Chapter 6

TWO IMPORTANT CHARACTERS.

About five years passed away since the events narrated in the last chapter. The General's household had left their London lodgings not long after Guy's visit, and had removed to the family seat at Pomeroy Court, where they had remained ever since. During these years Guy had been living the life common with young officers, moving about from place to place, going sometimes on a visit to his father, and, on the whole, extracting an uncommonly large amount of enjoyment out of life. The memory of his betrothal never troubled him; he fortunately escaped any affair of the heart more serious than an idle flirtation in a garrison town; the odd scene of his visit to General Pomeroy's lodgings soon faded into the remote past; and the projected marriage was banished in his mind to the dim shades of a remote future. As for the two old men, they only met once or twice in all these years. General Pomeroy could not manage very well to leave his daughter, and Lord Chetwynde's health did not allow him to visit Pomeroy. He often urged the General to bring Zillah with him to Chetwynde Castle, but this the young lady positively refused to consent to. Nor did the General himself care particularly about taking her there.

Pomeroy Court was a fine old mansion, with no pretensions to grandeur, but full of that solid comfort which characterizes so many country houses of England. It was irregular in shape, and belonged to different periods; the main building being Elizabethan, from which there projected an addition in that stiff Dutch style which William and Mary introduced. A wide, well-timbered park surrounded it, beyond which lay the village of Pomeroy.

One morning in June, 1856, a man came up the avenue and entered the hall. He was of medium size, with short light hair, low brow, light eyes, and thin face, and he carried a scroll of music in his hand. He entered the hall with the air of an habitue, and proceeded to the south parlor. Here his attention was at once arrested by a figure standing by one of the windows. It was a young girl, slender and graceful in form, dressed in black, with masses of heavy black hair coiled up behind her head. Her back was turned toward him, and he stood in silence for some time looking toward her. At last he spoke:

"Miss Krieff--"

The one called Miss Krieff turned and said, in an indifferent monotone: "Good-morning, Mr. Gualtier."

Turning thus she showed a face which had in it nothing whatever of the English type--a dark olive complexion, almost swarthy, in fact; thick, luxuriant black hair, eyes intensely black and piercingly lustrous, retreating chin, and retreating narrow forehead. In that face, with its intense eyes, there was the possibility of rare charm and fascination, and beauty of a very unusual kind; but at the present moment, as she looked carelessly and almost sullenly at her visitor, there was something repellent.

"Where is Miss Pomeroy?" asked Gualtier.

"About, somewhere," answered Miss Krieff, shortly.

"Will she not play to-day?"

"I think not."

"Why?"

"The usual cause."

"What?"

"Tantrums," said Miss Krieff.

"It is a pity," said Gualtier, dryly, "that she is so irregular in her lessons. She will never advance."

"The idea of her ever pretending to take lessons of any body in any thing is absurd," said Miss Krieff. "Besides, it is as much as a teacher's life is worth. You will certainly leave the house some day with a broken head."

Gualtier smiled, showing a set of large yellow teeth, and his small light eyes twinkled.

"It is nothing for me, but I sometimes think it must be hard for you, Miss Krieff," said he, insinuatingly.

"Hard!" she repeated, and her eyes flashed as she glanced at Gualtier; but in an instant it passed, and she answered in a soft, stealthy voice: "Oh yes, it is hard sometimes; but then dependents have no right to complain of the whims of their superiors and benefactors, you know."

Gualtier said nothing, but seemed to wait further disclosures. After a time Miss Krieff looked up, and surveyed him with her penetrating gaze.

"You must have a great deal to bear, I think," said he at last.

"Have you observed it?" she asked.

"Am I not Miss Pomeroy's tutor? How can I help observing it?" was the reply.

"Have I ever acted as though I was dissatisfied or discontented, or did you ever see any thing in me which would lead you to suppose that I was otherwise than contented?"

"You are generally regarded as a model of good-nature," said Gualtier, in a cautious, noncommittal tone. "Why should I think otherwise? They say that no one but you could live with Miss Pomeroy."

Miss Krieff looked away, and a stealthy smile crept over her features.

"Good-nature!" she murmured. A laugh that sounded almost like a sob escaped her. Silence followed, and Gualtier sat looking abstractedly at his sheet of music.

"How do you like the General?" he asked, abruptly.

"How could I help loving Miss Pomeroy's father?" replied Miss Krieff, with the old stealthy smile reappearing.

"Is he not just and honorable?"

"Both--more too--he is generous and tender. He is above all a fond father; so fond," she added, with something like a sneer, "that all his justice, his tenderness, and his generosity are exerted for the exclusive benefit of that darling child on whom he dotes. I assure you, you can have no idea how touching it is to see them together."

"Do you often feel this tenderness toward them?" asked Gualtier, turning his thin sallow face toward her.

"Always," said Miss Krieff, slowly. She rose from her chair, where she had taken her seat, and looked fixedly at him for some time without one word.

