Joseph A. Altsheler - "The Rock of Chickamauga"

Anonymous - "Wonders of Creation"

George Gissing - "The Emancipated"

William J. Clinton - "State of the Union Addresses of William J. Clinton"

The Woman Hater

C >> Charles Reade >> The Woman Hater




"This is too bad, even for Islip," said Miss Gale. "Here is one of our
deadliest poisons planted by the very side of an esculent herb, which it
resembles. You don't happen to have hired the devil for gardener at any
time, do you? Just fancy! any cook might come out here for horseradish,
and gather this plant, and lay you all dead at your own table. It is the
Aconitum of medicine, the Monk's-hood or Wolf's-bane' of our ancestors.
Call the gardener, please, and have every bit of it pulled up by the
roots. None of your lives are safe while poisons and esculents are
planted together like this."

And she would not budge till Zoe directed a gardener to dig up all the
Aconite. A couple of them went to work and soon uprooted it. The
gardeners then asked if they should burn it.

"Not for all the world," said Miss Gale. "Make a bundle of it for me to
take home. It is only poison in the hands of ignoramuses. It is most
sovereign medicine. I shall make tinctures, and check many a sharp ill
with it. Given in time, it cuts down fever wonderfully; and when you
check the fever, you check the disease."

Soon after this Miss Gale said she had not come to stop; she was on her
way to Taddington to buy lint and German styptics, and many things useful
in domestic surgery. "For," said she, "the people at Hillstoke are
relenting; at least, they run to me with their cut fingers and black
eyes, though they won't trust me with their sacred rheumatics. I must
also supply myself with vermifuges till the well is dug, and so mitigate
puerile puttiness and internal torments."

The other ladies were not sorry to get rid of an irrelevant zealot, who
talked neither love, nor dress, nor anything that reaches the soul.

So Zoe said, "What, going already?" and having paid that tax to
politeness, returned to the house with alacrity.

But the doctress would not go without her Wolf's-bane, Aconite ycleped.

The irrelevant zealot being gone, the true business of the mind was
resumed; and that is love-making, or novelists give us false pictures of
life, and that is impossible.

As the doctress drove from the front door, Lord Uxmoor emerged from the
library--a coincidence that made both girls smile; he hoped Miss Vizard
was not too tired to take another turn.

"Oh no!" said Zoe: "are you, Fanny?"

At the first step they took, Severne came round an angle of the building
and joined them. He had watched from the balcony of his bedroom.

Both men looked black at each other, and made up to Zoe. She felt
uncomfortable, and hardly knew what to do. However, she would not seem to
observe, and was polite, but a little stiff, to both.

However, at last, Severne, having asserted his rights, as he thought,
gave way, but not without a sufficient motive, as may be gathered from
his first word to Fanny.

"My dear friend, for Heaven's sake, what is the matter? She is angry with
me about something. What is it? has she told you?"

"Not a word. But I see she is in a fury with you; and really it is too
ridiculous. You told a fib; that is the mighty matter, I do believe. No,
it isn't; for you have told her a hundred, no doubt, and she liked you
all the better; but this time you have been naughty enough to be found
out, and she is romantic, and thinks her lover ought to be the soul of
truth."

"Well, and so he ought," said Ned.

"He isn't, then;" and Fanny burst out laughing so loud that Zoe turned
round and enveloped them both in one haughty glance, as the exaggerating
Gaul would say.

"La! there was a look for you!" said Fanny, pertly: "as if I cared for
her black brows."

"I do, though: pray remember that."

"Then tell no more fibs. Such a fuss about nothing! What is a fib?" and
she turned up her little nose very contemptuously at all such trivial
souls as minded a little mendacity.

Indeed, she disclaimed the importance of veracity so imperiously that
Severne was betrayed into saying, "Well, not much, between you and me;
and I'll be bound I can explain it."

"Explain it to me, then."

"Well, but I don't know--"

"Which of your fibs it was."

Another silver burst of laughter. But Zoe only vouchsafed a slightly
contemptuous movement of her shoulders.

"Well, no," said Severne, half laughing himself at the sprightly jade's
smartness.

"Well, then, that friend of yours that called at luncheon."

Severne turned grave directly. "Yes," said he.

"You said he was your lawyer, and came about a lease."

"So he did."

"And his name was Jackson.

"So it was."

"This won't do. You mustn't fib to _me!_ It was Poikilus, a Secret
Inquiry; and they all know it; now tell me, without a fib-- if you
can--what ever did you want with Poikilus?"

Severne looked aghast. He faltered out, "Why, how could they know?"

