CHAPTER 8.

 

            FOR none of those with whom we have to do at el real de Dolóres, was there any consciousness of the passage of time. It was with them as if they lived only in the spirit, for their life was at the quick.

 

            When Noel had once become familiar with mining details rarely visited the works, except for the sake of conversing with Maynard on the way. It was enough for him to have explored the principal shafts and galleries, which extended deep into the mountain; and the indispensable farm far down in the seething barranca, where grew the maize that constituted almost the sole food of man and beast. His business, if he had any, was rather with the manager of the mine than with the mine itself. He soon came to comprehend the nature of the misgiving to which his uncle had referred; but he learnt to ascribe Mr. Tresham’s detection of any peculiarity in James to hints given him by Sophia, rather than to the penetration of the old man himself, who was one of the last to indulge in such metaphysical refinement. Whatever Noel had seen on his first arrival to justify the uneasiness indicated in his uncle’s letter, the idea soon vanished, and he gave himself up to the, engrossments of his peculiar position.

 

(p. 238)

            It was a curiously subjective existence that Margaret, James, and Edmund alike led during toe first weeks after Noel’s arrival; an existence in which thought and feeling were far more to them than action; and words, which were by no means few, for there was much conversation, referred to anything rather than to that which was uppermost in the minds of the speakers.

 

            A change certainly came over Maynard’s manner, and one which it was a happiness to Margaret to ascribe to Noel’s influence. Doubtless the association with a companion of his own stamp, after so long an abstinence, was refreshing enough to account for the removal of much of the moodiness which had become habitual with him. But Margaret took a delight in considering him as affected by the same influence which had brought sunshine into her own life. It was only as time went on that she was led to suspect a new reason for his amelioration, and it was one that aroused in her a terrible dread lest he should suspect it also.

 

            Noel soon settled down into a regular routine of life. He devoted the mornings, during which James was absent at the hacienda, to reading and writing; to exploring the forest and ravines with his rifle, and preparing any rare birds which he had shot for his museum at home; or to studying Spanish with Margaret, or reading his favourite poems to her. Sometimes he busied himself in inditing verses of his own, an occupation in which she once detected him. But on her charging him with it, he bad coloured up and thrust them away in a book, for he had not yet passed that stage in verse making in which the poet shuns observation inasmuch as, expressing his own inmost emotions, e deems it a domestic operation, and one, therefore, to be performed private.

 

            Gradually, and in spite of Margaret’s reserve on all points connected with her relations with James, Noel came to comprehend fully the measure of their discordance, and to suspect the share he had in dispelling it. The very disappointment which Maynard’s marriage brought to him, had only served to intensify his love for Margaret. His longings towards her had never been assuaged, or converted into content by the satisfaction of reciprocity. He worshipped her with an absolute devotion, even while torturing himself, and her too, by the deep and communicable agony of his efforts to win the love that be required of her, and by the manifestation of his resentment at his failure.

 

(p. 239)

            It was a perplexing problem to Maynard, and harder than any he had ever before been called on to solve. A problem, too, involving a terrible element of personality. He was convinced of her perfection. He felt himself worthy to be loved. Her own consent clearly was not wanting. In nothing else that he required of her had she failed him. In all the harder mental work of his real life he had found her indeed a helpmeet, willing and able, no matter how dry or laborious the details. Partly for curiosity, partly for real service, he had, soon after their arrival, put some intricate and abstruse calculations into her hands, explaining to her generally their nature, and saying it would save him some time and trouble if he could have them verified by another. She took them, and in her usual silent way pondered over them, until, as if by an instinctive and loving insight into the nature of things, she arrived at the desired comprehension and performed the task allotted.

 

            As mother and housewife, he owned her the most womanly of women in the best sense of the epithet. The report of the servants within the house, and of visitors, caused her dwelling be regarded in all the country round as one of the holiest of shrines.

 

            The more Maynard owned her perfection, the more he marvelled at the absence of that which was necessary to crown it for him. In his perplexity he recalled a conversation he had once had with Lord Littmass on the subject of his last and unfinished work. The remarks made by the physician also recurred to him.

 

            ‘And this,’ thought James, ‘must be the explanation of the mystery. In one grand respect there has been an arrest of her natural development. The energy that would in proper course have been occupied by this part of her nature, has gone to promote the abnormal growth of the rest.’

 

            ‘Ah, my queen,’ he had said to her in his too usual tone of bitter banter in the first flush of this fancied discovery; ‘it is buying your glories very dear when they are obtained at the expense of a woman’s chiefest excellence, a loving heart. You are but a human snowdrop, nourished by cold and wasted by warmth. How came you by that golden glow in your hair?’

 

            And she, smitten to the heart, knowing herself to be ever striving in secret with prayers and tears to become to him all that he desired, had, with quivering lip and sad attempt to smile, replied, –

 

(p. 240)

            ‘Ah, my Botanist, pulling your poor flower to pieces to see how it is made:’ and again, –

 

            ‘Ah, my Anatomist, if only you could indulge in the delights of vivisection without hurting the poor subject!’

 

            And he, after witnessing the torment that he inflicted, would rush away half mad with remorse, and ready to dash himself to sudden destruction. And when the fever of his emotion passed off, and he returned to her repentant and subdued, he always found her kind and submissive, and earnestly anxious to make him amends for his disappointment in her, although clearly having suffered as acutely as himself.

