He continued his walk.
“Now,” he resumed, when a further period had elapsed, “if she fails to come, I shall hate and scorn her.”
It struck four. He heard the church clock far away. A step so quick, so light, that, but for the rustling of leaves, it would scarcely have sounded on the wood-walk, checked his impatience. The wind blew fiercely now, and the thickening white storm waxed bewildering; but on she came, and not dismayed.
“Well, Martin,” she said eagerly, “how is he?”
“It is queer how she thinks of him,” reflected Martin. “The blinding snow and bitter cold are nothing to her, I believe; yet she is but a ‘chitty-faced creature,’ as my mother would say. I could find in my heart to wish I had a cloak to wrap her in.”
Thus meditating to himself, he neglected to answer Miss Helstone.
“You have seen him?”
“No.”
“Oh! you promised you would.”
“I mean to do better by you than that. Didn’t I say I don’t care to see him?”
“But now it will be so long before I get to know anything certain about him, and I am sick of waiting. Martin, do see him, and give him Caroline Helstone’s regards, and say she wished to know how he was, and if anything could be done for his comfort.”
“I won’t.”
“You are changed. You were so friendly last night.”
“Come, we must not stand in this wood; it is too cold.”
“But before I go promise me to come again tomorrow with news.”
“No such thing. I am much too delicate to make and keep such appointments in the winter season. If you knew what a pain I had in my chest this morning, and how I went without breakfast, and was knocked down besides, you’d feel the impropriety of bringing me here in the snow. Come, I say.”
“Are you really delicate, Martin?”
“Don’t I look so?”
“You have rosy cheeks.”
“That’s hectic. Will you come – or you won’t?”
“Where?”
“With me. I was a fool not to bring a cloak. I would have made you cosy.”
“You are going home; my nearest road lies in the opposite direction.”
“Put your arm through mine; I’ll take care of you.”
“But the wall – the hedge – it is such hard work climbing, and you are too slender and young to help me without hurting yourself.”
“You shall go through the gate.”
“But”
“But, but – will you trust me or not?”
She looked into his face.
“I think I will. Anything rather than return as anxious as I came.”
“I can’t answer for that. This, however, I promise you: be ruled by me, and you shall see Moore yourself.”
“See him myself?”
“Yourself.”
“But, dear Martin, does he know?”
“Ah! I’m dear now. No, he doesn’t know.”
“And your mother and the others?”
“All is right.”
Caroline fell into a long, silent fit of musing, but still she walked on with her guide. They came in sight of Briarmains.
“Have you made up your mind?” he asked.
She was silent.
“Decide; we are just on the spot. I won’t see him – that I tell you – except to announce your arrival.”
“Martin, you are a strange boy, and this is a strange step; but all I feel is and has been, for a long time, strange. I will see him.”
“Having said that, you will neither hesitate nor retract?”
“No.”
“Here we are, then. Do not be afraid of passing the parlour window; no one will see you. My father and Matthew are at the mill, Mark is at school, the servants are in the back kitchen, Miss Moore is at the cottage, my mother in her bed, and Mrs. Horsfall in paradise. Observe – I need not ring. I open the door; the hall is empty, the staircase quiet; so is the gallery. The whole house and all its inhabitants are under a spell, which I will not break till you are gone.”
“Martin, I trust you.”
“You never said a better word. Let me take your shawl. I will shake off the snow and dry it for you. You are cold and wet. Never mind; there is a fire upstairs. Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
“Follow me.”
He left his shoes on the mat, mounted the stair unshod. Caroline stole after, with noiseless step. There was a gallery, and there was a passage; at the end of that passage Martin paused before a door and tapped. He had to tap twice – thrice. A voice, known to one listener, at last said, “Come in.”
The boy entered briskly.
“Mr. Moore, a lady called to inquire after you. None of the women were about. It is washing-day, and the maids are over the crown of the head in soap-suds in the back kitchen, so I asked her to step up.”
“Up here, sir?”
“Up here, sir; but if you object, she shall go down again.”
“Is this a place or am I a person to bring a lady to, you absurd lad?”
“No; so I’ll take her off.”
“Martin, you will stay here. Who is she?”
“Your grandmother from that château on the Scheldt Miss Moore talks about.”
“Martin,” said the softest whisper at the door, “don’t be foolish.”
“Is she there?” inquired Moore hastily. He had caught an imperfect sound.
“She is there, fit to faint. She is standing on the mat, shocked at your want of filial affection.”
“Martin, you are an evil cross between an imp and a page. What is she like?”
“More like me than you; for she is young and beautiful.”
“You are to show her forward. Do you hear?”
“Come, Miss Caroline.”
“Miss Caroline!” repeated Moore.
And when Miss Caroline entered she was encountered in the middle of the chamber by a tall, thin, wasted figure, who took both her hands.
“I give you a quarter of an hour,” said Martin, as he withdrew, “no more. Say what you have to say in that time. Till it is past I will wait in the gallery; nothing shall approach; I’ll see you safe away. Should you persist in staying longer, I leave you to your fate.”
He shut the door. In the gallery he was as elate as a king. He had never been engaged in an adventure he liked so well, for no adventure had ever invested him with so much importance or inspired him with so much interest.
“You are come at last,” said the meagre man, gazing on his visitress with hollow eyes.
“Did you expect me before?”
“For a month, near two months, we have been very near; and I have been in sad pain, and danger, and misery, Cary.”
“I could not come.”
“Couldn’t you? But the rectory and Briarmains are very near – not two miles apart.”
There was pain and there was pleasure in the girl’s face as she listened to these implied reproaches. It was sweet, it was bitter to defend herself.
“When I say I could not come, I mean I could not see you; for I came with mamma the very day we heard what had happened. Mr. MacTurk then told us it was impossible to admit any stranger.”
“But afterwards – every fine afternoon these many weeks past I have waited and listened. Something here, Cary”—laying his hand on his breast—“told me it was impossible but that you should think of me. Not that I merit thought; but we are old acquaintance – we are cousins.”
“I came again, Robert; mamma and I came again.”
“Did you? Come, that is worth hearing. Since you came again, we will sit down and talk about it.”
They sat down. Caroline drew her chair up to his. The air was now dark with snow; an Iceland blast was driving it wildly. This pair neither heard the long “wuthering” rush, nor saw the white burden it drifted. Each seemed conscious but of one thing – the presence of the other.
“So mamma and you came again?”
“And Mrs. Yorke did treat us strangely. We asked to see you. ‘No,’ said she, ‘not in my house. I am at present responsible for his life; it shall not be forfeited for half an hour’s idle gossip.’ But I must not tell you all she said; it was very disagreeable. However, we came yet again – mamma, Miss Keeldar, and I. This time we thought we should conquer, as we were three against one, and Shirley was on our side. But Mrs. Yorke opened such a battery.”