Complete Works of Thomas Hardy (Illustrated) (410 page)

‘Mended, — no, no!’

‘Cannot you do with your present one a little longer?’

‘It is altogether inferior, cheap, and bad!’

‘I’ll get you another, — yes, indeed, I will!  Allow me to get you another as soon as possible.  I’ll do anything to assist you out of your trouble; for I am most anxious to see you famous.  I know you will be a great astronomer, in spite of this mishap!  Come, say I may get a new one.’

Swithin took her hand.  He could not trust himself to speak.

* * * * *

Some days later a little box of peculiar kind came to the Great House.  It was addressed to Lady Constantine, ‘with great care.’  She had it partly opened and taken to her own little writing-room; and after lunch, when she had dressed for walking, she took from the box a paper parcel like the one which had met with the accident.  This she hid under her mantle, as if she had stolen it; and, going out slowly across the lawn, passed through the little door before spoken of, and was soon hastening in the direction of the Rings-Hill column.

There was a bright sun overhead on that afternoon of early spring, and its rays shed an unusual warmth on south-west aspects, though shady places still retained the look and feel of winter.  Rooks were already beginning to build new nests or to mend up old ones, and clamorously called in neighbours to give opinions on difficulties in their architecture.  Lady Constantine swerved once from her path, as if she had decided to go to the homestead where Swithin lived; but on second thoughts she bent her steps to the column.

Drawing near it she looked up; but by reason of the height of the parapet nobody could be seen thereon who did not stand on tiptoe.  She thought, however, that her young friend might possibly see her, if he were there, and come down; and that he was there she soon ascertained by finding the door unlocked, and the key inside.  No movement, however, reached her ears from above, and she began to ascend.

Meanwhile affairs at the top of the column had progressed as follows.  The afternoon being exceptionally fine, Swithin had ascended about two o’clock, and, seating himself at the little table which he had constructed on the spot, he began reading over his notes and examining some astronomical journals that had reached him in the morning.  The sun blazed into the hollow roof-space as into a tub, and the sides kept out every breeze.  Though the month was February below it was May in the abacus of the column.  This state of the atmosphere, and the fact that on the previous night he had pursued his observations till past two o’clock, produced in him at the end of half an hour an overpowering inclination to sleep.  Spreading on the lead-work a thick rug which he kept up there, he flung himself down against the parapet, and was soon in a state of unconsciousness.

It was about ten minutes afterwards that a soft rustle of silken clothes came up the spiral staircase, and, hesitating onwards, reached the orifice, where appeared the form of Lady Constantine.  She did not at first perceive that he was present, and stood still to reconnoitre.  Her eye glanced over his telescope, now wrapped up, his table and papers, his observing-chair, and his contrivances for making the best of a deficiency of instruments.  All was warm, sunny, and silent, except that a solitary bee, which had somehow got within the hollow of the abacus, was singing round inquiringly, unable to discern that ascent was the only mode of escape.  In another moment she beheld the astronomer, lying in the sun like a sailor in the main-top.

Lady Constantine coughed slightly; he did not awake.  She then entered, and, drawing the parcel from beneath her cloak, placed it on the table.  After this she waited, looking for a long time at his sleeping face, which had a very interesting appearance.  She seemed reluctant to leave, yet wanted resolution to wake him; and, pencilling his name on the parcel, she withdrew to the staircase, where the brushing of her dress decreased to silence as she receded round and round on her way to the base.

Swithin still slept on, and presently the rustle began again in the far-down interior of the column.  The door could be heard closing, and the rustle came nearer, showing that she had shut herself in, — no doubt to lessen the risk of an accidental surprise by any roaming villager.  When Lady Constantine reappeared at the top, and saw the parcel still untouched and Swithin asleep as before, she exhibited some disappointment; but she did not retreat.