 

            Since Noel’s arrival James had found himself happier in his married life than he had ever been before. Whatever the cause, he was for the present content to enjoy without seeking to know it. ‘Perhaps the division from a too exclusive devotion to each other,’ he thought, ‘is good for us. It may not be good for even man and wife to be alone together, always. A new use for children, by the way.’ Margaret’s observation, however, for once outran his. She was conscious of a change in her demeanour, and suspecting the cause, dreaded lest he also should divine it.

 

            Meanwhile Margaret and Edmund lived by each other, and loved; but never spoke of their love; never acknowledged it to each other, scarcely to themselves, although each was thoroughly penetrated and suffused by the idea of the other. Noel adored the infinite purity and simplicity which still wrapped her round in happy unconsciousness. While the extent of her thought was, –

 

            ‘If this is what James seeks in me, and is disappointed at not finding, – poor, poor fellow, how he must suffer. I know now how to pity him. I must make it up to him in some way, if only by the simulation of such affection as I have for Edmund.’

 

            For in her privatest thought Noel had come to be ‘Edmund’ with her, while aloud he was still ‘Mr. Noel.’ She was a little puzzled by the facility with which this came about, for she had had the greatest difficulty in changing from ‘Mr. Maynard’ to ‘James.’ Perhaps Sophia Bevan had accustomed her to his Christian name; for Sophia always spoke of him as ‘Edmund.’

 

            When Margaret first comprehended that the increased tenderness which delighted James was the reflex warmth of the flame kindled by Noel, she, in the happy innocence of her heart, hailed his satisfaction as a testimony to the good wrought

(p. 241)

in her by the discovery of the friend and brother who had brought light and life to her soul. And it seemed to her that James also might well love Edmund for the change made in her.

 

            One morning Noel was out in the forest with Margaret. She was reclining on the ground with her infants at the foot of a noble cedar, and he was sitting on one of the arching roots, by turns sketching and reading aloud. High above rode the fierce sun; but down among the giant stems was deep shade and delicious coolness. Maynard was at the mine, the noise of which faintly reached them. Suddenly the party was startled by approaching steps, and a native messenger trotted up to the group and delivered a message to Noel. He could not quite understand the man’s dialect, and the message had to be repeated to Margaret. It was to the effect that el Señor Director wished to see el Señor hermano down at the hacienda, if he was at liberty.

 

            Replying that he would follow him immediately, Noel asked Margaret if she could account for his being invested by the people with such a title, and whether he was supposed to be her own brother or James’s.

 

            ‘Oh, not his,’ she said, hastily. ‘But I don’t know how they got the idea, unless it is that they see a likeness.’

 

            ‘Can it be possible,’ he said, with the air of one musing, so as to avoid any direct appeal that might embarrass her, ‘can it possible that they have perceived any external signs of the interior sympathy which we recognised at once as existing between us?’

 

            ‘I remember,’ she replied, ‘that soon after you came, my maid said something to me about a resemblance between la Señora and el caballéro, and I, half joking, half thinking of my first impressions, asked her if it was unusual to have family likenesses in Mexico. She has a galanteadór on the works, and no doubt her notion has been communicated to him, and by degrees attained the character of a fact. I hope you are not seriously offended at the imputation of being like me?’

 

            Answering this last remark by a look and a smile, Noel said that he ought to be off to join Maynard, and asked if he should leave her there or escort her back to the house, for he was going thither first to take his books back.

 

            ‘Oh, leave them here, and I will have them taken in. You had better go to James at once.’

 

(p. 242)

            Noel found Maynard in conversation with a messenger who had just brought him important despatches from the capital. They were from his confidential agent, to the effect that in view of the intervention undertaken by the foreign powers in the affairs of Mexico, protection could be no longer guaranteed by the government to the property of foreigners. He added his own conviction that the popular feeling against foreigners was becoming so exasperated that no precaution should be neglected for providing for the security of the mines and convoys. ‘For you may be certain,’ he concluded, ‘that as soon as the temper of the government and people here becomes known throughout the country, you will be overrun with bandidos.’

 

            ‘An ugly look out,’ observed Maynard, ‘though any guarantee that we have had of protection from government has been little more than nominal. My own well-armed and well paid guards have been my best protection; though I believe my personal acquaintance with the President has done something. I have no doubt of being able to protect myself by the same means, unless a regular war breaks out., My real anxiety is about the isolated situation of my house. I don’t like bringing Margaret to live down here in the enclosure by the patío; and it is impossible to prevent the approach of guerrillas under cover of the forest.’

 

            Noel listened, expecting Maynard to renew his proposition of sending Margaret and the children to England. The ides, however, did net seem to have recurred to him of late, and he said nothing about it now; and Noel could not help feeling a double pang as he thought of the change and the reason. They had a long conference together, and then a consultation with the sub-officials; when it was resolved to increase the number of the guard and its officers, and to keep scouts on the look out in the neighbourhood; and, in case of reported danger, to place regular patrols round the mountain. After agreeing that nothing more should be said to Margaret than to tell her that the state of the country made additional precaution advisable, Maynard and Noel walked up the hill together.

 

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