<h3>XXIII</h3>
<p>Swithin could not sleep that night for thinking of his
Viviette. Nothing told so significantly of the conduct of
her first husband towards the poor lady as the abiding dread of
him which was revealed in her by any sudden revival of his image
or memory. But for that consideration her almost childlike
terror at Swithin’s inadvertent disguise would have been
ludicrous.</p>
<p>He waited anxiously through several following days for an
opportunity of seeing her, but none was afforded. Her
brother’s presence in the house sufficiently accounted for
this. At length he ventured to write a note, requesting her
to signal to him in a way she had done once or twice
before,—by pulling down a blind in a particular window of
the house, one of the few visible from the top of the Rings-Hill
column; this to be done on any evening when she could see him
after dinner on the terrace.</p>
<p>When he had levelled the glass at that window for five
successive nights he beheld the blind in the position
suggested. Three hours later, quite in the dusk, he
repaired to the place of appointment.</p>
<p>‘My brother is away this evening,’ she explained,
‘and that’s why I can come out. He is only gone
for a few hours, nor is he likely to go for longer just
yet. He keeps himself a good deal in my company, which has
made it unsafe for me to venture near you.’</p>
<p>‘Has he any suspicion?’</p>
<p>‘None, apparently. But he rather depresses
me.’</p>
<p>‘How, Viviette?’ Swithin feared, from her
manner, that this was something serious.</p>
<p>‘I would rather not tell.’</p>
<p>‘But—Well, never mind.’</p>
<p>‘Yes, Swithin, I will tell you. There should be no
secrets between us. He urges upon me the necessity of
marrying, day after day.’</p>
<p>‘For money and position, of course.’</p>
<p>‘Yes. But I take no notice. I let him go
on.’</p>
<p>‘Really, this is sad!’ said the young man.
‘I must work harder than ever, or you will never be able to
own me.’</p>
<p>‘O yes, in good time!’ she cheeringly replied.</p>
<p>‘I shall be very glad to have you always near me.
I felt the gloom of our position keenly when I was obliged to
disappear that night, without assuring you it was only I who
stood there. Why were you so frightened at those old
clothes I borrowed?’</p>
<p>‘Don’t ask,—don’t ask!’ she
said, burying her face on his shoulder. ‘I
don’t want to speak of that. There was something so
ghastly and so uncanny in your putting on such garments that I
wish you had been more thoughtful, and had left them
alone.’</p>
<p>He assured her that he did not stop to consider whose they
were. ‘By the way, they must be sent back,’ he
said.</p>
<p>‘No; I never wish to see them again! I cannot help
feeling that your putting them on was ominous.’</p>
<p>‘Nothing is ominous in serene philosophy,’ he
said, kissing her. ‘Things are either causes, or they
are not causes. When can you see me again?’</p>
<p>In such wise the hour passed away. The evening was
typical of others which followed it at irregular intervals
through the winter. And during the intenser months of the
season frequent falls of snow lengthened, even more than other
difficulties had done, the periods of isolation between the
pair. Swithin adhered with all the more strictness to the
letter of his promise not to intrude into the house, from his
sense of her powerlessness to compel him to keep out should he
choose to rebel. A student of the greatest forces in
nature, he had, like many others of his sort, no personal force
to speak of in a social point of view, mainly because he took no
interest in human ranks and formulas; and hence he was as docile
as a child in her hands wherever matters of that kind were
concerned.</p>
<p>Her brother wintered at Welland; but whether because his
experience of tropic climes had unfitted him for the brumal
rigours of Britain, or for some other reason, he seldom showed
himself out of doors, and Swithin caught but passing glimpses of
him. Now and then Viviette’s impulsive affection
would overcome her sense of risk, and she would press Swithin to
call on her at all costs. This he would by no means
do. It was obvious to his more logical mind that the
secrecy to which they had bound themselves must be kept in its
fulness, or might as well be abandoned altogether.</p>
<p>He was now sadly exercised on the subject of his uncle’s
will. There had as yet been no pressing reasons for a full
and candid reply to the solicitor who had communicated with him,
owing to the fact that the payments were not to begin till
Swithin was one-and-twenty; but time was going on, and something
definite would have to be done soon. To own to his marriage
and consequent disqualification for the bequest was easy in
itself; but it involved telling at least one man what both
Viviette and himself had great reluctance in telling
anybody. Moreover he wished Viviette to know nothing of his
loss in making her his wife. All he could think of doing
for the present was to write a postponing letter to his
uncle’s lawyer, and wait events.</p>
<p>The one comfort of this dreary winter-time was his perception
of a returning ability to work with the regularity and much of
the spirit of earlier days.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p>
<p>One bright night in April there was an eclipse of the moon,
and Mr. Torkingham, by arrangement, brought to the observatory
several labouring men and boys, to whom he had promised a sight
of the phenomenon through the telescope. The coming
confirmation, fixed for May, was again talked of; and St. Cleeve
