Chapter 18

"The best-laid schemes o' mice and men Gang aft ajee."

After a few days, Charlton verified what Constance had said about his not being very fast at Fort Hamilton, by coming again to see them one morning. Fleda asked him if he could not get another furlough to go with her home, but he declared he was just spending one which was near out; and he could not hope for a third in some time; he must be back at his post by the day after to-morrow.

"When do you want to go, coz?"

"I would to-morrow, if I had anybody to go with me," said Fleda, sighing.

"No, you wouldn't," said Constance; "you are well enough to go out now, and you forget we are all to make Mrs. Thorn happy to-morrow night."

"I am not," said Fleda.

"Not? you can't help yourself — you must; you said you would."

"I did not, indeed."

"Well, then, I said it for you, and that will do just as well. Why, my dear, if you don't — just think! — the Thorns will be in a state — I should prefer to go through a hedge of any description rather than meet the trying demonstrations which will encounter me on every side."

"I am going to Mrs. Decatur's," said Fleda; "she invited me first, and I owe it to her; she has asked me so often and so kindly."

"I shouldn't think you'd enjoy yourself there," said Florence; "they don't talk a bit of English these nights. If I was going, my dear, I would act as your interpreter, but my destiny lies in another direction."

"If I cannot make anybody understand my French, I will get somebody to condescend to my English," said Fleda.

"Why, do you talk French?" was the instant question from both mouths.

"Unless she has forgotten herself strangely," said Charlton. "Talk! she will talk to anybody's satisfaction — that happens to differ from her; and I think her tongue cares very little which language it wags in. There is no danger about Fleda's enjoying herself, where people are talking."

Fleda laughed at him, and the Evelyns rather stared at them both.

"But we are all going to Mrs. Thorn's? you can't go alone?"

"I will make Charlton take me," said Fleda; "or rather I will take him, if he will let me. Will you, Charlton? will you take care of me to Mrs. Decatur's to-morrow night?"

"With the greatest pleasure, my dear coz; but I have another engagement in the course of the evening."

"Oh, that is nothing," said Fleda; "if you will only go with me, that is all I care for. You needn't stay but ten minutes. And you can call for me," she added, turning to the Evelyns, "as you come back from Mrs. Thorn's."

To this no objection could be made, and the ensuing raillery Fleda bore with steadiness at least, if not with coolness; for Charlton heard it, and she was distressed.

She went to Mrs. Decatur's the next evening in greater elation of spirits than she had known since she left her uncle's; delighted to be missing from the party at Mrs. Thorn's, and hoping that Mr. Lewis would be satisfied with this very plain hint of her mind. A little pleased, too, to feel quite free, alone from too friendly eyes, and ears that had too lively a concern in her sayings and doings. She did not in the least care about going to Mrs. Decatur's; her joy was that she was not at the other place. But there never was elation so outwardly quiet. Nobody would have suspected its existence.

The evening was near half over when Mr. Carleton came in. Fleda had half hoped he would be there, and now immediately hoped she might have a chance to see him alone, and to thank him for his flowers; she had not been able to do that yet. He presently came up to speak to her, just as Charlton, who had found attraction enough to keep him so long, came to tell her he was going.

"You are looking better," said the former, as gravely as ever, but with an eye of serious interest that made the words something.

"I am better," said Fleda, gratefully.

"So much better that she is in a hurry to make herself worse," said her cousin. "Mr. Carleton, you are a professor of medicine, I believe. I have an indistinct impression of your having once prescribed a ride on horseback for somebody; wouldn't you recommend some measure of prudence to her consideration?"

"In general," Mr. Carleton answered, gravely; "but in the present case I could not venture upon any special prescription, Captain Rossitur."

"As, for instance, that she should remain in New York till she is fit to leave it. By the way, what brought you here again in such a hurry, Fleda? I haven't heard that yet."

The question was rather sudden. Fleda was a little taken by surprise. Her face showed some pain and confusion both. Mr. Carleton prevented her answer, she could not tell whether with design.

"What imprudence do you charge your cousin with, Captain Rossitur?"

"Why, she is in a great hurry to get back to Queechy, before she is able to go anywhere — begging me to find an escort for her. It is lucky I can't. I didn't know I ever should be glad to be 'posted up' in this fashion, but I am."