"Why, he advertises, stupid! and Lord Uxmoor and Harrington had seen it.
Gentlemen _read_ advertisements. That is one of their peculiarities."

"Of course he advertises: that is not what I mean. I did not drop his
card, did I? No; I am sure I pocketed it directly. What mischief-making
villain told them it was Poikilus?"

Fanny colored a little, but said, hastily, "Ah, that I could not tell
you."

"The footman, perhaps?"

"I should not wonder." (What is a fib?)

"Curse him!"

"Oh, don't swear at the servants; that is bad taste."

"Not when he has ruined me?"

"Ruined you?--nonsense! Make up some other fib, and excuse the first."

"I can't. I don't know what to do; and before my rival, too! This
accounts for the air of triumph he has worn ever since, and her glances
of scorn and pity. She is an angel, and I have lost her."

"Stuff and nonsense!" said Fanny Dover. "Be a man, and tell me the
truth."

"Well, I will," said he; "for I am in despair. It is all that cursed
money at Homburg. I could not clear my estate without it. I dare not go
for it. She forbade me; and indeed I can't bear to leave her for
anything; so I employed Poikilus to try and learn whether that lady has
the money still, and whether she means to rob me of it or not."

Fanny Dover reflected a moment, then delivered herself thus: "You were
wrong to tell a fib about it. What you must do now--brazen it out. Tell
her you love her, but have got your pride and will not come into her
family a pauper. Defy her, to be sure; we like to be defied now and then,
when we are fond of the fellow."

"I will do it," said he; "but she shuns me. I can't get a word with her."

Fanny said she would try and manage that for him; and as the rest of
their talk might not interest the reader, and certainly would not edify
him, I pass on to the fact that she did, that very afternoon, go into
Zoe's room, and tell her Severne was very unhappy: he had told a fib; but
it was not intended to deceive her, and he wished to explain the whole
thing.

"Did he explain it to you?" asked Zoe, rather sharply.

"No; but he said enough to make me think you are using him very hardly.
To be sure, you have another string to your bow."

"Oh, that is the interpretation you put."

"It is the true one. Do you think you can make _me_ believe you would
have shied him so long if Lord Uxmoor had not been in the house?"

Zoe bridled, but made no reply, and Fanny went to her own room, laughing.

Zoe was much disturbed. She secretly longed to hear Severne justify
himself. She could not forgive a lie, nor esteem a liar. She was one of
those who could pardon certain things in a woman she would not forgive in
a man. Under a calm exterior, she had suffered a noble distress; but her
pride would not let her show it. Yet now that he had appealed to her for
a hearing, and Fanny knew he had appealed, she began to falter.

Still Fanny was not altogether wrong: the presence of a man incapable of
a falsehood, and that man devoted to her, was a little damaging to
Severne, though not so much as Miss Artful thought.

However, this very afternoon Lord Uxmoor had told her he must leave
Vizard Court to-morrow morning.

So Zoe said to herself, "I need not make opportunities; after to-morrow
he will find plenty."

She had an instinctive fear he would tell more falsehoods to cover those
he had told; and then she should despise him, and they would both be
miserable; for she felt for a moment a horrible dread that she might both
love and despise the same person, if it was Edward Severne.

There were several people to dinner, and, as hostess, she managed not to
think too much of either of her admirers.

However, a stolen glance showed her they were both out of spirits.

She felt sorry. Her nature was very pitiful. She asked herself was it her
fault, and did not quite acquit herself. Perhaps she ought to have been
more open and declared her sentiments. Yet would that have been modest in
a lady who was not formally engaged? She was puzzled. She had no
experience to guide her: only her high breeding and her virginal
instincts.

She was glad when the night ended.

She caught herself wishing the next day was gone too.

When she retired Uxmoor was already gone, and Severne opened the door to
her. He fixed his eyes on her so imploringly, it made her heart melt; but
she only blushed high, and went away sad and silent.

As her maid was undressing her she caught sight of a letter on her table.
"What is that?" said she.

"It is a letter," said Rosa, very demurely.

Zoe divined that the girl had been asked to put it there.

Her bosom heaved, but she would not encourage such proceedings, nor let
Rosa see how eager she was to hear those very excuses she had evaded.

But, for all that, Rosa knew she was going to read it, for she only had
her gown taken off and a peignoir substituted, and her hair let down and
brushed a little. Then she dismissed Rosa, locked the door, and pounced
on the letter. It lay on her table with the seal uppermost. She turned it
round. It was not from _him:_ it was from Lord Uxmoor.

She sat down and read it.





