CHAPTER X. OLD MAIDS.

seemedtofindwondrouscontentinthestitchingofJew-basketpin-cushionsandtheknittingofmissionary-basketsocks. Shewasveryquiet,andRobertpaidherlittleattention,scarcelyeveraddressinghisdiscoursetoherbutMr.Helstone,notbeingoneofthoseelderlygentlemenwhoareeasilyblinded—onthecontrary,findinghimselfonalloccasionsextremelywide-awake—hadwatchedthemwhentheybadeeachothergood-night.Hehadjustseentheireyesmeetonce—onlyonce.Somenatureswouldhavetakenpleasureintheglancethensurprised,becausetherewasnoharmandsomedelightinit.Itwasbynomeansaglanceofmutualintelligence,formutuallovesecretsexistednotbetweenthem.Therewasnothingthenofcraftandconcealmenttooffend:onlyMr.Moore'seyes,lookingintoCaroline's,felttheywereclearandgentleandCaroline'seyes,encounteringMr.Moore's,confessedtheyweremanlyandsearching.Eachacknowledgedthecharminhisorherownway.Mooresmiledslightly,andCarolinecolouredasslightly.Mr.Helstonecould,onthespot,haveratedthemboth.Theyannoyedhim.Why?Impossibletosay.IfyouhadaskedhimwhatMooremeritedatthatmoment,hewouldhavesaida"horsewhip"ifyouhadinquiredintoCaroline'sdeserts,hewouldhaveadjudgedheraboxontheearifyouhadfurtherdemandedthereasonofsuchchastisements,hewouldhavestormedagainstflirtationandlove-making,andvowedhewouldhavenosuchfollygoingonunderhisroof. Theseprivateconsiderations,combinedwithpoliticalreasons,fixedhisresolutionofseparatingthecousins.HeannouncedhiswilltoCarolineoneeveningasshewassittingatworknearthedrawing-roomwindow.Herfacewasturnedtowardshim,andthelightfellfulluponit.Ithadstruckhimafewminutesbeforethatshewaslookingpalerandquieterthansheusedtolook.IthadnotescapedhimeitherthatRobertMoore'snamehadnever,forsomethreeweekspast,droppedfromherlipsnorduringthesamespaceoftimehadthatpersonagemadehisappearanceattherectory.Somesuspicionofclandestinemeetingshauntedhismind.Havingbutanindifferentopinionofwomen,healwayssuspectedthem.Hethoughttheyneededconstantwatching.ItwasinatonedrylysignificanthedesiredhertoceaseherdailyvisitstotheHollow.Heexpectedastart,alookofdepreciation.Thestarthesaw,butitwasaveryslightonenolookwhateverwasdirectedtohim. "Doyouhearme?"heasked. "Yes,uncle." "OfcourseyoumeantoattendtowhatIsay?" "Yes,certainly." "Andtheremustbenoletter-scribblingtoyourcousinHortense—nointercoursewhatever.Idonotapproveoftheprinciplesofthefamily.TheyareJacobinical." "Verywell,"saidCarolinequietly.Sheacquiescedthen.Therewasnovexedflushingoftheface,nogatheringtearstheshadowythoughtfulnesswhichhadcoveredherfeaturesereMr.Helstonespokeremainedundisturbedshewasobedient. Yes,perfectlybecausethemandatecoincidedwithherownpreviousjudgmentbecauseitwasnowbecomepaintohertogotoHollow'sCottagenothingmethertherebutdisappointment.Hopeandlovehadquittedthatlittletenement,forRobertseemedtohavedeserteditsprecincts.Wheneversheaskedafterhim—whichsheveryseldomdid,sincethemereutteranceofhisnamemadeherfacegrowhot—theanswerwas,hewasfromhome,orhewasquitetakenupwithbusiness.Hortensefearedhewaskillinghimselfbyapplication.Hescarcelyevertookamealinthehousehelivedinthecounting-house. AtchurchonlyCarolinehadthechanceofseeinghim,andtheresherarelylookedathim.Itwasbothtoomuchpainandtoomuchpleasuretolook—itexcitedtoomuchemotionandthatitwasallwastedemotionshehadlearnedwelltocomprehend. Once,onadark,wetSunday,whentherewerefewpeopleatchurch,andwhenespeciallycertainladieswereabsent,ofwhoseobservantfacultiesandtomahawktonguesCarolinestoodinawe,shehadallowedhereyetoseekRobert'spew,andtorestawhileonitsoccupant.Hewastherealone.Hortensehadbeenkeptathomebyprudentconsiderationsrelativetotherainandanewspringchapeau.Duringthesermonhesatwithfoldedarmsandeyescastdown,lookingverysadandabstracted.Whendepressed,theveryhueofhisfaceseemedmoreduskthanwhenhesmiled,andto-daycheekandforeheadworetheirmosttintlessandsoberolive.ByinstinctCarolineknew,assheexaminedthatcloudedcountenance,thathisthoughtswererunninginnofamiliarorkindlychannelthattheywerefaraway,notmerelyfromher,butfromallwhichshecouldcomprehend,orinwhichshecouldsympathize.Nothingthattheyhadevertalkedoftogetherwasnowinhismind:hewaswraptfromherbyinterestsandresponsibilitiesinwhichitwasdeemedsuchasshecouldhavenopart. Carolinemeditatedinherownwayonthesubjectspeculatedonhisfeelings,onhislife,onhisfears,onhisfatemusedoverthemysteryof"business,"triedtocomprehendmoreaboutitthanhadeverbeentoldher—tounderstanditsperplexities,liabilities,duties,exactionsendeavouredtorealizethestateofmindofa"manofbusiness,"toenterintoit,feelwhathewouldfeel,aspiretowhathewouldaspire.Herearnestwishwastoseethingsastheywere,andnottoberomantic.Bydintofeffortshecontrivedtogetaglimpseofthelightoftruthhereandthere,andhopedthatscantraymightsufficetoguideher. "Different,indeed,"sheconcluded,"isRobert'smentalconditiontomine.Ithinkonlyofhimhehasnoroom,noleisure,tothinkofme.Thefeelingcalledloveisandhasbeenfortwoyearsthepredominantemotionofmyheart—alwaysthere,alwaysawake,alwaysastir.Quiteotherfeelingsabsorbhisreflectionsandgovernhisfaculties.Heisrisingnow,goingtoleavethechurch,forserviceisover.Willheturnhisheadtowardsthispew?No,notonce.Hehasnotonelookforme.Thatishard.Akindglancewouldhavemademehappytillto-morrow.Ihavenotgotithewouldnotgiveitheisgone.Strangethatgriefshouldnowalmostchokeme,becauseanotherhumanbeing'seyehasfailedtogreetmine." ThatSundayevening,Mr.Malonecoming,asusual,topassitwithhisrector,Carolinewithdrewafterteatoherchamber.Fanny,knowingherhabits,hadlitheracheerfullittlefire,astheweatherwassogustyandchill.Closetedthere,silentandsolitary,whatcouldshedobutthink?Shenoiselesslypacedtoandfrothecarpetedfloor,herheaddrooped,herhandsfolded.Itwasirksometositthecurrentofreflectionranrapidlythroughhermindto-nightshewasmutelyexcited. Mutewastheroom,mutethehouse.Thedoubledoorofthestudymuffledthevoicesofthegentlemen.Theservantswerequietinthekitchen,engagedwithbookstheiryoungmistresshadlentthem—bookswhichshehadtoldthemwere"fitforSundayreading."Andsheherselfhadanotherofthesamesortopenonthetable,butshecouldnotreadit.Itstheologywasincomprehensibletoher,andherownmindwastoobusy,teeming,wandering,tolistentothelanguageofanothermind. Then,too,herimaginationwasfullofpictures—imagesofMoore,sceneswhereheandshehadbeentogetherwinterfiresidesketchesaglowinglandscapeofahotsummerafternoonpassedwithhiminthebosomofNunnelyWooddivinevignettesofmildspringormellowautumnmoments,whenshehadsatathissideinHollow'sCopse,listeningtothecalloftheMaycuckoo,orsharingtheSeptembertreasureofnutsandripeblackberries—awilddessertwhichitwashermorning'spleasuretocollectinalittlebasket,andcoverwithgreenleavesandfreshblossoms,andherafternoon'sdelighttoadministertoMoore,berrybyberry,andnutbynut,likeabirdfeed