"You have not sought very far, Captain Rossitur," said the voice of Thorn behind him. "Here is one that will be very happy to attend Miss Fleda, whenever she pleases."

Fleda's shocked start and change of countenance was seen by more eyes than one pair. Thorn's fell, and a shade crossed his countenance, too, for an instant, that Fleda's vision was too dazzled to see. Mr. Carleton moved away.

"Why are _you_ going to Queechy?" said Charlton, astonished.

His friend was silent a moment, perhaps for want of power to speak. Fleda dared not look at him.

"It is not impossible — unless this lady forbid me. I am not a fixture."

"But what brought you here, man, to offer your services?" said Charlton; "most ungallantly leaving so many pairs of bright eyes to shine upon your absence."

"Mr. Thorn will not find himself in darkness here, Captain Rossitur," said Mrs. Decatur.

"It's my opinion he ought, Ma'am," said Charlton.

"It is my opinion every man ought, who makes his dependance on gleams of sunshine," said Mr. Thorn, rather cynically. "I cannot say I was thinking of brightness, before or behind me."

"I should think not," said Charlton; "you don't look as if you had seen any in a good while."

"A light goes out every now and then," said Thorn; "and it takes one's eyes some time to get accustomed to it. What a singular world we live in, Mrs. Decatur!"

"That is so new an idea," said the lady, laughing, "that I must request an explanation."

"What new experience of its singularity has your wisdom made?" said his friend. "I thought you and the world knew each other's faces pretty well before."

"Then you have not heard the news?"

"What news?"

"Hum — I suppose it is not about, yet," said Thorn, composedly. "No — you haven't heard it."

"But what, man?" said Charlton; "let's hear your news, for I must be off."

"Why — but it is no more than rumour yet — but it is said that strange things are coming to light about a name that used to be held in very high respect."

"In this city?"

"In this city? — yes; it is said proceedings are afoot against one of our oldest citizens, on charge of a very grave offence."

"Who — and what offence? what do you mean?"

"Is it a secret, Mr. Thorn?" said Mrs. Decatur.

"If you have not heard, perhaps it is as well not to mention names too soon; if it comes out, it will be all over directly; possibly the family may hush it up, and, in that case, the less said the better; but those have it in hand that will not let it slip through their fingers."

Mrs. Decatur turned away, saying, "How shocking such things were!" and Thorn, with a smile which did not, however, light up his face, said —

"You may be off, Charlton, with no concern for the bright eyes you leave behind you; I will endeavour to atone for my negligence elsewhere, by my mindfulness of them."

"Don't excuse you," said Charlton; but his eye catching at the moment another attraction opposite in the form of man or woman, instead of quitting the room, he leisurely crossed it to speak to the new-comer; and Thorn, with an entire change of look and manner, pressed forward, and offered his arm to Fleda, who was looking perfectly white. If his words had needed any commentary, it was given by his eye as it met hers, in speaking the last sentence to Mrs. Decatur. No one was near whom she knew, and Mr. Thorn led her out to a little back room where the gentlemen had thrown off their cloaks, where the air was fresher, and placing her on a seat, stood waiting before her till she could speak to him.

"What do you mean, Mr. Thorn?" Fleda looked as much as said, when she could meet his face.

"I may rather ask you what _you_ mean, Miss Fleda," he answered, gravely.

Fleda drew breath painfully.

"I mean nothing," she said, lowering her head again; "I have done nothing."

"Did you think I meant nothing when I agreed to do all you wished?"

"I thought you said you would do it freely," she said, with a tone of voice that might have touched anybody, there was such a sinking of heart in it.

"Didn't you understand me?"

"And is it all over now?" said Fleda, after a pause.

"Not yet; but it soon may be. A weak hand may stop it now — it will soon be beyond the power of the strongest."

"And what becomes of your promise that it should no more be heard of?" said Fleda, looking up at him with a colourless face, but eyes that put the question forcibly, nevertheless.

"Is any promise bound to stand without its conditions?"

"I made no conditions," said Fleda, quickly.

"Forgive me! but did you not permit me to understand them?"

"No! or if I did, I could not help it."

"Did you say that you wished to help it?" said he, gently.

"I must say so now, then, Mr. Thorn," said Fleda, withdrawing the hand he had taken; "I did not mean or wish you to think so, but I was too ill to speak — almost to know what I did. It was not my fault."