"DEAR MISS VIZARD--I have had no opportunities of telling you all I feel
for you, without attracting an attention that might have been unpleasant
to you; but I am sure you must have seen that I admired you at first
sight. That was admiration of your beauty and grace, though even then you
showed me a gentle heart and a sympathy that made me grateful. But, now I
have had the privilege of being under the same roof with you, it is
admiration no longer--it is deep and ardent love; and I see that my
happiness depends on you. Will you confide _your_ happiness to me? I
don't know that I could make you as proud and happy as I should be
myself; but I should try very hard, out of gratitude as well as love. We
have also certain sentiments in common. That would be one bond more.

"But indeed I feel I cannot make my love a good bargain to you, for you
are peerless, and deserve a much better lot in every way than I can
offer. I can only kneel to you and say, 'Zoe Vizard, if your heart is
your own to give, pray be my lover, my queen, my wife.'

"Your faithful servant and devoted admirer,

UXMOOR."





"Poor fellow!" said Zoe, and her eyes filled. She sat quite quiet, with
the letter open in her hand. She looked at it, and murmured, "A pearl is
offered me here: wealth, title, all that some women sigh for, and--what I
value above all--a noble nature, a true heart, and a soul above all
meanness. No; Uxmoor will never tell a falsehood. He _could_ not."

She sighed deeply, and closed her eyes. All was still. The light was
faint; yet she closed her eyes, like a true woman, to see the future
clearer.

Then, in the sober and deep calm, there seemed to be faint peeps of
coming things: It appeared a troubled sea, and Uxmoor's strong hand
stretched out to rescue her. If she married him, she knew the worst--an
honest man she esteemed, and had almost an affection for, but no love.

As some have an impulse to fling themselves from a height, she had one to
give herself to Uxmoor, quietly, irrevocably, by three written words
dispatched that night.

But it was only an impulse. If she had written it, she would have torn it
up.

Presently a light thrill passed through her: she wore a sort of
half-furtive, guilty look, and opened the window.

Ay, there he stood in the moonlight, waiting to be heard.

She did not start nor utter any exclamation. Somehow or other she almost
knew he was there before she opened the window.

"Well?" said she, with a world of meaning.

"You grant me a hearing at last."

"I do. But it is no use. You cannot explain away a falsehood."

"Of course not. I am here to confess that I told a falsehood. But it was
not you I wished to deceive. I was going to explain the whole thing to
you, and tell you all; but there is no getting a word with you since that
lord came."

"He had nothing to do with it. I should have been just as much shocked."

"But it would only have been for five minutes. Zoe!"

"Well?"

"Just put yourself in my place. A detective, who ought to have written to
me in reply to my note, surprises me with a call. I was ashamed that such
a visitor should enter your brother's house to see me. There sat my
rival--an aristocrat. I was surprised into disowning the unwelcomed
visitor, and calling him my solicitor."

Now if Zoe had been an Old Bailey counsel, she would have kept him to the
point, reminded him that his visitor was unseen, and fixed a voluntary
falsehood on him; but she was not an experienced cross-examiner, and
perhaps she was at heart as indignant at the detective as at the
falsehood: so she missed her advantage, and said, indignantly, "And what
business had you with a detective? You having one at all, and then
calling him your solicitor, makes one think all manner of things."

"I should have told you all about it that afternoon, only our intercourse
is broken off to please a rival. Suppose I gave you a rival, and used you
for her sake as you use me for his, what would you say? That would be a
worse infidelity than sending for a detective, would it not?"

Zoe replied, haughtily, "You have no right to say you have a rival; how
dare you? Besides," said she, a little ruefully, "it is you who are on
your defense, not me."

"True; I forgot that. Recrimination is not convenient, is it?"

"I can escape it by shutting the window," said Zoe, coldly.

"Oh, don't do that. Let me have the bliss of seeing you, and I will
submit to a good deal of injustice without a murmur."

"The detective?" said Zoe, sternly.

"I sent for him, and gave him his instructions, and he is gone for me to
Homburg."

"Ah! I thought so. What for?"

"About my money. To try and find out whether they mean to keep it."

"Would you really take it if they would give it you?"

"Of course I would."

"Yet you know my mind about it."

"I know you forbade me to go for it in person: and I obeyed you, did I
not?"

"Yes, you did--at the time."

"I do now. You object to my going in person to Homburg. You know I was
once acquainted with that lady, and you feel about her a little of what I
feel about Lord Uxmoor; about a tenth part of what I feel, I suppose, and
with not one-tenth so much reason. Well, I know what the pangs of
jealousy are: I will never inflict them on you, as you have on me. But I
_will_ have my money, whether you like or not."

