Cousin Phillis (9 page)

To return to Holdsworth. The minister had at more than one time spoken
of him to me with slight distrust, principally occasioned by the
suspicion that his careless words were not always those of soberness
and truth. But it was more as a protest against the fascination which
the younger man evidently exercised over the elder one more as it were
to strengthen himself against yielding to this fascination—that the
minister spoke out to me about this failing of Holdsworth's, as it
appeared to him. In return Holdsworth was subdued by the minister's
uprightness and goodness, and delighted with his clear intellect—his
strong healthy craving after further knowledge. I never met two men who
took more thorough pleasure and relish in each other's society. To
Phillis his relation continued that of an elder brother: he directed
her studies into new paths, he patiently drew out the expression of
many of her thoughts, and perplexities, and unformed theories—scarcely
ever now falling into the vein of banter which she was so slow to
understand.

One day—harvest-time—he had been drawing on a loose piece of
paper-sketching ears of corn, sketching carts drawn by bullocks and
laden with grapes—all the time talking with Phillis and me, cousin
Holman putting in her not pertinent remarks, when suddenly he said to
Phillis,—

'Keep your head still; I see a sketch! I have often tried to draw your
head from memory, and failed; but I think I can do it now. If I succeed
I will give it to your mother. You would like a portrait of your
daughter as Ceres, would you not, ma'am?'

'I should like a picture of her; yes, very much, thank you, Mr
Holdsworth; but if you put that straw in her hair,' (he was holding
some wheat ears above her passive head, looking at the effect with an
artistic eye,) 'you'll ruffle her hair. Phillis, my dear, if you're to
have your picture taken, go up-stairs, and brush your hair smooth.'

'Not on any account. I beg your pardon, but I want hair loosely
flowing.' He began to draw, looking intently at Phillis; I could see
this stare of his discomposed her—her colour came and went, her breath
quickened with the consciousness of his regard; at last, when he said,
'Please look at me for a minute or two, I want to get in the eyes,' she
looked up at him, quivered, and suddenly got up and left the room. He
did not say a word, but went on with some other part of the drawing;
his silence was unnatural, and his dark cheek blanched a little. Cousin
Holman looked up from her work, and put her spectacles down.

'What's the matter? Where is she gone?'

Holdsworth never uttered a word, but went on drawing. I felt obliged to
say something; it was stupid enough, but stupidity was better than
silence just then.

'I'll go and call her,' said I. So I went into the hall, and to the
bottom of the stairs; but just as I was going to call Phillis, she came
down swiftly with her bonnet on, and saying, 'I'm going to father in
the five-acre,' passed out by the open 'rector,' right in front of the
house-place windows, and out at the little white side-gate. She had
been seen by her mother and Holdsworth, as she passed; so there was no
need for explanation, only cousin Holman and I had a long discussion as
to whether she could have found the room too hot, or what had
occasioned her sudden departure. Holdsworth was very quiet during all
the rest of that day; nor did he resume the portrait-taking by his own
desire, only at my cousin Holman's request the next time that he came;
and then he said he should not require any more formal sittings for
only such a slight sketch as he felt himself capable of making. Phillis
was just the same as ever the next time I saw her after her abrupt
passing me in the hall. She never gave any explanation of her rush out
of the room.

So all things went on, at least as far as my observation reached at the
time, or memory can recall now, till the great apple-gathering of the
year. The nights were frosty, the mornings and evenings were misty, but
at mid-day all was sunny and bright, and it was one mid-day that both
of us being on the line near Heathbridge, and knowing that they were
gathering apples at the farm, we resolved to spend the men's
dinner-hour in going over there. We found the great clothes-baskets
full of apples, scenting the house, and stopping up the way; and an
universal air of merry contentment with this the final produce of the
year. The yellow leaves hung on the trees ready to flutter down at the
slightest puff of air; the great bushes of Michaelmas daisies in the
kitchen-garden were making their last show of flowers. We must needs
taste the fruit off the different trees, and pass our judgment as to
their flavour; and we went away with our pockets stuffed with those
that we liked best. As we had passed to the orchard, Holdsworth had
admired and spoken about some flower which he saw; it so happened he
had never seen this old-fashioned kind since the days of his boyhood. I
do not know whether he had thought anything more about this chance
speech of his, but I know I had not—when Phillis, who had been missing
just at the last moment of our hurried visit, re-appeared with a little
nosegay of this same flower, which she was tying up with a blade of
grass. She offered it to Holdsworth as he stood with her father on the
point of departure. I saw their faces. I saw for the first time an
unmistakable look of love in his black eyes; it was more than gratitude
for the little attention; it was tender and beseeching—passionate. She
shrank from it in confusion, her glance fell on me; and, partly to hide
her emotion, partly out of real kindness at what might appear
ungracious neglect of an older friend, she flew off to gather me a few
late-blooming China roses. But it was the first time she had ever done
anything of the kind for me.