"You do not make it mine, that I chose such a time, selfishly, I grant, to draw from your lips the words that are more to me than life?"

"Cannot you be generous ?" _for once_, she was very near saying.

"Where you are concerned, I do not know how."

Fleda was silent a moment, and then bowed her face in her hands.

"May I not ask that question of you?" said he, bending down and endeavouring to remove them; "will you not say — or look — that word that will make others happy beside me?"

"I cannot, Sir."

"Not for their sakes?" he said, calmly.

"Can you ask me to do for theirs, what I would not for my own?"

"Yes — for mine," he said, with a meaning deliberateness.

Fleda was silent, with a face of white determination.

"It will be beyond _eluding_, as beyond recal, the second time. I may seem selfish — I am selfish — but, dear Miss Ringgan, you do not see all — you, who make me so, can make me anything else with a touch of your hand — it is selfishness that would be bound to your happiness, if you did but entrust it to me."

Fleda neither spoke nor looked at him, and rose up from her chair.

"Is this _your_ generosity?" he said, pointedly, though gently.

"That is not the question now, Sir," said Fleda, who was trembling painfully. "I cannot do evil that good may come."

"But _evil?_" said he, detaining her — "what evil do I ask of you? to _remove_ evil, I do."

Fleda clasped her hands, but answered calmly —

"I cannot make any pretences, Sir; I cannot promise to give what is not in my power."

"In whose power, then?" said he, quickly.

A feeling of indignation came to Fleda's aid, and she turned away. But he stopped her still.

"Do you think I do not understand?" he said, with a covert sneer, that had the keenness, and hardness, and the brightness of steel.

"_I_ do not, Sir," said Fleda.

"Do you think I do not know whom you came here to meet?"

Fleda's glance of reproach was a most innocent one, but it did not check him.

"Has that fellow renewed his old admiration of you?" he went on, in the same tone.

"Do not make me desire his old protection," said Fleda, her gentle face roused to a flush of displeasure.

"Protection!" said Charlton, coming in, "who wants protection? here it is — protection from what? my old friend Lewis? what the deuce does this lady want of protection, Mr. Thorn?"

It was plain enough that Fleda wanted it, from the way she was drooping upon his arm.

"You may ask the lady herself," said Thorn, in the same tone he had before used; — "I have not the honour to be her spokesman."

"She don't need one," said Charlton; "I addressed myself to you — speak for yourself, man."

"I am not sure that it would be her pleasure I should," said Thorn. "Shall I tell this gentleman, Miss Ringgan, who needs protection, and from what?"

Fleda raised her head, and, putting her hand on his arm, looked a concentration of entreaty — lips were sealed.

"Will you give me," said he, gently taking the hand in his own, "your sign-manual for Captain Rossitur's security? It is not too late. Ask it of her, Sir."

"What does this mean?" said Charlton, looking from his cousin to his friend.

"You shall have the pleasure of knowing, Sir, just so soon as I find it convenient."

"I will have a few words with you on this subject, my fine fellow," said Captain Rossitur, as the other was preparing to leave the room.

"You had better speak to somebody else," said Thorn. "But I am ready."

Charlton muttered an imprecation upon his absurdity, and turned his attention to Fleda, who needed it, and yet desired anything else. For a moment she had an excuse for not answering his questions in her inability; and then, opportunely, Mrs. Decatur came in to look after her; and she was followed by her daughter. Fleda roused all her powers to conceal and command her feelings; rallied herself; said she had been a little weak and faint; drank water, and declared herself able to go back into the drawing-room. To go home would have been her utmost desire, but at the instant her energies were all bent to the one point of putting back thought, and keeping off suspicion. And in the first hurry and bewilderment of distress, the dread of finding herself alone with Charlton, till she had had time to collect her thoughts, would of itself have been enough to prevent her accepting the proposal.

