Charlotte M. Yonge - "The Two Sides of the Shield"

Richard Wagner - "My Life, Volume II"

Harold Bell Wright - "Their Yesterdays"

Unkown - "Vida de Lazarillo"

The Woman Hater

C >> Charles Reade >> The Woman Hater




"Oh!"

"Ay. Think for a moment, and you will see it is. _You_ are not in his
confidence. I am sure he has never told _you_ that he ordered his keepers
to shoot me down if I came about the house at night."

"Oh no, no!" cried Zoe.

"Do you know he has raised the country against me, and has warrants out
against me for forgery, because I was taken in by a rogue who gave me
bills with sham names on them, and I got Vizard to cash them? As soon as
we found out how I had been tricked, my uncle and I offered at once to
pay him back his money. But no! he prefers to keep the bills as a
weapon."

Zoe began to be puzzled a little. But she said, "You have been a long
time discovering all these grievances. Why have you held no communication
all this time?"

"Because you were inaccessible. Does not your own heart tell you that I
have been all these weeks trying to communicate, and unable? Why, I came
three times under your window at night, and you never, never would look
out."

"I did look out ever so often."

"If I had been you, I should have looked ten thousand times. I only left
off coming when I heard the keepers were ordered to shoot me down. Not
that I should have cared much, for I am desperate. But I had just sense
enough left to see that, if my dead body had been brought bleeding into
your hall some night, none of you would ever have been happy again. Your
eyes would have been opened, all of you. Well, Zoe, you left Vizard
Court; that I learned: but it was only this morning I could find out
where you were gone: and you see I am here--with a price upon my head.
Please read Vizard's advertisements."

She took them and read them. A hot flush mounted to her cheek.

"You see," said he, "I am to be imprisoned if I set my foot in
Barfordshire. Well, it will be false imprisonment, and Mademoiselle
Klosking's lover will smart for it. At all events, I shall take no orders
but from you. You have been deceived by appearances. I shall do all I can
to undeceive you, and if I cannot, there will be no need to imprison me
for a deceit of which I was the victim, nor to shoot me like a dog for
loving _you._ I will take my broken heart quietly away, and leave
Barfordshire, and England, and the world, for aught I care."

Then he cried: and that made her cry directly.

"Ah!" she sighed, "we are unfortunate. Appearances are so deceitful. I
see I have judged too hastily, and listened too little to my own heart,
that always made excuses. But it is too late now."

"Why too late?"

"It is."

"But why?"

"It all looked so ugly, and you were silent. We are unfortunate. My
brother would never let us marry; and, besides-- Oh, why did you not come
before?"

"I might as well say, Why did you not look out of your window? You could
have done it without risking your life, as I did. Or why did you not
advertise. You might have invited an explanation from 'E. S.,' under
cover to so-and-so."

"Ladies never think of such things. You know that very well."

"Oh, I don't complain; but I do say that those who love should not be
ready to reproach; they should put a generous construction. You might
have known, and you ought to have known, that I was struggling to find
you, and torn with anguish at my impotence."

"No, no. I am so young and inexperienced, and all my friends against you.
It is they who have parted us."

"How can they part us, if you love me still as I love you?"

"Because for the last fortnight I have not loved you, but hated you, and
doubted you, and thought my only chance of happiness was to imitate your
indifference: and while I was thinking so, another person has come
forward; one whom I have always esteemed: and now, in my pity and
despair, I have given him hopes." She hid her burning face in her hands.

"I see; you are false to me, and therefore you have suspected me of being
false to you."

At that she raised her head high directly. "Edward, you are unjust. Look
in my face, and you may see what I have suffered before I could bring
myself to condemn you."

"What! your paleness, that dark rim under your lovely eyes--am I the
cause?"

"Indeed you are. But I forgive you. You are sadly pale and worn too. Oh,
how unfortunate we are!"

"Do not cry, dearest," said he. "Do not despair. Be calm, and let me know
the worst. I will not reproach you, though you have reproached me. I love
you as no woman can love. Come, tell me."

"Then the truth is, Lord Uxmoor has renewed his attention to me."

"Ah!"

"He has been here every day."

Severne groaned.

"Aunt Maitland was on his side, and spoke so kindly to me, and he saved
my life from a furious bull. He is brave, noble, good, and he loves me. I
have committed myself. I cannot draw back with honor."

"But from me you can, because I am poor and hated, and have no title. If
you are committed to him, you are engaged to me."

"I am; so now I can go neither way. If I had poison, I would take it this
moment, and end all."

