Peregrine's Progress Part 85

He was on his knees, had clasped my trembling weakness in his great arms and was soothing me, and I weeping for my very impotence, when the door opened and Aunt Julia appeared.

"Dear Heaven!" she cried, bending above me. "What have you done, George? What have you done to him?"

"O Aunt!" I cried. "Dear Aunt Julia, don't let her touch me again--don't let her come near me or I shall go mad--"

"No, no, my loved Perry, no one shall tend you but myself--there, dear boy, be comforted! O George, don't stand gaping--give me the draught yonder--quick!"

"Promise me, Aunt--swear she shall not approach me again!

"I swear it, dear Peregrine. Come, drink--"

CHAPTER VII

CONCERNING THE SONG OF A BLACKBIRD AT EVENING

My uncle Jervas helped me carefully to the armchair by the open lattice and thereafter stood looking down at me with a certain bleak austerity of gaze.

"And you still refuse to hold any communication with her, Peregrine?"

"I do, sir."

"Or to afford her the least explanation, notwithstanding her devouring grief and distress?"

"Sir--I cannot," I answered, and s.h.i.+vered slightly.

"Do you feel the air too much, Peregrine?"

"Thank you, no, sir. But the topic naturally distresses me!"

"Strange," said my uncle Jervas musingly, "very strange that I should be pleading your gipsy's suit and find you so coldly, mercilessly determined to make that pleading vain! You are as stubborn as a Vereker and I think a trifle more merciless. Doubtless the reasons for your so sudden change are sufficient unto yourself, but to your friends they are profoundly incomprehensible, nor would I seek to probe the mystery; you are your own master and judge, and Diana is rich, has London at her feet, and may wed whomsoever she will, and small wonder! Indeed, with one exception, she is the most bewilderingly attractive and altogether beautiful woman I have ever had the happiness to know. So here's an end of the matter, once and for all. It is a painful topic, as you say; let us talk of other things--yourself, for instance. You will be up and about again soon, what do you propose to do with yourself, Peregrine? Now there is your friend Vere-Manville playing the devil about town--has not been entirely sober for a fortnight, I hear--I saw him myself, twice, very blatantly drunk--"

"Indeed, sir, uncle George mentioned something of this yesterday, though such conduct in Anthony is quite incomprehensible."

"Not content with this, the young fool is gambling desperately, haunts all the noted h.e.l.ls--I heard he dropped over a thousand recently in a few hours; his recklessness is becoming a byword."

"Good heavens, Uncle! Is he mad?"

"That you may ask him personally. I understand he intends honouring you with a visit this afternoon. He should be here shortly, unless he happens to be drunk. You are his friend, Peregrine; talk to him as such, endeavour to stem the tide of his folly, if only for his young wife's sake. Curb his madness if you can, it should be an occupation for your leisure not without interest."

Thus we conversed at large and upon many topics but spoke no further regarding her of whom we both were thinking; and thus, I believe, we were both of us a little relieved to hear a distant "view hallo."

"There rides your friend Vere-Manville, I think, Peregrine, and evidently a trifle hilarious!"

A trampling of hoofs in the paved yard below, and glancing from the window I espied Anthony sure enough, who, leaping from the saddle, reeled violently and clutched at the stalwart George to save himself.

"Aha!" he exclaimed, "seems something's matter wi' old mother earth, George--heaving d.a.m.nably--up and down, George--unless it's my legs.

Where's door, George? Aye, there 'tis. Seems dooced small--unless it's my eyes, George--ha ha!" So he blundered in and heavily up the stair, and after knocking thunderously, entered. At sight of my uncle Jervas, he halted, drew himself very erect and bowed profoundly and with a flourish, and when he spoke his speech was so thick that I dreaded lest he hiccough:

"Your servant, S' Jervas! Hope I see y' well, sir?"

My uncle's bow was extremely stately and distant.

"Peregrine," said he, "seeing you have--enlivening company, I will take occasion to go and meet your aunt Julia. Mr. Vere-Manville, I would venture to impress upon you that my nephew is still very much of an invalid." So saying, my uncle saluted us in turn with his grandest air and went out, closing the door behind him.

"Thinks I'm drunk, does he!" exclaimed Anthony, scowling after him.

"Well, what the devil--so I am, d.a.m.ned d-drunk and so much the better--"

"So much the worse, Anthony!"

"Tush, you talk like a fool, Perry; better be drunk and forget than be sober and a s-suicide--felo--felo-de-se, buried at cross road--stake through your inside--devilish unpleasant business--"

"You talk like a madman, Anthony."

"And you like a f-fool, Perry! Here's you come back t' life like a fool, instead o' dying comfortably and respectably like--wise man.

Here's you hoping and yearning to marry and that's the d.a.m.ndest folly of all. Much better be comfortably dead--"

"For shame, Anthony--for shame!" cried I angrily. "If you have so lost respect for yourself--at least think of and respect your wife--"

"Wife!" he exclaimed. "My wife!" and springing up out of the chair I saw him tower above me, clenched hands upflung, his comely features distorted and horribly suffused; then he lurched to the window and leaned, choking, from the lattice. Suddenly his bowed shoulders began to heave, and I heard him laugh in dreadful manner and when he turned his look was demoniac.

"Egad, but you will have your joke, eh, Perry, and devilish funny--aye, devilis.h.!.+ My wife, says you--ha! ha! says I. You're drunk, says you--I am, says I--so I can laugh, d'ye see--"

"Anthony!" I cried, rising from my chair. "O Anthony, here's more than drink--dear fellow, in G.o.d's name, what is it?" And I grasped at him with weak but insistent hands.

For a moment he made as if to throw me off, then his long arm was about me, his head bowed upon my shoulder, and when he spoke his voice had lost its wild, mad ring.

"D'ye think I like getting drunk, Perry? But there are worse things--madness and murder. A bullet would be quick, but I still have hope--sometimes--and death by drink is a slow business, so I've chosen death by drink--"

"Why, Tony? What is the trouble? Is it--Barbara--your Loveliness?"

"She has never been the same since she came back from abroad, Perry.

Some secret trouble--all these weeks it has been getting worse--she has sometimes seemed afraid of me--of me, Perry! At last I taxed her with it--begged she'd confide in me. She told me there was nothing, laughed it off and I believed it, like a fool--but that night, Perry--that night, as she slept--and looking pure and holy as one of G.o.d's angels, she--cried on a name--a man's name. I woke her--questioned her, begged, implored, commanded--and still she laughed, but always with the fear in her eyes. And I know she lied!

Then I took to watching her and she me--and so it went on until--there were times when I could have struck her--choked the truth out of her--O Perry! So I left her--went to London. Oh d.a.m.nation, d'ye wonder I drink? Better drink myself to the devil than harm her--though drink will take a long time to kill me, I'm afraid--"

"Drink never shall, Tony! There, sit down, old fellow, calm yourself, for by heaven I think you are making much out of little--"

"Why did she lie to me?"

"Are you sure she did?"

"Certain!"

"What do you propose to do?"