She entered the drawing-room again on Mrs. Decatur's arm, and had stood a few minutes talking or listening, with that same concentration of all her faculties upon the effort to bear up outwardly, when Charlton came up to ask if he should leave her. Fleda made no objection, and he was out of her sight, far enough to be beyond reach or recal, when it suddenly struck her that she ought not to have let him go without speaking to him — without entreating him to see her in the morning before he saw Thorn. The sickness of this new apprehension was too much for poor Fleda's power of keeping up. She quietly drew her arm from Mrs. Decatur's, saying that she would sit down; and sought out a place for herself, apart from the rest, by an engraving-stand, where for a little while, not to seem unoccupied, she turned over print after print, that she did not see. Even that effort failed at last; and she sat gazing at one of Sir Thomas Lawrence's bright-faced children, and feeling as if in herself the tides of life were setting back upon their fountain preparatory to being still for ever. She became sensible that some one was standing beside the engravings, and looked up at Mr. Carleton.

"Are. you ill?" he said, very gently and tenderly.

The answer was a quick motion of Fleda's hand to her head, speaking sudden pain, and perhaps sudden difficulty of self- command. She did not speak.

"Will you have anything?"

A whispered "No."

"Would you like to return to Mrs. Evelyn's? — I have a carriage here."

With a look of relief that seemed to welcome him as her good angel, Fleda instantly rose up, and took the arm he offered her. She would have hastened from the room then, but he gently checked her pace; and Fleda was immediately grateful for the quiet and perfect shielding from observation that his manner secured her. He went with her up the stairs, and to the very door of the dressing-room. There Fleda hurried on her shoes and mufflers in trembling fear that some one might come and find her, gained Mr. Carleton's arm again, and was placed in the carriage.

The drive was in perfect silence, and Fleda's agony deepened and strengthened with every minute. She had freedom to think, and thought did but carry a torch into chamber after chamber of misery. There seemed nothing to be done. She could not get hold of Charlton; and if she could? — Nothing could be less amenable than his passions to her gentle restraints. Mr. Thorn was still less approachable or manageable, except in one way — that she did not even think of. His insinuations about Mr. Carleton did not leave even a tinge of embarrassment upon her mind; they were cast from her as insulting absurdities, which she could not think of a second time without shame.

The carriage rolled on with them a long time without a word being said. Mr. Carleton knew that she was not weeping nor faint. But as the light of the lamps was now and then cast within the carriage, he saw that her face looked ghastly; and he saw too, that its expression was not of a quiet sinking under sorrow, nor of an endeavour to bear up against it, but a wild searching gaze into the darkness of _possibilities_. They had near reached Mrs. Evelyn's.

"I cannot see you so," he said, gently touching the hand which lay listlessly beside him. "You are ill!"

Again the same motion of the other hand to her face, the quick token of great pain suddenly stirred.

"For the sake of old times, let me ask," said he — "can nothing be done?"

Those very gentle and delicate tones of sympathy and kindness were too much to bear. The hand was snatched away to be pressed to her face. O that those old times were back again, and she a child that could ask his protection! — no one to give it now.

He was silent a moment. Fleda's head bowed beneath the mental pressure.

"Has Dr. Gregory returned?"

The negative answer was followed by a half-uttered exclamation of longing — checked midway, but sufficiently expressive of her want.

"Do you trust me?" he said, after another second of pausing.

"Perfectly!" said Fleda, amidst her tears, too much excited to know what she was saying, and in her simplicity half forgetting that she was not a child still; — "more than any one in the world!"

The few words he had spoken, and the manner of them, had curiously borne her back years in a minute; she seemed to be under his care more than for the drive home. He did not speak again for a minute; when he did, his tone was very quiet, and lower than before.

"Give me what a friend can have in charge to do for you, and it shall be done."

Fleda raised her head, and looked out of the window, in a silence of doubt. The carriage stopped at Mrs. Evelyn's.

"Not now," said Mr. Carleton, as the servant was about to open the door — "drive round the square — till I speak to you."

Fleda was motionless and almost breathless with uncertainty. If Charlton could be hindered from meeting Mr. Thorn — but how could Mr. Carleton effect it? But there was that in him or in his manner, which invariably created confidence in his ability, or fear of it, even in strangers; and how much more in her who had a childish but very clear recollection of several points in his character which confirmed the feeling. And might not something be done, through his means, to facilitate her uncle's escape? of whom she seemed to herself now the betrayer. But to tell him the story! — a person of his high nice notions of character — what a distance it would put even between his friendship and her — but that thought was banished instantly, with one glance at Mr. Thorn's imputation of ungenerousness. To sacrifice herself to _him_ would not have been generosity — to lower herself in the esteem of a different character, she felt, called for it. There was time even then, too, for one swift thought of the needlessness and bitter fruits of wrong-doing. But here they were — should she make them known, and trouble Mr. Carleton, friend though he were, with these miserable matters in which he had no concern? She sat with a beating heart and a very troubled brow, but a brow as easy to read as a child's. It was the trouble of anxious questioning. Mr. Carleton watched it for a little while — undecided as ever, and more pained.