"For God's sake, don't talk so. I am sure you exaggerate. You cannot, in
those few days, have pledged your faith to another. Let me see your
finger. Ah! there's my ring on it still: bless you, my own darling
Zoe--bless you;" and he covered her hand with kisses, and bedewed it with
his ever-ready tears.

The girl began to melt, and all power to ooze out of her, mind and body.
She sighed deeply and said, "What can I do--I don't say with honor and
credit, but with decency. What _can_ I do?"

"Tell me, first, what you have said to him that you consider so
compromising."

Zoe, with many sighs, replied: "I believe--I said--I was unhappy. And so
I was. And I owned--that I admired--and esteemed him. And so I do. And
then of course he wanted more, and I could not give more; and he asked
might he try and make me love him; and--I said--I am afraid I said--he
might, if he could."

"And a very proper answer, too."

"Ah! but I said he might come every day. It is idle to deceive ourselves:
I have encouraged his addresses. I can do nothing now with credit but
die, or go into a convent."

"When did you say this?"

"This very day."

"Then he has never acted on it."

"No, but he will. He will be here tomorrow for certain."

"Then your course is plain. You must choose to-night between him and me.
You must dismiss him by letter, or me upon this spot. I have not much
fortune to offer you, and no coronet; but I love you, and you have seen
me reject a lovely and accomplished woman, whom I esteem as much as you
do this lord. Reject him? Why, you have seen me fling her away from me
like a dog sooner than leave you in a moment's doubt of my love: if you
cannot write a civil note declining an earl for me, your love in not
worthy of mine, and I will begone with my love. I will not take it to
Mademoiselle Klosking, though I esteem her as you do this lord; but, at
all events, I will take it away from you, and leave you my curse instead,
for a false, fickle girl that could not wait one little month, but must
fall, with her engaged ring on her finger, into another man's arms. Oh,
Zoe! Zoe! who could have believed this of you?"

"Don't reproach _me._ I won't bear it," she cried, wildly.

"I hope not to have to reproach you," said he, firmly; "I cannot conceive
your hesitating."

"I am worn out. Love has been too great a torment. Oh, if I could find
peace!"

Again her tears flowed.

He put on a sympathizing air. "You shall have peace. Dismiss _him_ as I
tell you, and he will trouble you no more; shake hands with me, and say
you prefer _him,_ and I will trouble you no more. But with two lovers,
peace is out of the question, and so is self-respect. I know I could not
vacillate between you and Mademoiselle Klosking or any other woman."

"Ah, Edward, if I do this, you ought to love me very dearly."

"I shall. Better than ever--if possible."

"And never make me jealous again."

"I never shall, dearest. Our troubles are over."

"Edward, I have been very unhappy. I could not bear these doubts again."

"You shall never be unhappy again."

"I must do what you require, I suppose. That is how it always ends. Oh
dear! oh dear!"

"Zoe, it must be done. You know it must."

"I warn you I shall do it as kindly as I can."

"Of course you will. You ought to."

"I must go in now. I feel very cold."

"How soon to-morrow will you meet me here?"

"When you please," said she, languidly.

"At ten o'clock?"

"Yes."

Then there was a tender parting, and Zoe went slowly in. She went to her
own room, just to think it all over alone. She caught sight of her face
in the glass. Her cheeks had regained color, and her eyes were bright as
stars. She stopped and looked at herself. "There now," said she, "and I
seem to myself to live again. I was mad to think I could ever love any
man but him. He is my darling, my idol."





There was no late dinner at Somerville Villa. Indeed, ladies, left to
themselves, seldom dine late. Nature is strong in them, and they are
hungriest when the sun is high. At seven o'clock Zoe Vizard was seated at
her desk trying to write to Lord Uxmoor. She sighed, she moaned, she
began, and dropped the pen and hid her face. She became almost wild; and
in that state she at last dashed off what follows:





"DEAR LORD UXMOOR--For pity's sake, forgive the mad words I said to you
today. It is impossible. I can do no more than admire and esteem you. My
heart is gone from me forever. Pray forgive me, though I do not deserve
it; and never see me nor look at me again. I ask pardon for my
vacillation. It has been disgraceful; but it has ended, and I was under a
great error, which I cannot explain to you, when I led you to believe I
had a heart to give you. My eyes are opened. Our paths lie asunder. Pray,
pray forgive me, if it is possible. I will never forgive myself, nor
cease to bless and revere you, whom I have used so ill.

ZOE VIZARD."





