<h2>CHAPTER XXXI.</h2>
<h4>BEING A SHORT HISTORY OF THE GREAT BATTLE OF BELMONT THAT LASTED FOR SO
MANY DAYS, WHEREIN THE BELLIGERENTS SHOWED SO MUCH CONSTANCY AND VALOUR,
AND SOMETIMES ONE SIDE AND SOMETIMES T'OTHER WAS VICTORIOUS.</h4>
<div class="figleft"><ANTIMG src="images/img040.jpg" alt="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'S'" title="ORNAMENTAL CAPITAL 'S'" /></div>
<p>o jolly old General Chattesworth was away to Scarborough, and matters
went by no means pleasantly at Belmont; for there was strife between the
ladies. Dangerfield—cunning fellow—went first to Aunt Becky with his
proposal; and Aunt Becky liked it—determined it should prosper, and
took up and conducted the case with all her intimidating energy and
ferocity. But Gertrude's character had begun to show itself of late in
new and marvellous lights, and she fought her aunt with cool, but
invincible courage; and why should she marry, and above all, why marry
that horrid, grim old gentleman, Mr. Dangerfield. No, she had money
enough of her own to walk through life in maiden meditation, fancy free,
without being beholden to anybody for a sixpence. Why, Aunt Rebecca
herself had never married, and was she not all the happier of her
freedom? Aunt Rebecca tried before the general went away, to inflame and
stir him up upon the subject. But he had no capacity for coercion. She
almost regretted she had made him so very docile. He would leave the
matter altogether to his daughter. So Aunt Rebecca, as usual, took, as
we have said, the carriage of the proceedings.</p>
<p>Since the grand eclaircissement had taken place between Mervyn and
Gertrude Chattesworth, they met with as slight and formal a recognition
as was possible, consistently with courtesy. Puddock had now little to
trouble him upon a topic which had once cost him some uneasiness, and
Mervyn acquiesced serenely in the existing state of things, and seemed
disposed to be 'sweet upon' pretty Lilias Walsingham, if that young lady
had allowed it; but her father had dropped hints about his history and
belongings which surrounded him in her eyes with a sort of chill and
dismal halo. There was something funeste and mysterious even in his
beauty; and her spirits faltered and sank in his presence. Something of
the same unpleasant influence, too, or was it fancy, she thought his
approach seemed now to exercise upon Gertrude also, and that she, too,
was unaccountably chilled and darkened by his handsome, but ill-omened
presence.</p>
<p>Aunt Becky was not a woman to be soon tired, or even daunted. The young
lady's resistance put her upon her mettle, and she<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</SPAN></span> was all the more
determined, that she suspected her niece had some secret motive for
rejecting a partner in some respects so desirable.</p>
<p>Sometimes, it is true, Gertrude's resistance flagged; but this was only
the temporary acquiescence of fatigue, and the battle was renewed with
the old spirit on the next occasion, and was all to be fought over
again. At breakfast there was generally, as I may say, an affair of
picquets, and through the day a dropping fire, sometimes rising to a
skirmish; but the social meal of supper was generally the period when,
for the most part, these desultory hostilities blazed up into a general
action. The fortune of war as usual shifted. Sometimes Gertrude left the
parlour and effected a retreat to her bed-room. Sometimes it was Aunt
Rebecca's turn to slam the door, and leave the field to her adversary.
Sometimes, indeed, Aunt Becky thought she had actually finished the
exhausting campaign, when her artillery had flamed and thundered over
the prostrate enemy for a full half hour unanswered; but when, at the
close of the cannonade she marched up, with drums beating and colours
flying, to occupy the position and fortify her victory, she found, much
to her mortification, that the foe had only, as it were, lain down to
let her shrapnels and canister fly over, and the advance was arrested
with the old volley and hurrah. And there they were—not an inch
gained—peppering away at one another as briskly as ever, with the work
to begin all over again.</p>
<p>'You think I have neither eyes nor understanding; but I can see, young
lady, as well as another; ay, Madam, I've eyes, and some experience too,
and 'tis my simple duty to my brother, and to the name I bear, not to
mention <i>you</i>, niece, to prevent, if my influence or authority can do
it, the commission of a folly which, I can't but suspect, may possibly
be meditated, and which, even you, niece, would live very quickly to
repent.'</p>
<p>Gertrude did not answer; she only looked a little doubtfully at her
aunt, with a gaze of deep, uneasy enquiry. That sort of insinuation
seemed to disconcert her. But she did not challenge her aunt to define
her meaning, and the attack was soon renewed at another point.</p>
<p>When Gertrude walked down to the town, to the King's House, or even to
see Lily, at this side of the bridge, Dominick, the footman, was ordered
to trudge after her—a sort of state she had never used in her little
neighbourly rambles—and Gertrude knew that her aunt catechised that
confidential retainer daily. Under this sort of management, the haughty
girl winced and fretted, and finally sulked, grew taciturn and
sarcastic, and shut herself up altogether within the precincts of
Belmont.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</SPAN></span></p>
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