________________________________________________
_ Priscilla immediately answered the summons, and made her appearance
through the door of the boudoir. I had conceived the idea, which I
now recognized as a very foolish one, that Zenobia would have taken
measures to debar me from an interview with this girl, between whom
and herself there was so utter an opposition of their dearest
interests, that, on one part or the other, a great grief, if not
likewise a great wrong, seemed a matter of necessity. But, as
Priscilla was only a leaf floating on the dark current of events,
without influencing them by her own choice or plan, as she probably
guessed not whither the stream was bearing her, nor perhaps even felt
its inevitable movement,--there could be no peril of her
communicating to me any intelligence with regard to Zenobia's
purposes.
On perceiving me, she came forward with great quietude of manner; and
when I held out my hand, her own moved slightly towards it, as if
attracted by a feeble degree of magnetism.
"I am glad to see you, my dear Priscilla," said I, still holding her
hand; "but everything that I meet with nowadays makes me wonder
whether I am awake. You, especially, have always seemed like a
figure in a dream, and now more than ever."
"Oh, there is substance in these fingers of mine," she answered,
giving my hand the faintest possible pressure, and then taking away
her own. "Why do you call me a dream? Zenobia is much more like one
than I; she is so very, very beautiful! And, I suppose," added
Priscilla, as if thinking aloud, "everybody sees it, as I do."
But, for my part, it was Priscilla's beauty, not Zenobia's, of which
I was thinking at that moment. She was a person who could be quite
obliterated, so far as beauty went, by anything unsuitable in her
attire; her charm was not positive and material enough to bear up
against a mistaken choice of color, for instance, or fashion. It was
safest, in her case, to attempt no art of dress; for it demanded the
most perfect taste, or else the happiest accident in the world, to
give her precisely the adornment which she needed. She was now
dressed in pure white, set off with some kind of a gauzy fabric,
which--as I bring up her figure in my memory, with a faint gleam on
her shadowy hair, and her dark eyes bent shyly on mine, through all
the vanished years--seems to be floating about her like a mist. I
wondered what Zenobia meant by evolving so much loveliness out of
this poor girl. It was what few women could afford to do; for, as I
looked from one to the other, the sheen and splendor of Zenobia's
presence took nothing from Priscilla's softer spell, if it might not
rather be thought to add to it.
"What do you think of her?" asked Zenobia.
I could not understand the look of melancholy kindness with which
Zenobia regarded her. She advanced a step, and beckoning Priscilla
near her, kissed her cheek; then, with a slight gesture of repulse,
she moved to the other side of the room. I followed.
"She is a wonderful creature," I said. "Ever since she came among us,
I have been dimly sensible of just this charm which you have brought
out. But it was never absolutely visible till now. She is as lovely
as a flower!"
"Well, say so if you like," answered Zenobia. "You are a poet,--at
least, as poets go nowadays,--and must be allowed to make an
opera-glass of your imagination, when you look at women. I wonder,
in such Arcadian freedom of falling in love as we have lately enjoyed,
it never occurred to you to fall in love with Priscilla. In society,
indeed, a genuine American never dreams of stepping across the
inappreciable air-line which separates one class from another. But
what was rank to the colonists of Blithedale?"
"There were other reasons," I replied, "why I should have
demonstrated myself an ass, had I fallen in love with Priscilla. By
the bye, has Hollingsworth ever seen her in this dress?"
"Why do you bring up his name at every turn?" asked Zenobia in an
undertone, and with a malign look which wandered from my face to
Priscilla's. "You know not what you do! It is dangerous, sir,
believe me,
to tamper thus with earnest human passions, out of your own mere
idleness, and for your sport. I will endure it no longer! Take care
that it does not happen again! I warn you!"
"You partly wrong me, if not wholly," I responded. "It is an
uncertain sense of some duty to perform, that brings my thoughts, and
therefore my words, continually to that one point."