Zoe looked amazed at being defied. It was new to her. She drew up, but
said nothing.

Severne went on: "And I will tell you why: because without money I cannot
have you. My circumstances have lately improved; with my money that lies
in Homburg I can now clear my family estate of all incumbrance, and come
to your brother for your hand. Oh, I shall be a very bad match even then,
but I shall not be a pauper, nor a man in debt. I shall be one of your
own class, as I was born--a small landed gentleman with an unencumbered
estate."

"That is not the way to my affection. I do not care for money."

"But other people do. Dear Zoe, you have plenty of pride yourself; you
must let me have a little. Deeply as I love you, I could not come to your
brother and say, 'Give me your sister, and maintain us both.' No, Zoe, I
cannot ask your hand till I have cleared my estate; and I cannot clear it
without that money. For once I must resist you, and take my chance. There
is wealth and a title offered you. I won't ask you to dismiss them and
take a pauper. If you don't like me to try for my own money, give your
hand to Lord Uxmoor; then I shall recall my detective, and let all go;
for poverty or wealth will matter nothing to me: I shall have lost the
angel I love: and she once loved me."

He faltered, and the sad cadence of his voice melted her. She began to
cry. He turned his head away and cried too.

There was a silence. Zoe broke it first.

"Edward," said she, softly.

"Zoe!"

"You need not defy me. I would not humiliate you for all the world. Will
it comfort you to know that I have been very unhappy ever since you
lowered yourself so? I will try and accept your explanation."

He clasped his hands with gratitude.

"Edward, will you grant me a favor?"

"Can you ask?"

"It is to have a little more confidence in one who-- Now you must obey me
implicitly, and perhaps we may both be happier to-morrow night than we
are to-night. Directly after breakfast take your hat and walk to
Hillstoke. You can call on Miss Gale, if you like, and say something
civil."

"What! go and leave you alone with Lord Uxmoor?"

"Yes."

"Ah, Zoe, you know your power. Have a little mercy."

"Perhaps I may have a great deal--if you obey me."

"I _will_ obey you."

"Then go to bed this minute."

She gave him a heavenly smile, and closed the window.





Next morning, as soon as breakfast was over, Ned Severne said, "Any
messages for Hillstoke? I am going to walk up there this morning."

"Embrace my virago for me," said Vizard.

Severne begged to be excused.

He hurried off, and Lord Uxmoor felt a certain relief.

The Master of Arts asked himself what he could do to propitiate the
female M. D. He went to the gardener and got him to cut a huge bouquet,
choice and fragrant, and he carried it all the way to Hillstoke. Miss
Gale was at home. As he was introduced rather suddenly, she started and
changed color, and said, sharply, "What do you want?" Never asked him to
sit down, rude Thing!

He stood hanging his head like a culprit, and said, with well-feigned
timidity, that he came, by desire of Miss Vizard, to inquire how she was
getting on, and to hope the people were beginning to appreciate her.

"Oh! that alters the case; any messenger from Miss Vizard is welcome. Did
she send me those flowers, too? They are beautiful."

"No. I gathered them myself. I have always understood ladies loved
flowers."

"It is only by report you know that, eh? Let me add something to your
information: a good deal depends on the giver; and you may fling these
out of the window." She tossed them to him.

The Master of Arts gave a humble, patient sigh, and threw the flowers out
of the window, which was open. He then sunk into a chair and hid his face
in his hands.

Miss Gale colored, and bit her lip. She did not think he would have done
that, and it vexed her economical soul. She cast a piercing glance at
him, then resumed her studies, and ignored his presence.

But his patience exhausted hers. He sat there twenty minutes, at least,
in a state of collapse that bid fair to last forever.

So presently she looked up and affected to start. "What! are you there
still?" said she.

"Yes," said be; "you did not dismiss me; only my poor flowers."

"Well," said she, apologetically, "the truth is, I'm not strong enough to
dismiss you by the same road."

"It is not necessary. You have only to say, 'Go.' "

"Oh, that would be rude. Could not you go without being told right out?"

"No, I could not. Miss Gale, I can't account for it, but there is some
strange attraction. You hate me, and I fear you, yet I could follow you
about like a dog. Let me sit here a little longer and see you work."

Miss Gale leaned her head upon her hand, and contemplated him at great
length. Finally she adopted a cat-like course. "No," said she, at last;
"I am going my rounds: you can come with me, if I am so attractive."

He said he should be proud, and she put on her hat in thirty seconds.

