a great change was observable in mrs. gaunt after this fiery and chastening ordeal. in a short time she had been taught many lessons. she had learned that the law will not allow even a woman to say anything and everything with impunity. she had been in a court of justice, and seen how gravely, soberly, and fairly, an accusation is sifted there; and, if false, annihilated; which, elsewhere, it never is. member of a sex that could never have invented a court of justice, she had found something to revere and bless in that other sex, to which her erring husband belonged. finally, she had encountered, in mercy vint, a woman, whom she recognised at once as her moral superior. the contact of that pure and well-governed spirit told wonderfully upon her; she began to watch her tongue, and to bridle her high spirit. she became slower to give offense, and slower to take it. she took herself to task, and made some little excuses even for griffith. she was resolved to retire from the world altogether; but, meantime, she bowed her head to the lessons of adversity. her features, always lovely, but somewhat too haughty, were now softened and embellished beyond description, by a mingled expression of grief, humility, and resignation.
she never mentioned her husband; but it is not to be supposed she never thought of him. she waited the course of events in dignified and patient silence.
as for griffith gaunt, he was in the hands of two lawyers, atkins and houseman. he waited on the first, and made a friend of him. "i am at your service," said he; "but not if i am to be indicted for bigamy, and burned in the hand."
"these fears are idle," said atkins. "mercy vint declared in open court she will not proceed against you."
"ay, but there's my wife."
"she will keep quiet; i have houseman's word for it."
"ay, but there's the attorney-general."
"oh, he will not move, unless he is driven. we must use a little influence. mr. houseman is of my mind, and he has the ear of the county."
to be brief, it was represented in high quarters that to indict mr. gaunt would only open mrs. gaunt's wounds afresh, and do no good; and so houseman found means to muzzle the attorney-general.
just three weeks after the trial, griffith gaunt, esq., reappeared publicly. the place of his reappearance was coggleswade. he came and set about finishing his new mansion with feverish rapidity. he engaged an army of carpenters and painters, and spent thousands of pounds on the decorating and furnishing of the mansion, and laying out the grounds.
this was duly reported to mrs. gaunt, who said—not a word.
but at last one day came a letter to mrs. gaunt, in griffith's well-known handwriting.
with all her acquired self-possession, her hand trembled as she broke open the seal.
it contained but these words:—
"madam,—i do not ask you to forgive me; for, if you had done what i have, i could never forgive you. but, for the sake of rose, and to stop their tongues, i do hope you will do me the honor to live under this my roof. i dare not face hernshaw castle. your own apartments here are now ready for you. the place is large. upon my honor i will not trouble you; but show myself always, as now,
"your penitent and very humble servant,
"griffith gaunt."
the messenger was to wait for her reply.
this letter disturbed mrs. gaunt's sorrowful tranquillity at once. she was much agitated, and so undecided, that she sent the messenger away, and told him to call next day.
then she sent off to father francis to beg his advice.
but her courier returned, late at night, to say father francis was away from home.
then she took rose, and said to her, "my darling, papa wants us to go to his new house, and leave dear old hernshaw; i know not what to say about that. what do you say?"
"tell him to come to us," said bose, dictatorially. "only," (lowering her little voice very suddenly), "if he is naughty and won't, why then we had better go to him. for he amuses me."
"as you please," said mrs. gaunt; and sent her husband this reply:—
"sir,—rose and i are agreed to defer to your judgment and obey your wishes. be pleased to let me know what day you will require us; and i must trouble you to send a carriage.
"i am, sir,
"your faithful wife, and humble servant,
"catherine gaunt."
at the appointed day, a carriage and four came wheeling up to the door. the vehicle was gorgeously emblazoned, and the servants in rich liveries; all which finery glittering in the sun, and the glossy coats of the horses, did mightily please mistress rose. she stood on the stone steps, and clapped her hands with delight. her mother just sighed, and said, "ay, 'tis in pomp and show we must seek our happiness now."
she leaned back in the carriage, and closed her eyes, yet not so close but now and then a tear would steal out, as she thought of the past.
they drove up under an avenue to a noble mansion; and landed at the foot of some marble steps, low and narrow, but of vast breadth.
as they mounted these, a hall door, through which the carriage could have passed, was flung open, and discovered the servants all drawn up to do honor to their mistress.
she entered the hall, leading rose by the hand, the servants bowed and curtsied down to the ground.
she received this homage with dignified courtesy, and her eye stole round to see if the master of the house was coming to receive her.
the library door was opened hastily, and out came to meet her—father francis.
"welcome, madam, a thousand times welcome to your new home," said he, in a stentorian voice, with a double infusion of geniality. "i claim the honour of showing you your part of the house, though 'tis all yours for that matter." and he led the way.
now this cheerful stentorian voice was just a little shaky for once, and his eyes were moist.
mrs. gaunt noticed, but said nothing before the people. she smiled graciously, and accompanied him.
he took her to her apartments. they consisted of a salle-à-manger, three delightful bedrooms, a boudoir, and a magnificent drawing-room, fifty feet long, with two fire-places, and a bay-window thirty feet wide, filled with the choicest flowers.
an exclamation of delight escaped mrs. gaunt. then she said, "one would think i was a queen." then she sighed, "ah," said she, "'tis a fine thing to be rich." then, despondently, "tell him i think it very beautiful."
