“She trembled. She put her hand to mine as if to remove it from the lock. She might as well have tried to loosen, by her soft touch, metal welded to metal. She felt she was powerless, and receded; and again she trembled.
“What change I underwent I cannot explain, but out of her emotion passed into me a new spirit. I neither was crushed nor elated by her lands and gold; I thought not of them, cared not for them. They were nothing – dross that could not dismay me. I saw only herself – her young beautiful form, the grace, the majesty, the modesty of her girlhood.
“‘My pupil,’ I said.
“‘My master,’ was the low answer.
“‘I have a thing to tell you.’
“She waited with declined brow and ringlets drooped.
“‘I have to tell you that for four years you have been growing into your tutor’s heart, and that you are rooted there now. I have to declare that you have bewitched me, in spite of sense, and experience, and difference of station and estate. You have so looked, and spoken, and moved; so shown me your faults and your virtues – beauties rather, they are hardly so stern as virtues – that I love you – love you with my life and strength. It is out now.’
“She sought what to say, but could not find a word. She tried to rally, but vainly. I passionately repeated that I loved her.
“‘Well, Mr. Moore, what then?’ was the answer I got, uttered in a tone that would have been petulant if it had not faltered.
“‘Have you nothing to say to me? Have you no love for me?’
“‘A little bit.’
“‘I am not to be tortured. I will not even play at present.’
“‘I don’t want to play; I want to go.’
“‘I wonder you dare speak of going at this moment. You go! What! with my heart in your hand, to lay it on your toilet and pierce it with your pins? From my presence you do not stir, out of my reach you do not stray, till I receive a hostage – pledge for pledge – your heart for mine.’
“‘The thing you want is mislaid – lost some time since. Let me go and seek it.’
“‘Declare that it is where your keys often are – in my possession.’
“‘You ought to know. And where are my keys, Mr. Moore? Indeed and truly I have lost them again; and Mrs. Gill wants some money, and I have none, except this sixpence.’
“She took the coin out of her apron pocket, and showed it in her palm. I could have trifled with her, but it would not do; life and death were at stake. Mastering at once the sixpence and the hand that held it, I demanded, ‘Am I to die without you, or am I to live for you?’
“‘Do as you please. Far be it from me to dictate your choice.’
“‘You shall tell me with your own lips whether you doom me to exile or call me to hope.’
“‘Go; I can bear to be left.’
“‘Perhaps I too can bear to leave you. But reply, Shirley, my pupil, my sovereign – reply.’
“‘Die without me if you will; live for me if you dare.’
“‘I am not afraid of you, my leopardess. I dare live for and with you, from this hour till my death. Now, then, I have you. You are mine. I will never let you go. Wherever my home be, I have chosen my wife. If I stay in England, in England you will stay; if I cross the Atlantic, you will cross it also. Our lives are riveted, our lots intertwined.’
“‘And are we equal, then, sir? are we equal at last?’
“‘You are younger, frailer, feebler, more ignorant than I.’
“‘Will you be good to me, and never tyrannize?’
“‘Will you let me breathe, and not bewilder me? You must not smile at present. The world swims and changes round me. The sun is a dizzying scarlet blaze, the sky a violet vortex whirling over me.’
“I am a strong man, but I staggered as I spoke. All creation was exaggerated. Colour grew more vivid, motion more rapid, life itself more vital. I hardly saw her for a moment, but I heard her voice – pitilessly sweet. She would not subdue one of her charms in compassion. Perhaps she did not know what I felt.
“‘You name me leopardess. Remember, the leopardess is tameless,’ said she.
“‘Tame or fierce, wild or subdued, you are mine.’
“‘I am glad I know my keeper and am used to him. Only his voice will I follow; only his hand shall manage me; only at his feet will I repose.’
“I took her back to her seat, and sat down by her side. I wanted to hear her speak again. I could never have enough of her voice and her words.
“‘How much do you love me?’ I asked.
“‘Ah! you know. I will not gratify you – I will not flatter.’
“‘I don’t know half enough; my heart craves to be fed. If you knew how hungry and ferocious it is, you would hasten to stay it with a kind word or two.’
“‘Poor Tartar!’ said she, touching and patting my hand—‘poor fellow, stalwart friend, Shirley’s pet and favourite, lie down!’
“‘But I will not lie down till I am fed with one sweet word.’
“And at last she gave it.
“‘Dear Louis, be faithful to me; never leave me. I don’t care for life unless I may pass it at your side.’
“‘Something more.’
“She gave me a change; it was not her way to offer the same dish twice.
“‘Sir,’ she said, starting up, ’at your peril you ever again name such sordid things as money, or poverty, or inequality. It will be absolutely dangerous to torment me with these maddening scruples. I defy you to do it.’
“My face grew hot. I did once more wish I were not so poor or she were not so rich. She saw the transient misery; and then, indeed, she caressed me. Blent with torment, I experienced rapture.
“‘Mr. Moore,’ said she, looking up with a sweet, open, earnest countenance, ‘teach me and help me to be good. I do not ask you to take off my shoulders all the cares and duties of property, but I ask you to share the burden, and to show me how to sustain my part well. Your judgment is well balanced, your heart is kind, your principles are sound. I know you are wise; I feel you are benevolent; I believe you are conscientious. Be my companion through life; be my guide where I am ignorant; be my master where I am faulty; be my friend always!’
“‘So help me God, I will!’”
Yet again a passage from the blank book if you like, reader; if you don’t like it, pass it over
“The Sympsons are gone, but not before discovery and explanation. My manner must have betrayed something, or my looks. I was quiet, but I forgot to be guarded sometimes. I stayed longer in the room than usual; I could not bear to be out of her presence; I returned to it, and basked in it, like Tartar in the sun. If she left the oak parlour, instinctively I rose and left it too. She chid me for this procedure more than once. I did it with a vague, blundering idea of getting a word with her in the hall or elsewhere. Yesterday towards dusk I had her to myself for five minutes by the hall fire. We stood side by side; she was railing at me, and I was enjoying the sound of her voice. The young ladies passed, and looked at us; we did not separate. Ere long they re-passed, and again looked. Mrs. Sympson came; we did not move. Mr. Sympson opened the dining-room door. Shirley flashed him back full payment for his spying gaze. She curled her lip and tossed her tresses. The glance she gave was at once explanatory and defiant. It said: ‘I like Mr. Moore’s society, and I dare you to find fault with my taste.’
“I asked, ‘Do you mean him to understand how matters are?’
“‘I do,’ said she; ‘but I leave the development to chance. There will be a scene. I neither invite it nor fear it; only, you must be present, for I am inexpressibly tired of facing him solus. I don’t like to see him in a rage. He then puts off all his fine proprieties and conventional disguises, and the real human being below is what you would call commun, plat, bas – vilain et un peu méchant. His ideas are not clean, Mr. Moore; they want scouring with soft soap and fuller’s earth. I think, if he could add his imagination to the contents of Mrs. Gill’s bucking-basket, and let her boil it in her copper, with rain-water and bleaching-powder (I hope you think me a tolerable laundress), it would do him incalculable good.’