We had to walk fast to be back on the line before the men's return, so
we spoke but little to each other, and of course the afternoon was too
much occupied for us to have any talk. In the evening we went back to
our joint lodgings in Hornby. There, on the table, lay a letter for
Holdsworth, which had be en forwarded to him from Eltham. As our tea
was ready, and I had had nothing to eat since morning, I fell to
directly without paying much attention to my companion as he opened and
read his letter. He was very silent for a few minutes; at length he
said,

'Old fellow! I'm going to leave you!'

'Leave me!' said I. 'How? When?'

'This letter ought to have come to hand Sooner. It is from Greathed the
engineer' (Greathed was well known in those days; he is dead now, and
his name half-forgotten); 'he wants to see me about Some business; in
fact, I may as well tell you, Paul, this letter contains a very
advantageous proposal for me to go out to Canada, and superintend the
making of a line there.' I was in utter dismay. 'But what will Our
company say to that?' 'Oh, Greathed has the superintendence of this
line, you know; and he is going to be engineer in chief to this
Canadian line; many of the Shareholders in this company are going in
for the other, so I fancy they will make no difficulty in following
Greathed's lead. He says he has a young man ready to put in my place.'

'I hate him,' said I.

'Thank you,' said Holdsworth, laughing.

'But you must not,' he resumed; 'for this is a very good thing for me,
and, of course, if no one can be found to take my inferior work, I
can't be spared to take the superior. I only wish I had received this
letter a day Sooner. Every hour is of consequence, for Greathed says
they are threatening a rival line. Do you know, Paul, I almost fancy I
must go up tonight? I can take an engine back to Eltham, and catch the
night train. I should not like Greathed to think me luke-warm.'

'But you'll come back?' I asked, distressed at the thought of this
sudden parting.

'Oh, yes! At least I hope so. They may want me to go out by the next
steamer, that will be on Saturday.' He began to eat and drink standing,
but I think he was quite unconscious of the nature of either his food
or his drink.

'I will go to-night. Activity and readiness go a long way in our
profession. Remember that, my boy! I hope I shall come back, but if I
don't, be sure and recollect all the words of wisdom that have fallen
from my lips. Now where's the portmanteau? If I can gain half an hour
for a gathering up of my things in Eltham, so much the better. I'm
clear of debt anyhow; and what I owe for my lodgings you can pay for me
out of my quarter's salary, due November 4th.'

'Then you don't think you will come back?' I said, despondingly.

'I will come back some time, never fear,' said he, kindly. 'I may be
back in a couple of days, having been found in-competent for the
Canadian work; or I may not be wanted to go out so soon as I now
anticipate. Anyhow you don't suppose I am going to forget you, Paul
this work out there ought not to take me above two years, and, perhaps,
after that, we may be employed together again.' Perhaps! I had very
little hope. The same kind of happy days never returns. However, I did
all I could in helping him: clothes, papers, books, instruments; how we
pushed and struggled—how I stuffed. All was done in a much shorter
time than we had calculated upon, when I had run down to the sheds to
order the engine. I was going to drive him to Eltham. We sate ready for
a summons. Holdsworth took up the little nosegay that he had brought
away from the Hope Farm, and had laid on the mantel-piece on first
coming into the room. He smelt at it, and caressed it with his lips.

