkerchief, and appeared tormented by the conflicting emotions in her heart. it was proper for her to display some tenderness towards her betrothed, yet she was in mortal fear of the disease that might be lurking in his very breath.
“richard, mon cher, if anything should happen, i—i will come and nurse you.”
jeffray reddened and looked somewhat ashamed.
“i could not let you imperil yourself,” he retorted, with much feeling.
miss hardacre wavered, and held out her hands to him pathetically. she was sorry for the lad, and yet her terror overcame her pity.
“go home, richard,” she said. “no, you must not kiss me. it may be nothing but a fear, but—i am afraid of you to-day.”
and jeffray, feeling strangely humbled, bowed and left her on the terrace.
the sense of feverishness increased on richard as he rode homeward through wild, alluring pevensel. the blood was drumming in his brain; his eyes were hot, his mouth parched and dry with the march wind and the dust. even the motion of his horse made him sweat, and there was a dull ache across his loins. how different his mood from that which had torched him through the wilds but yesterday!
the forest itself seemed to grow full of fantasies before him, like some weird etching of albrecht durer’s. the trees towered, waxing grotesque and even threatening as they poured down in places upon the road. the mutterings of the wind were intensified in his ears, the lights and shadows of the landscape exaggerated. continually he fancied that he saw a figure in a red cloak flitting amid the crowded trunks of the trees. the feverish thought haunted him that bess was flying to rodenham for fear of dan. what if he had had the fever in his blood and had given it to the girl in the abbey yesterday? the thought of her proud and handsome face scarred by the ravages of disease made him shiver and feel cold at the heart. poor jilian also might take it from him, nor did he wonder that she had shrunk away in fear.
coming to the lowlands, and seeing the pasture lands and fields russet and green under the blue, he uncovered his head and let the wind play about his forehead. the lodge gates were open, and even as jeffray came up the road at a walk, dr. sugg’s stout figure came out from the shadows of the yews that hid the drive. richard rallied himself and steadied his wits as the rector halted in the road to speak to him. they had not met since jeffray had excused himself by letter from receiving mary sugg at the priory.
“good-day, mr. richard.”
“good-day, sir, i want to speak with you.”
the parson was looking at jeffray curiously, screwing up his eyes, wrinkles running across his forehead.
“what news have you for me?”
“bad, sir, bad. george gogg’s wench has the small-pox to a certainty. gogg’s in bed himself. old sturtevant and two more have sickened.”
jeffray winced perceptibly, and gazed with some uneasiness at the rector.
“i am sorry about mary,” he said.
“don’t mention it, sir,” quoth dr. sugg, stolidly.
“the lady letitia is nervous, very nervous, sir, and, to be frank with you, miss hardacre, my betrothed—”
the rector’s eyes twinkled as he broke in upon jeffray’s apologies.
“do not vex yourself, sir,” he said. “i understand the matter perfectly. may i remark, mr. jeffray, that you look far from well yourself.”
richard stared in dr. sugg’s red and kindly face.
“i—sir?”
“you look feverish—uncommon feverish. i hope you are not going to be bedded, sir. how are you feeling, eh?”
richard forced a smile and wiped his forehead.
“rather hot in the head, sugg, and stiff about the back.”
the rector’s air of concern deepened. he screwed up his eyes still more and cocked his broad head seriously at jeffray.
“shall i tell stott to ride up to the priory to-morrow, sir? he will be in the village.”
“i am much obliged to you, doctor.”
“forewarned—forearmed, mr. jeffray. i trust, though, it is nothing serious with you. my girl mary’s all right as yet. i’ll send stott on to you to-morrow.”