"You appear to be interested in this family," said she at length. Gualtier looked at her for a moment--then his eyes fell.

"How can I be otherwise than interested in one like you?" he murmured.

"The General befriended you. He found you in London, and offered you a large salary to teach his daughter."

"The General was very kind, and is so still."

Miss Krieff paused, and looked at him with keen and vigilant scrutiny.

"Would you be shocked," she asked at length, "if you were to hear that the General had an enemy?"

"That would altogether depend upon who the enemy might be."

"An enemy," continued Miss Krieff, with intense bitterness of tone--"in his own family?"

"That would be strange," said Gualtier; "but I can imagine an enemy with whom I would not be offended."

"What would you think," asked Miss Krieff, after another pause, during which her keen scrutinizing gaze was fixed on Gualtier, "if that enemy had for years been on the watch, and under a thin veil of good-nature had concealed the most vengeful feelings? What would you say if that enemy had grown so malignant that only one desire remained, and that was--to do some injury in some way to General Pomeroy?"

"You must tell me more," said Gualtier, "before I answer. I am fully capable of understanding all that hate may desire or accomplish. But has this enemy of whom you speak _done_ any thing? Has she found out any thing? Has she ever discovered any way in which her hate may be gratified?"

"You seem to take it for granted that his enemy is a woman!"

"Of course."

"Well, then, I will answer you. She _has_ found out something--or, rather, she is in the way toward finding out something--which may yet enable her to gratify her desires."

"Have you any objections to tell what that may be?" asked Gualtier.

Miss Krieff said nothing for some time, during which each looked earnestly at the other.

"No," said she at last.

"What is it?"

"It is something that I have found among the General's papers," said she, in a low voice.

"You have examined the General's papers, then?"

"What I said implied that much, I believe," said Miss Krieff, coolly.

"And what is it?"

"A certain mysterious document."

"Mysterious document?" repeated Gualtier.

"Yes."

"What?"

"It is a writing in cipher."

"And you have made it out?"

"No, I have not."

"Of what use is it, then?"

"I think it may be of some importance, or it would not have been kept where it was, and it would not have been written in cipher."

"What can you do with it?" asked Gualtier, after some silence.

"I do not yet see what I can do with it, but others may."

"What others?"

"I hope to find some friend who may have more skill in cryptography than I have, and may be able to decipher it."

"Can you not decipher it at all?"

"Only in part."

"And what is it that you have found out?"

"I will tell you some other time, perhaps."

"You object to tell me now?"

"Yes."

"When will you tell me?"

"When we are better acquainted."

"Are we not pretty well acquainted now?"

"Not so well as I hope we shall be hereafter."

"I shall wait most patiently, then," said Gualtier, earnestly, "till our increased intimacy shall give me some more of your confidence. But might you not give me some general idea of that which you think you have discovered?"

Miss Krieff hesitated.

"Do not let me force myself into your confidence," said Gualtier.

"No," said Miss Krieff, in that cold, repellent manner which she could so easily assume. "There is no danger of that. But I have no objection to tell you what seems to me to be the general meaning of that which I have deciphered."

"What is it?"

"As far as I can see," said Miss Krieff, "it charges General Pomeroy with atrocious crimes, and implicates him in one in particular, the knowledge of which, if it be really so, can be used against him with terrible--yes, fatal effect. I now can understand very easily why he was so strangely and frantically eager to betroth his child to the son of Lord Chetwynde--why he trampled on all decency, and bound his own daughter, little more than a baby, to a stranger--why he purchased Guy Molyneux, body and soul, for money. All is plain from this. But, after all, it is a puzzle. He makes so high a profession of honor that if his profession were real he would have thought of a betrothal any where except _there_. Oh, if Lord Chetwynde only had the faintest conception of this!"

"But what is it?" cried Gualtier, with eager curiosity, which was stimulated to the utmost by Miss Krieff's words and tones.

"I will tell you some other time," said Miss Krieff, resuming her repellent tone--"not now. If I find you worthy of my confidence, I will give it to you."

"I will try to show myself worthy of it," said Gualtier, and, after a time, took his departure, leaving Miss Krieff to her thoughts.

Now, who was this Miss Krieff? She was an important member of the numerous household which the General had brought with him from India. She had been under his guardianship since her infancy; who she was no one knew but the General himself. Her position was an honorable one, and the General always treated her with a respect and affection that were almost paternal. Thus her life had been passed, first as playmate to Zillah, whom she exceeded in age by about four years, and afterward as companion, friend, almost sister, to the spoiled child and wayward heiress.