"Oh, this stale excuse of duty!" said Zenobia, in a whisper so full
of scorn that it penetrated me like the hiss of a serpent. "I have
often heard it before, from those who sought to interfere with me,
and I know precisely what it signifies. Bigotry; self-conceit; an
insolent curiosity; a meddlesome temper; a cold-blooded criticism,
founded on a shallow interpretation of half-perceptions; a monstrous
scepticism in regard to any conscience or any wisdom, except one's
own; a most irreverent propensity to thrust Providence aside, and
substitute one's self in its awful place,--out of these, and other
motives as miserable as these, comes your idea of duty! But, beware,
sir! With all your fancied acuteness, you step blindfold into these
affairs. For any mischief that may follow your interference, I hold
you responsible!"
It was evident that, with but a little further provocation, the
lioness would turn to bay; if, indeed, such were not her attitude
already. I bowed, and not very well knowing what else to do, was
about to withdraw. But, glancing again towards Priscilla, who had
retreated into a corner, there fell upon my heart an intolerable
burden of despondency, the purport of which I could not tell, but
only felt it to bear reference to her. I approached and held out my
hand; a gesture, however, to which she made no response. It was
always one of her peculiarities that she seemed to shrink from even
the most friendly touch, unless it were Zenobia's or Hollingsworth's.
Zenobia, all this while, stood watching us, but with a careless
expression, as if it mattered very little what might pass.
"Priscilla," I inquired, lowering my voice, "when do you go back to
Blithedale?"
"Whenever they please to take me," said she.
"Did you come away of your own free will?" I asked.
"I am blown about like a leaf," she replied. "I never have any free
will."
"Does Hollingsworth know that you are here?" said I.
"He bade me come," answered Priscilla.
She looked at me, I thought, with an air of surprise, as if the idea
were incomprehensible that she should have taken this step without
his agency.
"What a gripe this man has laid upon her whole being!" muttered I
between my teeth.
"Well, as Zenobia so kindly intimates, I have no more business here.
I wash my hands of it all. On Hollingsworth's head be the
consequences! Priscilla," I added aloud, "I know not that ever we
may meet again. Farewell!"
As I spoke the word, a carriage had rumbled along the street, and
stopt before the house. The doorbell rang, and steps were
immediately afterwards heard on the staircase. Zenobia had thrown a
shawl over her dress.
"Mr. Coverdale," said she, with cool courtesy, "you will perhaps
excuse us. We have an engagement, and are going out."
"Whither?" I demanded.
"Is not that a little more than you are entitled to inquire?" said
she, with a smile. "At all events, it does not suit me to tell you."
The door of the drawing-room opened, and Westervelt appeared. I
observed that he was elaborately dressed, as if for some grand
entertainment. My dislike for this man was infinite. At that moment
it amounted to nothing less than a creeping of the flesh, as when,
feeling about in a dark place, one touches something cold and slimy,
and questions what the secret hatefulness may be. And still I could
not but acknowledge that, for personal beauty, for polish of manner,
for all that externally befits a gentleman, there was hardly another
like him. After bowing to Zenobia, and graciously saluting Priscilla
in her corner, he recognized me by a slight but courteous inclination.
"Come, Priscilla," said Zenobia; "it is time. Mr. Coverdale,
good-evening."
As Priscilla moved slowly forward, I met her in the middle of the
drawing-room.
"Priscilla," said I, in the hearing of them all, "do you know whither
you are going?"
"I do not know," she answered.
"Is it wise to go, and is it your choice to go?" I asked. "If not,
I am your friend, and Hollingsworth's friend. Tell me so, at once."
"Possibly," observed Westervelt, smiling, "Priscilla sees in me an
older friend than either Mr. Coverdale or Mr. Hollingsworth. I shall
willingly leave the matter at her option."
While thus speaking, he made a gesture of kindly invitation, and
Priscilla passed me, with the gliding movement of a sprite, and took
his offered arm. He offered the other to Zenobia; but she turned her
proud and beautiful face upon him with a look which--judging from
what I caught of it in profile--would undoubtedly have smitten the
man dead, had he possessed any heart, or had this glance attained to
it. It seemed to rebound, however, from his courteous visage, like
an arrow from polished steel. They all three descended the stairs;
and when I likewise reached the street door, the carriage was already
rolling away. _
Read next: CHAPTER XXI - AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE
Read previous: CHAPTER XIX - ZENOBIA'S DRAWING-ROOM
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