That day Uxmoor dined alone with his mother, for a wonder, and he told
her how Miss Vizard had come round; he told her also about the bull, but
so vilely that she hardly comprehended he had been in any danger: these
encounters are rarely described to the life, except by us who avoid
them--except on paper.

Lady Uxmoor was much pleased. She was a proud, politic lady, and this was
a judicious union of two powerful houses in the county, and one that
would almost command the elections. But, above all, she knew her son's
heart was in the match, and she gave him a mother's sympathy.

As she retired, she kissed him and said, "When you are quite sure of the
prize, tell me, and I will call upon her."

Being alone, Lord Uxmoor lighted a cigar and smoked it in measureless
content. The servant brought him a note on a salver. It had come by hand.
Uxmoor opened it and read every word straight through, down to "Zoe
Vizard;" read it, and sat petrified.

He read it again. He felt a sort of sickness come over him. He swallowed
a tumbler of port, a wine he rarely touched; but he felt worse now than
after the bullfight. This done, he rose and stalked like a wounded lion
into the drawing-room, which was on the same floor, and laid the letter
before his mother.

"You are a woman too," said he, a little helplessly. "Tell me--what on
earth does this mean?"

The dowager read it slowly and keenly, and said, "It means--another man."

"Ah!" said Uxmoor, with a sort of snarl.

"Have you seen any one about her?"

"No; not lately. At Vizard Court there was. But that is all over now, I
conclude. It was a Mr. Severne, an adventurer, a fellow that was caught
out in a lie before us all. Vizard tells me a lady came and claimed him
before Miss Vizard, and he ran away."

"An unworthy attachment, in short?"

"Very unworthy, if it was an attachment at all."

"Was he at Vizard Court when she declined your hand?"

"Yes."

"Did he remain, after you went?"

"I suppose so. Yes, he must have."

"Then the whole thing is clear: that man has come forward again
unexpectedly, or written, and she dismisses you. My darling, there is but
one thing for you to do. Leave her, and thank her for telling you in
time. A less honorable fool would have hidden it, and then we might have
had a Countess of Uxmoor in the Divorce Court some day or other.

"I had better go abroad," said Uxmoor, with a groan. "This country is
poisoned for me."

"Go, by all means. Let Janneway pack up your things to-morrow."

"I should like to kill that fellow first."

"You will not even waste a thought on him, if you are my son."

"You are right, mother. What am I to say to her?"

"Not a word."

"What, not answer her letter? It is humble enough, I am sure--poor soul!
Mother, I am wretched, but I am not bitter, and my rival will revenge
me."

"Uxmoor, your going abroad is the only answer she shall have. The wisest
man, in these matters, who ever lived has left a rule of conduct to every
well-born man--a rule which, believe me, is wisdom itself:

"Le bruit est pour le fat, la plainte est pour le sot; L'honnete homme
trompe'; s'e'loigne, et ne dit mot."

You will make a tour, and not say a word to Miss Vizard, good, bad, nor
indifferent. I insist upon that."

"Very well. Thank you, dear mother; you guide me, and don't let me make a
fool of myself, for I am terribly cut up. You will be the only Countess
of Uxmoor in my day."

Then he knelt at her feet, and she kissed his head and cried over him;
but her tears only made this proud lady stronger.

Next day he started on his travels.

Now, but for Zoe, he would on no account have left England just then; for
he was just going to build model cottages in his own village, upon
designs of his own, each with a little plot, and a public warehouse or
granary, with divisions for their potatoes and apples, etc. However, he
turned this over in his mind while. he was packing; he placed certain
plans and papers in his dispatch box, and took his ticket to Taddington,
instead of going at once to London. From Taddington he drove over to
Hillstoke and asked for Miss Gale. They told him she was fixed at Vizard
Court. That vexed him: he did not want to meet Vizard. He thought it the
part of a Jerry Sneak to go and howl to a brother against his sister. Yet
if Vizard questioned him, how could he conceal there was something wrong?
However, he went down to Vizard Court; but said to the servant who opened
the door, "I am rather in a hurry, sir: do you think you could procure me
a few minutes with Miss Gale? You need not trouble Mr. Vizard."

"Yes, my laud. Certainly, my laud. Please step in the morning-room, my
laud. Mr. Vizard is out."

That was fortunate, and Miss Gale came down to him directly.

Fanny took that opportunity to chatter and tell Mademoiselle Klosking all
about Lord Uxmoor and his passion for Zoe. "And he will have her, too,"
said she, boldly.