They walked together in silence. He felt as if he were promenading a
tiger cat, that might stop any moment to fall upon him.

She walked him into a cottage: there was a little dead wood burning on
that portion of the brick floor called the hearth. A pale old man sat
close to the fire, in a wooden armchair. She felt his pulse, and wrote
him a prescription.





"To Mr. Vizard's housekeeper, Vizard Court:

"Please give the bearer two pounds of good roast beef or mutton, not
salted, and one pint port wine,

"RHODA GALE, M. D."





"Here, Jenny," she said to a sharp little girl, the man's grandniece,
"take this down to Vizard Court, and if the housekeeper objects, go to
the front-door and demand in my name to see the squire or Miss Vizard,
and give _them_ the paper. Don't you give it up without the meat. Take
this basket on your arm."

Then she walked out of the cottage, and Severne followed her: he ventured
to say that was a novel prescription.

She explained. "Physicians are obliged to send the rich to the chemist,
or else the fools would think they were slighted. But we need not be so
nice with the poor; we can prescribe to do them good. When you inflicted
your company on me, I was sketching out a treatise, to be entitled, 'Cure
of Disorders by Esculents.' That old man is nearly exsanguis. There is
not a drug in creation that could do him an atom of good. Nourishing food
may. If not, why, he is booked for the long journey. Well, he has had his
innings. He is fourscore. Do you think _you_ will ever see fourscore--you
and your vices?"

"Oh, no. But I think _you_ will; and I hope so; for you go about doing
good."

"And some people one could name go about doing mischief?"

Severne made no reply.

Soon after they discovered a little group, principally women and
children. These were inspecting something on the ground, and chattering
excitedly. The words of dire import, "She have possessed him with a
devil," struck their ear. But soon they caught sight of Miss Gale, and
were dead silent. She said, "What is the matter? Oh, I see, the vermifuge
has acted."

It was so: a putty-faced boy had been unable to eat his breakfast; had
suffered malaise for hours afterward, and at last had been seized with a
sort of dry retching, and had restored to the world they so adorn a
number of amphibia, which now wriggled in a heap, and no doubt bitterly
regretted the reckless impatience with which they had fled from an
unpleasant medicine to a cold-hearted world.

"Well, good people," said Miss Gale, what are you making a fuss about?
Are they better in the boy or out of him?"

The women could not find their candor at a moment's notice, but old Giles
replied heartily, "Why, hout! better an empty house than a bad tenant."

"That is true," said half a dozen voices at once. They could resist
common sense in its liquid form, but not when solidified into a proverb.

"Catch me the boy," said Miss Gale, severely.

Habitual culpability destroys self-confidence; so the boy suspected
himself of crime, and instantly took to flight. His companions loved
hunting; so three swifter boys followed him with a cheerful yell, secured
him, and brought him up for sentence.

"Don't be frightened, Jacob," said the doctress. "I only want to know
whether you feel better or worse."

His mother put in her word: "He was ever so bad all the morning."

"Hold your jaw," said old Giles, "and let the boy tell his own tale."

"Well, then," said Jacob, "I was mortal bad, but now do I feel like a
feather; wust on't is, I be so blessed hungry now. Dall'd if I couldn't
eat the devil--stuffed with thunder and lightning."

"I'll prescribe accordingly," said Miss Gale, and wrote in pencil an
order on a beefsteak pie they had sent her from the Court.

The boy's companions put their heads together over this order, and
offered their services to escort him.

"No, thank you," said the doctress. "He will go alone, you young monkeys.
Your turn will come."

Then she proceeded on her rounds, with Mr. Severne at her heels, until it
was past one o'clock.

Then she turned round and faced him. "We will part here," said she, "and
I will explain my conduct to you, as you seem in the dark. I have been
co-operating with Miss Vizard all this time. I reckon she sent you out of
the way to give Lord Uxmoor his opportunity, so I have detained you.
While you have been studying medicine, he has been popping the question,
of course. Good-by, Mr. Villain."

Her words went through the man like cold steel. It was one woman reading
another. He turned very white, and put his hand to his heart. But he
recovered himself, and said, "If she prefers another to me, I must
submit. It is not my absence for a few hours that will make the
difference. You cannot make me regret the hours I have passed in your
company. Good-by," and he seemed to leave her very reluctantly.

"One word," said she, softening a little. "I'm not proof against your
charm. Unless I see Zoe Vizard in danger, you have nothing to fear from
me. But I love _her,_ you understand."

Copyright (c) 2007. topbookz.net. All rights reserved.