第24章 CHRISTOPHER'S LODGINGS - THE GROUNDS ABOUT ROO

Meanwhile, in the distant town of Sandbourne, Christopher Julian had recovered from the weariness produced by his labours at the Wyndway evening-party where Ethelberta had been a star. Instead of engaging his energies to clear encumbrances from the tangled way of his life, he now set about reading the popular 'Metres by E.' with more interest and assiduity than ever; for though Julian was a thinker by instinct, he was a worker by effort only; and the higher of these kinds being dependent upon the lower for its exhibition, there was often a lamentable lack of evidence of his power in either. It is a provoking correlation, and has conduced to the obscurity of many a genius.

'Kit,' said his sister, on reviving at the end of the bad headache which had followed the dance, 'those poems seem to have increased in value with you. The lady, lofty as she appears to be, would be flattered if she only could know how much you study them. Have you decided to thank her for them? Now let us talk it over--I like having a chat about such a pretty new subject.'

'I would thank her in a moment if I were absolutely certain that she had anything to do with sending them, or even writing them. I am not quite sure of that yet.'

'How strange that a woman could bring herself to write those verses!'

'Not at all strange--they are natural outpourings.'

Faith looked critically at the remoter caverns of the fire.

'Why strange?' continued Christopher. 'There is no harm in them.'

'O no--no harm. But I cannot explain to you--unless you see it partly of your own accord--that to write them she must be rather a fast lady--not a bad fast lady; a nice fast lady, I mean, of course.

There, I have said it now, and I daresay you are vexed with me, for your interest in her has deepened to what it originally was, Ithink. I don't mean any absolute harm by "fast," Kit.'

'Bold, forward, you mean, I suppose?'

Faith tried to hit upon a better definition which should meet all views; and, on failing to do so, looked concerned at her brother's somewhat grieved appearance, and said, helplessly, 'Yes, I suppose Ido.'

'My idea of her is quite the reverse. A poetess must intrinsically be sensitive, or she could never feel: but then, frankness is a rhetorical necessity even with the most modest, if their inspirations are to do any good in the world. You will, for certain, not be interested in something I was going to tell you, which I thought would have pleased you immensely; but it is not worth mentioning now.'

'If you will not tell me, never mind. But don't be crabbed, Kit!

You know how interested I am in all your affairs.'

'It is only that I have composed an air to one of the prettiest of her songs, "When tapers tall"--but I am not sure about the power of it. This is how it begins--I threw it off in a few minutes, after you had gone to bed.'

He went to the piano and lightly touched over an air, the manu copy of which he placed in front of him, and listened to hear her opinion, having proved its value frequently; for it was not that of a woman merely, but impersonally human. Though she was unknown to fame, this was a great gift in Faith, since to have an unsexed judgment is as precious as to be an unsexed being is deplorable.

'It is very fair indeed,' said the sister, scarcely moving her lips in her great attention. 'Now again, and again, and again. How could you do it in the time!'

Kit knew that she admired his performance: passive assent was her usual praise, and she seldom insisted vigorously upon any view of his compositions unless for purposes of emendation.

'I was thinking that, as I cannot very well write to her, I may as well send her this,' said Christopher, with lightened spirits, voice to correspond, and eyes likewise; 'there can be no objection to it, for such things are done continually. Consider while I am gone, Faith. I shall be out this evening for an hour or two.'

When Christopher left the house shortly after, instead of going into the town on some errand, as was customary whenever he went from home after dark, he ascended a back street, passed over the hills behind, and walked at a brisk pace inland along the road to Rookington Park, where, as he had learnt, Ethelberta and Lady Petherwin were staying for a time, the day or two which they spent at Wyndway having formed a short break in the middle of this visit. The moon was shining to-night, and Christopher sped onwards over the pallid high-road as readily as he could have done at noonday. In three-quarters of an hour he reached the park gates; and entering now upon a tract which he had never before explored, he went along more cautiously and with some uncertainty as to the precise direction that the road would take. A frosted expanse of even grass, on which the shadow of his head appeared with an opal halo round it, soon allowed the house to be discovered beyond, the other portions of the park abounding with timber older and finer than that of any other spot in the neighbourhood. Christopher withdrew into the shade, and wheeled round to the front of the building that contained his old love.

Here he gazed and idled, as many a man has done before him--wondering which room the fair poetess occupied, waiting till lights began to appear in the upper windows--which they did as uncertainly as glow-worms blinking up at eventide--and warming with currents of revived feeling in perhaps the sweetest of all conditions. New love is brightest, and long love is greatest; but revived love is the tenderest thing known upon earth.