"You said you trusted me," he said quietly, taking her hand again.

"But — I don't know what you could do, Mr. Carleton," Fleda said, with a trembling voice.

"Will you let me be the judge of that?"

"I cannot bear to trouble you with these miserable things —"

"You cannot," said he, with that same quiet tone, "but by thinking and saying so. I can have no greater pleasure than to take pains for you."

Fleda heard these words precisely, and with the same simplicity as a child would have heard them, and answered with a very frank burst of tears — soon, as soon as possible, according to her custom, driven back, though even in the act of quieting herself, they broke forth again as uncontrollably as at first. But Mr. Carleton had not long to wait. She raised her head again after a short struggle, with the wonted look of patience sitting upon her brow, and wiping away her tears, paused merely for breath and voice. He was perfectly silent.

"Mr. Carleton, I will tell you," she began; "I hardly know whether I ought or ought not" — and her hand went to her forehead for a moment — "but I cannot think to-night — and I have not a friend to apply to" —

She hesitated; and then went on, with a voice that trembled and quavered sadly.

"Mr. Thorn has a secret — of my uncle's — in his power — which he promised — without conditions — to keep faithfully; and now insists that he will not — but upon conditions" —

"And cannot the conditions be met?"

"No — and, oh, I may as well tell you at once!" said Fleda in bitter sorrow; "it is a crime that he committed" —

"Mr. Thorn?"

"No — O no!" said Fleda, weeping bitterly, "not he" —

Her agitation was excessive for a moment; then she threw it off, and spoke more collectedly, though with exceeding depression of manner.

"It was long ago — when he was in trouble — he put Mr. Thorn's name to a note, and never was able to take it up; and nothing was ever heard about it till lately; and last week he was going to leave the country, and Mr. Thorn promised that the proceedings should be entirely given up; and that was why I came to town, to find uncle Rolf, and bring him home; and I did, and he is gone; and now Mr. Thorn says, it is all going on again, and that he will not escape this time; and I have done it!" —

Fleda writhed again in distress.

"Thorn promised without conditions?"

"Certainly — he promised freely — and now he insists upon them; and you see uncle Rolf would have been safe out of the country now, if it hadn't been for me" —

"I think I can undo this snarl," said Mr. Carleton, calmly.

"But that is not all," said Fleda, a little quieted; "Charlton came in this evening when we were talking, and he was surprised to find me so, and Mr. Thorn was in a very ill humour, and some words passed between them, and Charlton threatened to see him again; and oh, if he does!" said poor Fleda — "that will finish our difficulties! — for Charlton is very hot, and I know how it will end — how it must end" —

"Where is your cousin to be found?"

"I don't know where he lodges when he is in town."

"You did not leave him at Mrs. Decatur's. Do you know where he is this evening?"

"Yes!" said Fleda, wondering that she should have heard and remembered; "he said he was going to meet a party of his brother officers at Mme. Fouché's — a sister-in-law of his Colonel, I believe."

"I know her. This note — was it the name of the young Mr. Thorn, or of his father that was used?"

"Of his father."

"Has _he_ appeared at all in this business?"

"No," said Fleda, feeling for the first time that there was something notable about it.

"What sort of person do you take him to be?"

"Very kind — very pleasant, always, he has been to me, and I should think to everybody — very unlike the son."

Mr. Carleton had ordered the coachman back to Mrs. Evelyn's.

"Do you know the amount of the note? It may be desirable that I should not appear uninformed."

"It was for four thousand dollars," Fleda said, in the low voice of shame.

"And when given?"

"I don't know exactly — but six years ago — some time in the winter of '43, it must have been."

He said no more till the carriage stopped; and then, before handing her out of it, lifted her hand to his lips. That carried all the promise Fleda wanted, from him. How oddly — how curiously, her hand kept the feeling of that kiss upon it all night!