"nay, madam, i hope you will tell him so yourself."
mrs. gaunt made no reply to that; she added: "and it was kind of him to have you here the first day: i do not feel so lonely as i should without you."
she took griffith at his word, and lived with rose in her own apartments.
for some time griffith used to slip away whenever saw her coming.
one day she caught him at it, and beckoned him.
he came to her.
"you need not run away from me," said she: "i did not come into your house to quarrel with you. let us he friends." and she gave him her hand sweetly enough, but oh so coldly.
"i hope for nothing more," said griffith. "if you ever have a wish, give me the pleasure of gratifying it—that is all."
"i wish to retire to a convent," said she, quietly.
"and desert your daughter?"
"i would leave her behind, to remind you of days gone by."
by degrees they saw a little more of one another; they even dined together, now and then. but it brought them no nearer. there was no anger, with its loving reaction. they were friendly enough, but an icy barrier stood between them.
one person set himself quietly to sap this barrier. father francis was often at the castle, and played the peace-maker very adroitly.
the line he took might be called the innocent jesuitical. he saw that it would be useless to exhort these two persons to ignore the terrible things that happened, and to make it up as if it was only a squabble. what he did was to repeat to the husband every gracious word the wife let fall, and vice versa, and to suppress all either said that might tend to estrange them.
in short, he acted the part of mr. harmony in the play, and acted it to perfection.
gutta cavat lapidem.
though no perceptible effect followed his efforts, yet there is no doubt that he got rid of some of the bitterness. but the coldness remained.
one day he was sent for all in a hurry by griffith.
he found him looking gloomy and agitated.
the cause came out directly. griffith had observed, at last, what all the females in the house had seen two months ago, that mrs. gaunt was in the family-way.
he now communicated this to father francis, with a voice of agony, and looks to match.
"all the better, my son," said the genial priest; "'twill be another tie between you. i hope it will be a fine boy to inherit your estates." then, observing a certain hideous expression distorting griffith's face, he fixed his eyes full on him, and said, sternly, "are you not cured yet of that madness of yours?"
"no, no, no," said griffith, deprecatingly; "but why did she not tell me?"
"you had better ask her."
"not i. she will remind me i am nothing to her now. and, though 'tis so, yet i would not hear it from her lips."
in spite of this wise resolution, the torture he was in drove him to remonstrate with her on her silence.
she blushed high, and excused herself as follows:—
"i should have told you as soon as i knew it myself. but you were not with me. i was all by myself—in carlisle gaol."
this reply, uttered with hypocritical meekness, went through griffith like a knife. he turned white, and gasped for breath, but said nothing. he left her, with a deep groan, and never ventured to mention the matter again.
all he did in that direction was to redouble his attentions and solicitude for her health.
the relation between these two was now more anomalous than ever.
even father francis, who had seen strange things in families, used to watch mrs. gaunt rise from table and walk heavily to the door, and her husband dart to it and open it obsequiously, and receive only a very formal reverence in return—and wonder how all this was to end.
however, under this icy surface, a change was gradually going on; and one afternoon, to his great surprise, mrs. gaunt's maid came to ask griffith if he would come to mrs. gaunt's apartment.
he found her seated in her bay window, among her flowers. she seemed another woman all of a sudden, and smiled on him her exquisite smile of days gone by.
"come, sit beside me," said she, "in this beautiful window that you have given me."
"sit beside you, kate," said griffith; "nay, let me kneel at your knees; that is my place."
"as you will," said she, softly; and continued, in the same tone, "now listen to me; you and i are two fools; we have been very happy together in days gone by; and we should both of us like to try again; but we neither of us know how to begin. you are afraid to tell me you love me and i am ashamed to own to you or anybody else that i love you, in spite of it all—i do, though."
"you love me! a wretch like me, kate? 'tis impossible. i cannot be so happy!"
"child," said mrs. gaunt, "love is not reason; love is not common sense. 'tis a passion; like your jealousy, poor fool. i love you, as a mother loves her child, all the more for all you have made me suffer. i might not say as much if i thought we should be long together. but something tells me i shall die this time: i never felt so before. i want you to bury me at hernshaw. after all, i spent more happy years there than most wives ever know. i see you are very sorry for what you have done. how could i die and leave thee in doubt of my forgiveness, and my love? kiss me, poor jealous fool; for i do forgive thee, and love thee with all my sorrowful heart," and even with the words she bowed herself and sank quietly into his arms, and he kissed her and cried bitterly over her: bitterly. but she was comparatively calm. for she said to herself, "the end is at hand."
griffith, instead of pooh-poohing his wife's forebodings, set himself to baffle them.
he used his wealth freely; and, besides the county doctor, had two very eminent practitioners from london, one of whom was a grey-headed man, the other singularly young for the fame he had obtained. but then he was a genuine enthusiast in his art.
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《the cloister and the hearth回廊与壁炉》