Lord Uxmoor told Miss Gale he had called upon business. He was obliged to
leave home for a time, and wished to place his projects under the care of
a person who could really sympathize with them, and make additions to
them, if necessary. "Men," said he, "are always making oversights in
matters of domestic comfort: besides, you are full of ideas. I want you
to be viceroy with full power, and act just as you would if the village
belonged to you."

Rhoda colored high at the compliment.

"Wells, cows, granary, real education--what you like" said he. "I know
your mind. Begin abolishing the lower orders in the only way they can be
got rid of--by raising them in comfort, cleanliness, decency, and
knowledge. Then I shall not be missed. I'm going abroad."

"Going abroad?"

"Yes. Here are my plans: alter them for the better if you can. All the
work to be done by the villagers. Weekly wages. We buy materials. They
will be more reconciled to improved dwellings when they build them
themselves. Here are the addresses of the people who will furnish money.
It will entail traveling; but my people will always meet you at the
station, if you telegraph from Taddington. You accept? A thousand thanks.
I am afraid I must be off."

She went into the hall with him, half bewildered, and only at the door
found time to ask after Zoe Vizard.

"A little better, I think, than when she came."

"Does she know you are going abroad?"

"No; I don't think she does, yet. It was settled all in a hurry."

He escaped further questioning by hurrying away.

Miss Gale was still looking after him, when Ina Klosking came down,
dressed for a walk, and leaning lightly on Miss Dover's arm. This was by
previous consent of Miss Gale.

"Well, dear," said Fanny, "what did he say to you?"

"Something that has surprised and puzzled me very much." She then related
the whole conversation, with her usual precision.

Ina Klosking observed quietly to Fanny that this did not look like
successful wooing.

"I don't know that," said Fanny, stoutly. "Oh, Miss Gale, did you not ask
him about her?"

"Certainly I did; and he said she was better than when she first came."

"There!" said Fanny, triumphantly.

Miss Gale gave her a little pinch, and she dropped the subject.

Vizard returned, and found Mademoiselle Klosking walking on his gravel.
He offered her his arm, and was a happy man, parading her very slowly,
and supporting her steps, and purring his congratulations into her ear.
"Suppose I were to invite you to dinner, what would you say?"

"I think I should say, 'To-morrow.'"

"And a very good answer, too. To-morrow shall be a _fete."_

"You spoil me?"

"That is impossible."

It was strange to see them together; he so happy, she so apathetic, yet
gracious.

Next morning came a bit of human nature--a letter from Zoe to Fanny,
almost entirely occupied with praises of Lord Uxmoor. She told the bull
story better than I have--if possible--and, in short, made Uxmoor a hero
of romance.

Fanny carried this in triumph to the other ladies, and read it out.
"There!" said she. "Didn't I tell you?"

Rhoda read the letter, and owned herself puzzled. "I am not, then," said
Fanny: "they are engaged--over the bull; like Europa and I forgot
who--and so he is not afraid to go abroad now. That is just like the men.
They cool directly the chase is over."

Now the truth was that Zoe was trying to soothe her conscience with
elegant praises of the man she had dismissed, and felt guilty.

Ina Klosking said little. She was puzzled too at first. She asked to see
Zoe's handwriting. The letter was handed to her. She studied the
characters. "It is a good hand," she said; "nothing mean there." And she
gave it back.

But, with a glance, she had read the address, and learned that the post
town was Bagley.

All that day, at intervals, she brought her powerful understanding to
bear on the paradox; and though she had not the facts and the clew I have
given the reader, she came near the truth in an essential matter. She
satisfied herself that Lord Uxmoor was not engaged to Zoe Vizard.
Clearly, if so, he would not leave England for months. She resolved to
know more; and just before dinner she wrote a line to Ashmead, and
requested him to call on her immediately.

That day she dined with Vizard and the ladies. She sat at Vizard's right
hand, and he told her how proud, and happy he was to see her there.

She blushed faintly, but made no reply.

She retired soon after dinner.

All next day she expected Ashmead.

He did not come.

She dined with Vizard next day, and retired to the drawing-room. The
piano was opened, and she played one or two exquisite things, and
afterward tried her voice, but only in scales, and somewhat timidly, for
Miss Gale warned her she might lose it or spoil it if she strained the
vocal chord while her whole system was weak.

Next day Ashmead came with apologies.

He had spent a day in the cathedral town on business. He did not tell her
how he had spent that day, going about puffing her as the greatest singer
of sacred music in the world, and paving the way to her engagement at the
next festival. Yet the single-hearted Joseph had really raised that
commercial superstructure upon the sentiments she had uttered on his
first visit to Vizard Court.