Hilda Krieff was a person of no common character. Even in India her nature had exhibited remarkable traits. Child as she then was, her astuteness and self-control were such as might have excited the admiration of Macchiavelli himself. By persistent flattery, by the indulgence of every whim, and, above all, by the most exaggerated protestations of devotion, she had obtained a powerful influence over Zillah's uncontrolled but loving nature; and thus she had gradually made herself so indispensable to her that Zillah could never bear to be separated from one who so humored all her whims, and bore her most ungovernable fits of passion with such unvarying sweetness. Hilda had evidently taken her lesson from the General himself; and thus Zillah was treated with equal servility by her father and her friend.

Personally, there was some general resemblance between the two girls; though in Hilda the sallow hue of ill health was replaced by a clear olive complexion; and her eyes, which she seldom raised, had a somewhat furtive manner at times, which was altogether absent from Zillah's clear frank gaze. Hilda's voice was low and melodious, never even in the abandon of childish play, or in any excitement, had she been known to raise its tones; her step was soft and noiseless, and one had no idea that she was in the room till she was found standing by one's side.

Zillah's maid Sarah described in her own way the characteristics of Hilda Krieff.

"That Injun girl," she said, "always giv her a turn. For her part she preferred Missy, who, though she did kick uncommon, and were awful cantankerous to manage, was always ready to make it up, and say as she had been naughty. For my part," concluded Sarah, "I am free to confess I have often giv Missy a sly shake when she was in one of them tantrums, and I got the chance, and however that girl can be always meek spoken even when she has books a-shied at her head is more than I can tell, and I don't like it neither. I see a look in them eyes of hers sometimes as I don't like."

Thus we see that Hilda's Christian-like forgiveness of injuries met with but little appreciation in some quarters. But this mattered little, since with the General and Zillah she was always in the highest favor.

What had these years that had passed done for Zillah? In personal appearance not very much. The plain sickly child had developed into a tall ungainly girl, whose legs and arms appeared incessantly to present to their owner the insoluble problem--What is to be done with us? Her face was still thin and sallow, although it was redeemed by its magnificent eyes and wealth of lustrous, jet-black hair. As to her hair, to tell the truth, she managed its luxuriant folds in a manner as little ornamental as possible. She would never consent to allow it to be dressed, affirming that it would drive her mad to sit still so long, and it was accordingly tricked up with more regard to expedition than to neatness; and long untidy locks might generally be seen straggling over her shoulders. Nevertheless a mind possessed of lively imagination and great faith might have traced in this girl the possibility of better things.

In mental acquirements she was lamentably deficient. Her mind was a garden gone to waste; the weeds flourished, but the good seed refused to take root. It had been found almost impossible to give her even the rudiments of a good education. Governess after governess had come to Pomeroy Court; governess after governess after a short trial had left, each one telling the same story: Miss Pomeroy's abilities were good, even above the average, but her disinclination to learning was so great--such was the delicately expressed formula in which they made known to the General Zillah's utter idleness and selfishness--that she (the governess) felt that she was unable to do her justice; that possibly the fault lay in her own method of imparting instruction, and that she therefore begged to resign the position of Miss Pomeroy's instructress. Now, as each new teacher had begun a system of her own which she had not had time to develop, it may be easily seen that the little knowledge which Zillah possessed was of the most desultory character. Yet after all she had something in her favor. She had a taste for reading, and this led her to a familiarity with the best authors. More than this, her father had instilled into her mind a chivalrous sense of honor; and from natural instinct, as well as from his teachings, she loved all that was noble and pure. Medieval romance was most congenial to her taste; and of all the heroes who figure there she loved best the pure, the high-souled, the heavenly Sir Galahad. All the heroes of the Arthurian or of the Carlovingian epopee were adored by this wayward but generous girl. She would sit for hours curled up on a window-sill of the library, reading tales of Arthur and the knights of the Round Table, or of Charlemagne and his Paladins. Fairy lore, and whatever else our medieval ancestors have loved, thus became most familiar to her, and all her soul became imbued with these bright and radiant fancies. And through it all she learned the one great lesson which these romances teach--that the grandest and most heroic of all virtues is self-abnegation at the call of honor and loyalty.

The only trouble was, Zillah took too grand a view of this virtue to make it practically useful in daily life. If she had thus taken it to her heart, it might have made her practice it by giving up her will to those around her, and by showing from day to day the beauty of gentleness and courtesy. This, however, she never thought of; or, if it came to her mind, she considered it quite beneath her notice. Hers was simply a grand theory, to carry out which she never dreamed of any sacrifice but one of the grandest character.

The General certainly did all in his power to induce her to learn; and if she did not, it was scarcely his fault. But, while Zillah thus grew up in ignorance, there was one who did profit by the instructions which she had despised, and, in spite of the constant change of teachers which Zillah's impracticable character had rendered necessary, was now, at the age of nineteen, a refined, well-educated, and highly-accomplished young lady. This was Hilda Krieff. General Pomeroy was anxious that she should have every possible advantage, and Zillah was glad enough to have a companion in her studies. The result is easily stated. Zillah was idle, Hilda was studious, and all that the teachers could impart was diligently mastered by her.