Looking again at him, her eyes became so sentimentally fixed on his face that it seemed as if she could not withdraw them.  There lay, in the shape of an Antinous, no
amoroso
, no gallant, but a guileless philosopher.  His parted lips were lips which spoke, not of love, but of millions of miles; those were eyes which habitually gazed, not into the depths of other eyes, but into other worlds.  Within his temples dwelt thoughts, not of woman’s looks, but of stellar aspects and the configuration of constellations.

Thus, to his physical attractiveness was added the attractiveness of mental inaccessibility.  The ennobling influence of scientific pursuits was demonstrated by the speculative purity which expressed itself in his eyes whenever he looked at her in speaking, and in the childlike faults of manner which arose from his obtuseness to their difference of sex.  He had never, since becoming a man, looked even so low as to the level of a Lady Constantine.  His heaven at present was truly in the skies, and not in that only other place where they say it can be found, in the eyes of some daughter of Eve.  Would any Circe or Calypso — and if so, what one? — ever check this pale-haired scientist’s nocturnal sailings into the interminable spaces overhead, and hurl all his mighty calculations on cosmic force and stellar fire into Limbo?  Oh, the pity of it, if such should be the case!

She became much absorbed in these very womanly reflections; and at last Lady Constantine sighed, perhaps she herself did not exactly know why.  Then a very soft expression lighted on her lips and eyes, and she looked at one jump ten years more youthful than before — quite a girl in aspect, younger than he.  On the table lay his implements; among them a pair of scissors, which, to judge from the shreds around, had been used in cutting curves in thick paper for some calculating process.

What whim, agitation, or attraction prompted the impulse, nobody knows; but she took the scissors, and, bending over the sleeping youth, cut off one of the curls, or rather crooks, — for they hardly reached a curl, — into which each lock of his hair chose to twist itself in the last inch of its length.  The hair fell upon the rug.  She picked it up quickly, returned the scissors to the table, and, as if her dignity had suddenly become ashamed of her fantasies, hastened through the door, and descended the staircase.

CHAPTER VI

When his nap had naturally exhausted itself Swithin awoke.  He awoke without any surprise, for he not unfrequently gave to sleep in the day-time what he had stolen from it in the night watches.  The first object that met his eyes was the parcel on the table, and, seeing his name inscribed thereon, he made no scruple to open it.

The sun flashed upon a lens of surprising magnitude, polished to such a smoothness that the eye could scarcely meet its reflections.  Here was a crystal in whose depths were to be seen more wonders than had been revealed by the crystals of all the Cagliostros.

Swithin, hot with joyousness, took this treasure to his telescope manufactory at the homestead; then he started off for the Great House.

On gaining its precincts he felt shy of calling, never having received any hint or permission to do so; while Lady Constantine’s mysterious manner of leaving the parcel seemed to demand a like mysteriousness in his approaches to her.  All the afternoon he lingered about uncertainly, in the hope of intercepting her on her return from a drive, occasionally walking with an indifferent lounge across glades commanded by the windows, that if she were in-doors she might know he was near.  But she did not show herself during the daylight.  Still impressed by her playful secrecy he carried on the same idea after dark, by returning to the house and passing through the garden door on to the lawn front, where he sat on the parapet that breasted the terrace.

Now she frequently came out here for a melancholy saunter after dinner, and to-night was such an occasion.  Swithin went forward, and met her at nearly the spot where he had dropped the lens some nights earlier.

‘I have come to see you, Lady Constantine.  How did the glass get on my table?’

She laughed as lightly as a girl; that he had come to her in this way was plainly no offence thus far.

‘Perhaps it was dropped from the clouds by a bird,’ she said.

‘Why should you be so good to me?’ he cried.

‘One good turn deserves another,’ answered she.

‘Dear Lady Constantine!  Whatever discoveries result from this shall be ascribed to you as much as to me.  Where should I have been without your gift?’

‘You would possibly have accomplished your purpose just the same, and have been so much the nobler for your struggle against ill-luck.  I hope that now you will be able to proceed with your large telescope as if nothing had happened.’

‘O yes, I will, certainly.  I am afraid I showed too much feeling, the reverse of stoical, when the accident occurred.  That was not very noble of me.’