Ina now held a private conference with him. "I think," said she, "I have
heard you say you were once an actor."

"I was, madam, and a very good one, too."

_"Cela va sans dire._ I never knew one that was not. At all events, you
can disguise yourself."

"Anything, madam, from Grandfather Whitehead to a boy in a pinafore.
Famous for my make-ups."

"I wish you to watch a certain house, and not be recognized by a person
who knows you."

"Well, madam, nothing is _infra dig,_ if done for you; nothing is
distasteful if done for you."

"Thank you, my friend. I have thought it well to put my instructions on
paper."

"Ay, that is the best way."

She handed him the instructions. He read them, and his eyes sparkled.
"Ah, this is a commission I undertake with pleasure, and I'll execute it
with zeal."

He left her, soon after, to carry out these instructions, and that very
evening he was in the wardrobe of the little theater, rummaging out a
suitable costume, and also in close conference with the wigmaker.





Next day Vizard had his mother's sables taken out and aired, and drove
Mademoiselle Klosking into Taddington in an open carriage. Fanny told her
they were his mother's sables, and none to compare with them in the
country.

On returning, she tried her voice to the harmonium in her own
antechamber, and found it was gaining strength--like herself.





Meantime Zoe Vizard met Severne in the garden, and told him she had
written to Lord Uxmoor, and he would never visit her again. But she did
not make light of the sacrifice this time. She had sacrificed her own
self-respect as well as Uxmoor's, and she was sullen and tearful.

He had to be very wary and patient, or she would have parted with him
too, and fled from both of them to her brother.

Uxmoor's wounded pride would have been soothed could he have been present
at the first interview of this pair. He would have seen Severne treated
with a hauteur and a sort of savageness he himself was safe from, safe in
her unshaken esteem.

But the world is made for those who can keep their temper, especially the
female part of the world.

Sad, kind, and loving, but never irritable, Severne smoothed down and
soothed and comforted the wounded girl; and, seeing her two or three
times a day--for she was completely mistress of her time--got her
completely into his power again.

Uxmoor did not reply.

She had made her selection. Love beckoned forward. It was useless to look
back.

Love was omnipotent. They both began to recover their good looks as if by
magic; and as Severne's passion, though wicked, was earnest, no poor bird
was ever more completely entangled by bird-lime than Zoe was caught by
Edward Severne.

Their usual place of meeting was the shrubbery attached to Somerville
Villa. The trees, being young, made all the closer shade, and the
gravel-walk meandered, and shut them out from view.

Severne used to enter this shrubbery by a little gate leading from the
meadow, and wait under the trees till Zoe came to him. Vizard's
advertisements alarmed him, and he used to see the coast clear before he
entered the shrubbery, and also before he left it. He was so particular
in this that, observing one day an old man doddering about with a basket,
he would not go in till he had taken a look at him. He found it was an
ancient white-haired villager gathering mushrooms. The old fellow was so
stiff, and his hand so trembling, that it took him about a minute to
gather a single fungus.

To give a reason for coming up to him, Severne said, "How old are you,
old man?"

"I be ninety, measter, next Martinmas-day."

"Only ninety?" said our Adonis, contemptuously; "you look a hundred and
ninety."

He would have been less contemptuous had he known that the mushrooms were
all toad-stools, and the village centenaire was Mr. Joseph Ashmead,
resuming his original arts, and playing Grandfather Whitehead on the
green grass.



CHAPTER XXV.

MADEMOISELLE KLOSKING told Vizard the time drew near when she must leave
his hospitable house.

"Say a month hence," said he.

She shook her head.

"Of course you will not stay to gratify me," said he, half sadly, half
bitterly. "But you will have to stay a week or two longer _par ordonnance
du me'decin."_

"My physician is reconciled to my going. We must all bow to necessity."

This was said too firmly to admit a reply. "The old house will seem very
dark again whenever you do go," said Vizard, plaintively.

"It will soon be brightened by her who is its true and lasting light,"
was the steady reply.

A day or two passed with nothing to record, except that Vizard hung about
Ina Klosking, and became, if possible, more enamored of her and more
unwilling to part with her.

Mr. Ashmead arrived one afternoon about three o'clock, and was more than
an hour with her. They conversed very earnestly, and when he went, Miss
Gale found her agitated.

"This will not do," said she.

"It will pass, my friend," said Ina. "I will sleep."

She laid herself down and slept three hours before dinner.

She arose refreshed, and dined with the little party; and on retiring to
the drawing-room, she invited Vizard to join them at his convenience. He
made it his convenience in ten minutes.

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