learnt from the parson that the Bishop had arranged to stay the
night at the vicarage, and was to be invited to a grand luncheon
at Welland House immediately after the ordinance.</p>
<p>This seemed like a going back into life again as regarded the
mistress of that house; and St. Cleeve was a little surprised
that, in his communications with Viviette, she had mentioned no
such probability. The next day he walked round the mansion,
wondering how in its present state any entertainment could be
given therein.</p>
<p>He found that the shutters had been opened, which had restored
an unexpected liveliness to the aspect of the windows. Two
men were putting a chimney-pot on one of the chimney-stacks, and
two more were scraping green mould from the front wall. He
made no inquiries on that occasion. Three days later he
strolled thitherward again. Now a great cleaning of
window-panes was going on, Hezzy Biles and Sammy Blore being the
operators, for which purpose their services must have been
borrowed from the neighbouring farmer. Hezzy dashed water
at the glass with a force that threatened to break it in, the
broad face of Sammy being discernible inside, smiling at the
onset. In addition to these, Anthony Green and another were
weeding the gravel walks, and putting fresh plants into the
flower-beds. Neither of these reasonable operations was a
great undertaking, singly looked at; but the life Viviette had
latterly led and the mood in which she had hitherto regarded the
premises, rendered it somewhat significant. Swithin,
however, was rather curious than concerned at the proceedings,
and returned to his tower with feelings of interest not entirely
confined to the worlds overhead.</p>
<p>Lady Constantine may or may not have seen him from the house;
but the same evening, which was fine and dry, while he was
occupying himself in the observatory with cleaning the eye-pieces
of the equatorial, skull-cap on head, observing-jacket on, and in
other ways primed for sweeping, the customary stealthy step on
the winding staircase brought her form in due course into the
rays of the bull’s-eye lantern. The meeting was all
the more pleasant to him from being unexpected, and he at once
lit up a larger lamp in honour of the occasion.</p>
<p>‘It is but a hasty visit,’ she said when, after
putting up her mouth to be kissed, she had seated herself in the
low chair used for observations, panting a little with the labour
of ascent. ‘But I hope to be able to come more freely
soon. My brother is still living on with me. Yes, he
is going to stay until the confirmation is over. After the
confirmation he will certainly leave. So good it is of you,
dear, to please me by agreeing to the ceremony. The Bishop,
you know, is going to lunch with us. It is a wonder he has
promised to come, for he is a man averse to society, and mostly
keeps entirely with the clergy on these confirmation tours, or
circuits, or whatever they call them. But Mr.
Torkingham’s house is so very small, and mine is so close
at hand, that this arrangement to relieve him of the fuss of one
meal, at least, naturally suggested itself; and the Bishop has
fallen in with it very readily. How are you getting on with
your observations? Have you not wanted me dreadfully, to
write down notes?’</p>
<p>‘Well, I have been obliged to do without you, whether or
no. See here,—how much I have done.’ And
he showed her a book ruled in columns, headed
‘Object,’ ‘Right Ascension,’
‘Declination,’ ‘Features,’
‘Remarks,’ and so on.</p>
<p>She looked over this and other things, but her mind speedily
winged its way back to the confirmation. ‘It is so
new to me,’ she said, ‘to have persons coming to the
house, that I feel rather anxious. I hope the luncheon will
be a success.’</p>
<p>‘You know the Bishop?’ said Swithin.</p>
<p>‘I have not seen him for many years. I knew him
when I was quite a girl, and he held the little living of
Puddle-sub-Mixen, near us; but after that time, and ever since I
have lived here, I have seen nothing of him. There has been
no confirmation in this village, they say, for twenty
years. The other bishop used to make the young men and
women go to Warborne; he wouldn’t take the trouble to come
to such an out-of-the-way parish as ours.’</p>
<p>‘This cleaning and preparation that I observe going on
must be rather a tax upon you?’</p>
<p>‘My brother Louis sees to it, and, what is more, bears
the expense.’</p>
<p>‘Your brother?’ said Swithin, with surprise.</p>
<p>‘Well, he insisted on doing so,’ she replied, in a
hesitating, despondent tone. ‘He has been active in
the whole matter, and was the first to suggest the
invitation. I should not have thought of it.’</p>
<p>‘Well, I will hold aloof till it is all over.’</p>
<p>‘Thanks, dearest, for your considerateness. I wish
it was not still advisable! But I shall see you on the day,
and watch my own philosopher all through the service from the
corner of my pew! . . . I hope you are well prepared for
the rite, Swithin?’ she added, turning tenderly to
him. ‘It would perhaps be advisable for you to give
up this astronomy till the confirmation is over, in order to
devote your attention exclusively to that more serious
matter.’</p>
<p>‘More serious! Well, I will do the best I
can. I am sorry to see that you are less interested in
astronomy than you used to be, Viviette.’</p>
<p>‘No; it is only that these preparations for the Bishop
unsettle my mind from study. Now put on your other coat and
hat, and come with me a little way.’</p>
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