‘There is nothing unnatural in such feeling at your age.  When you are older you will smile at such moods, and at the mishaps that gave rise to them.’

‘Ah, I perceive you think me weak in the extreme,’ he said, with just a shade of pique.  ‘But you will never realise that an incident which filled but a degree in the circle of your thoughts covered the whole circumference of mine.  No person can see exactly what and where another’s horizon is.’

They soon parted, and she re-entered the house, where she sat reflecting for some time, till she seemed to fear that she had wounded his feelings.  She awoke in the night, and thought and thought on the same thing, till she had worked herself into a feverish fret about it.  When it was morning she looked across at the tower, and sitting down, impulsively wrote the following note: —

‘Dear Mr. St. Cleeve, — I cannot allow you to remain under the impression that I despised your scientific endeavours in speaking as I did last night.  I think you were too sensitive to my remark.  But perhaps you were agitated with the labours of the day, and I fear that watching so late at night must make you very weary.  If I can help you again, please let me know.  I never realised the grandeur of astronomy till you showed me how to do so.  Also let me know about the new telescope.  Come and see me at any time.  After your great kindness in being my messenger I can never do enough for you.  I wish you had a mother or sister, and pity your loneliness!  I am lonely too. — Yours truly,

Viviette Constantine.’

She was so anxious that he should get this letter the same day that she ran across to the column with it during the morning, preferring to be her own emissary in so curious a case.  The door, as she had expected, was locked; and, slipping the letter under it, she went home again.  During lunch her ardour in the cause of Swithin’s hurt feelings cooled down, till she exclaimed to herself, as she sat at her lonely table, ‘What could have possessed me to write in that way!’

After lunch she went faster to the tower than she had gone in the early morning, and peeped eagerly into the chink under the door.  She could discern no letter, and, on trying the latch, found that the door would open.  The letter was gone, Swithin having obviously arrived in the interval.

She blushed a blush which seemed to say, ‘I am getting foolishly interested in this young man.’  She had, in short, in her own opinion, somewhat overstepped the bounds of dignity.  Her instincts did not square well with the formalities of her existence, and she walked home despondently.

Had a concert, bazaar, lecture, or Dorcas meeting required the patronage and support of Lady Constantine at this juncture, the circumstance would probably have been sufficient to divert her mind from Swithin St. Cleeve and astronomy for some little time.  But as none of these incidents were within the range of expectation — Welland House and parish lying far from large towns and watering-places — the void in her outer life continued, and with it the void in her life within.

The youth had not answered her letter; neither had he called upon her in response to the invitation she had regretted, with the rest of the epistle, as being somewhat too warmly informal for black and white.  To speak tenderly to him was one thing, to write another — that was her feeling immediately after the event; but his counter-move of silence and avoidance, though probably the result of pure unconsciousness on his part, completely dispersed such self-considerations now.  Her eyes never fell upon the Rings-Hill column without a solicitous wonder arising as to what he was doing.  A true woman, she would assume the remotest possibility to be the most likely contingency, if the possibility had the recommendation of being tragical; and she now feared that something was wrong with Swithin St. Cleeve.  Yet there was not the least doubt that he had become so immersed in the business of the new telescope as to forget everything else.

On Sunday, between the services, she walked to Little Welland, chiefly for the sake of giving a run to a house-dog, a large St. Bernard, of whom she was fond.  The distance was but short; and she returned along a narrow lane, divided from the river by a hedge, through whose leafless twigs the ripples flashed silver lights into her eyes.  Here she discovered Swithin, leaning over a gate, his eyes bent upon the stream.

The dog first attracted his attention; then he heard her, and turned round.  She had never seen him looking so despondent.

‘You have never called, though I invited you,’ said Lady Constantine.

‘My great telescope won’t work!’ he replied lugubriously.

‘I am sorry for that.  So it has made you quite forget me?’

‘Ah, yes; you wrote me a very kind letter, which I ought to have answered.  Well, I
did
forget, Lady Constantine.  My new telescope won’t work, and I don’t know what to do about it at all!’