Elfride arose and turned away without letting him see her face.
Once in the hall she ran upstairs and into her room,and flung herself down upon her bed,weeping bitterly.
Where is Elfride?said her father at luncheon.
Knight listened anxiously for the answer.He had been hoping to see her again before this time.
She isnt well,sir,was the reply.
Mrs.Swancourt rose and left the room,going upstairs to Elfrides apartment.
At the door was Unity,who occupied in the new establishment a position between young ladys maid and middle-housemaid.
She is sound asleep,maam,Unity whispered.
Mrs.Swancourt opened the door.Elfride was lying full-dressed on the bed,her face hot and red,her arms thrown abroad.At intervals of a minute she tossed restlessly from side to side,and indistinctly moaned words used in the game of chess.
Mrs.Swancourt had a turn for doctoring,and felt her pulse.It was twanging like a harp-string,at the rate of nearly a hundred and fifty a minute.Softly moving the sleeping girl to a little less cramped position,she went downstairs again.
She is asleep now,said Mrs.Swancourt.She does not seem very well.Cousin Knight,what were you thinking of?her tender brain wont bear cudgelling like your great head.You should have strictly forbidden her to play again.
In truth,the essayists experience of the nature of young women was far less extensive than his abstract knowledge of them led himself and others to believe.He could pack them into sentences like a workman,but practically was nowhere.
I am indeed sorry,said Knight,feeling even more than he expressed.But surely,the young lady knows best what is good for her!
Bless you,thats just what she doesnt know.She never thinks of such things,does she,Christopher?Her father and I have to command her and keep her in order,as you would a child.She will say things worthy of a French epigrammatist,and act like a robin in a greenhouse.But I think we will send for Dr.Granson--there can be no harm.
A man was straightway despatched on horseback to Castle Boterel,and the gentleman known as Dr.Granson came in the course of the afternoon.He pronounced her nervous system to be in a decided state of disorder;forwarded some soothing draught,and gave orders that on no account whatever was she to play chess again.
The next morning Knight,much vexed with himself,waited with a curiously compounded feeling for her entry to breakfast.The women servants came in to prayers at irregular intervals,and as each entered,he could not,to save his life,avoid turning his head with the hope that she might be Elfride.Mr.Swancourt began reading without waiting for her.Then somebody glided in noiselessly;Knight softly glanced up:it was only the little kitchen-maid.Knight thought reading prayers a bore.
He went out alone,and for almost the first time failed to recognize that holding converse with Natures charms was not solitude.On nearing the house again he perceived his young friend crossing a slope by a path which ran into the one he was following in the angle of the field.Here they met.Elfride was at once exultant and abashed:coming into his presence had upon her the effect of entering a cathedral.
Knight had his note-book in his hand,and had,in fact,been in the very act of writing therein when they came in view of each other.He left off in the midst of a sentence,and proceeded to inquire warmly concerning her state of health.She said she was perfectly well,and indeed had never looked better.Her health was as inconsequent as her actions.Her lips were red,WITHOUT
the polish that cherries have,and their redness margined with the white skin in a clearly defined line,which had nothing of jagged confusion in it.Altogether she stood as the last person in the world to be knocked over by a game of chess,because too ephemeral-looking to play one.
Are you taking notes?she inquired with an alacrity plainly arising less from interest in the subject than from a wish to divert his thoughts from herself.
Yes;I was ****** an entry.And with your permission I will complete it.Knight then stood still and wrote.Elfride remained beside him a moment,and afterwards walked on.
I should like to see all the secrets that are in that book,she gaily flung back to him over her shoulder.
I dont think you would find much to interest you.
I know I should.
Then of course I have no more to say.
But I would ask this question first.Is it a book of mere facts concerning journeys and expenditure,and so on,or a book of thoughts?
Well,to tell the truth,it is not exactly either.It consists for the most part of jottings for articles and essays,disjointed and disconnected,of no possible interest to anybody but myself.
It contains,I suppose,your developed thoughts in embryo?
Yes.
If they are interesting when enlarged to the size of an article,what must they be in their concentrated form?Pure rectified spirit,above proof;before it is lowered to be fit for human consumption:"words that burn"indeed.
Rather like a balloon before it is inflated:flabby,shapeless,dead.You could hardly read them.
May I try?she said coaxingly.I wrote my poor romance in that way--I mean in bits,out of doors--and I should like to see whether your way of entering things is the same as mine.
Really,thats rather an awkward request.I suppose I can hardly refuse now you have asked so directly;but----
You think me ill-mannered in asking.But does not this justify me--your writing in my presence,Mr.Knight?If I had lighted upon your book by chance,it would have been different;but you stand before me,and say,"Excuse me,"without caring whether I do or not,and write on,and then tell me they are not private facts but public ideas.
Very well,Miss Swancourt.If you really must see,the consequences be upon your own head.Remember,my advice to you is to leave my book alone.
But with that caution I have your permission?
Yes.