'What grieves me is that I did not know—that I have not said good-bye
to—to them.'

He spoke in a grave tone, the shadow of the coming separation falling
upon him at last.

'I will tell them,' said I. 'I am sure they will be very sorry.' Then
we were silent.

'I never liked any family so much.'

'I knew you would like them.'

'How one's thoughts change,—this morning I was full of a hope, Paul.'
He paused, and then he said,—

'You put that sketch in carefully?'

'That outline of a head?' asked I. But I knew he meant an abortive
sketch of Phillis, which had not been successful enough for him to
complete it with shading or colouring.

'Yes. What a sweet innocent face it is! and yet so—Oh, dear!' He
sighed and got up, his hands in his pockets, to walk up and down the
room in evident disturbance of mind. He suddenly stopped opposite to me.

'You'll tell them how it all was. Be sure and tell the good minister
that I was so sorry not to wish him good-bye, and to thank him and his
wife for all their kindness. As for Phillis,—please God in two years
I'll be back and tell her myself all in my heart.'

'You love Phillis, then?' said I.

'Love her! Yes, that I do. Who could help it, seeing her as I have
done? Her character as unusual and rare as her beauty! God bless her!
God keep her in her high tranquillity, her pure innocence.—Two years!
It is a long time.—But she lives in such seclusion, almost like the
sleeping beauty, Paul,'—(he was smiling now, though a minute before I
had thought him on the verge of tears,)—'but I shall come back like a
prince from Canada, and waken her to my love. I can't help hoping that
it won't be difficult, eh, Paul?'

This touch of coxcombry displeased me a little, and I made no answer.
He went on, half apologetically,—

'You see, the salary they offer me is large; and beside that, this
experience will give me a name which will entitle me to expect a still
larger in any future undertaking.'

'That won't influence Phillis.'

'No! but it will make me more eligible in the eyes of her father and
mother.' I made no answer.

'You give me your best wishes, Paul,' said he, almost pleading. 'You
would like me for a cousin?'

I heard the scream and whistle of the engine ready down at the sheds.

'Ay, that I should,' I replied, suddenly softened towards my friend now
that he was going away. 'I wish you were to be married to-morrow, and I
were to be best man.'

'Thank you, lad. Now for this cursed portmanteau (how the minister
would be shocked); but it is heavy!' and off we sped into the darkness.
He only just caught the night train at Eltham, and I slept, desolately
enough, at my old lodgings at Miss Dawsons', for that night. Of course
the next few days I was busier than ever, doing both his work and my
own. Then came a letter from him, very short and affectionate. He was
going out in the Saturday steamer, as he had more than half expected;
and by the following Monday the man who was to succeed him would be
down at Eltham. There was a P.S., with only these words:—'My nosegay
goes with me to Canada, but I do not need it to remind me of Hope Farm.'

Saturday came; but it was very late before I could go out to the farm.
It was a frosty night, the stars shone clear above me, and the road was
crisping beneath my feet. They must have heard my footsteps before I
got up to the house. They were sitting at their usual employments in
the house-place when I went in. Phillis's eyes went beyond me in their
look of welcome, and then fell in quiet disappointment on her work.

'And where's Mr Holdsworth?' asked cousin Holman, in a minute or two.
'I hope his cold is not worse,—I did not like his short cough.'

I laughed awkwardly; for I felt that I was the bearer of unpleasant
news.

'His cold had need be better—for he's gone—gone away to Canada!'

I purposely looked away from Phillis, as I thus abruptly told my news.

'To Canada!' said the minister.

'Gone away!' said his wife. But no word from Phillis.

'Yes!' said I. 'He found a letter at Hornby when we got home the other
night—when we got home from here; he ought to have got it sooner; he
was ordered to go up to London directly, and to see some people about a
new line in Canada, and he's gone to lay it down; he has sailed to-day.
He was sadly grieved not to have time to come out and wish you all
good-by; but he started for London within two hours after he got that
letter. He bade me thank you most gratefully for all your kindnesses;
he was very sorry not to come here once again.' Phillis got up and left
the room with noiseless steps.