English
Theheathadbeenpainfullyoppressiveallday,anditwasnowacloseandsultrynight.
Mymotherandsisterhadspokensomanylastwords,andhadbeggedmetowaitanotherfiveminutessomanytimes,thatitwasnearlymidnightwhentheservantlockedthegarden-gatebehindme.
IwalkedforwardafewpacesontheshortestwaybacktoLondon,thenstoppedandhesitated.
Themoonwasfullandbroadinthedarkbluestarlesssky,andthebrokengroundoftheheathlookedwildenoughinthemysteriouslighttobehundredsofmilesawayfromthegreatcitythatlaybeneathit.
TheideaofdescendinganysoonerthanIcouldhelpintotheheatandgloomofLondonrepelledme.
Theprospectofgoingtobedinmyairlesschambers,andtheprospectofgradualsuffocation,seemed,inmypresentrestlessframeofmindandbody,tobeoneandthesamething.
IdeterminedtostrollhomeinthepurerairbythemostroundaboutwayIcouldtake;tofollowthewhitewindingpathsacrossthelonelyheath;andtoapproachLondonthroughitsmostopensuburbbystrikingintotheFinchleyRoad,andsogettingback,inthecoolofthenewmorning,bythewesternsideoftheRegent’sPark.
Iwoundmywaydownslowlyovertheheath,enjoyingthedivinestillnessofthescene,andadmiringthesoftalternationsoflightandshadeastheyfollowedeachotheroverthebrokengroundoneverysideofme.
SolongasIwasproceedingthroughthisfirstandprettiestpartofmynightwalkmymindremainedpassivelyopentotheimpressionsproducedbytheview;andIthoughtbutlittleonanysubject—indeed,sofarasmyownsensationswereconcerned,IcanhardlysaythatIthoughtatall.
ButwhenIhadlefttheheathandhadturnedintotheby-road,wheretherewaslesstosee,theideasnaturallyengenderedbytheapproachingchangeinmyhabitsandoccupationsgraduallydrewmoreandmoreofmyattentionexclusivelytothemselves.
BythetimeIhadarrivedattheendoftheroadIhadbecomecompletelyabsorbedinmyownfancifulvisionsofLimmeridgeHouse,ofMr.Fairlie,andofthetwoladieswhosepracticeintheartofwater-colourpaintingIwassosoontosuperintend.
Ihadnowarrivedatthatparticularpointofmywalkwherefourroadsmet—theroadtoHampstead,alongwhichIhadreturned,theroadtoFinchley,theroadtoWestEnd,andtheroadbacktoLondon.
Ihadmechanicallyturnedinthislatterdirection,andwasstrollingalongthelonelyhigh-road—idlywondering,Iremember,whattheCumberlandyoungladieswouldlooklike—when,inonemoment,everydropofbloodinmybodywasbroughttoastopbythetouchofahandlaidlightlyandsuddenlyonmyshoulderfrombehindme.
Iturnedontheinstant,withmyfingerstighteningroundthehandleofmystick.
There,inthemiddleofthebroadbrighthigh-road—there,asifithadthatmomentsprungoutoftheearthordroppedfromtheheaven—stoodthefigureofasolitaryWoman,dressedfromheadtofootinwhitegarments,herfacebentingraveinquiryonmine,herhandpointingtothedarkcloudoverLondon,asIfacedher.
Iwasfartooseriouslystartledbythesuddennesswithwhichthisextraordinaryapparitionstoodbeforeme,inthedeadofnightandinthatlonelyplace,toaskwhatshewanted.Thestrangewomanspokefirst.
“IsthattheroadtoLondon?”shesaid.
Ilookedattentivelyather,assheputthatsingularquestiontome.Itwasthennearlyoneo’clock.
AllIcoulddiscerndistinctlybythemoonlightwasacolourless,youthfulface,meagreandsharptolookataboutthecheeksandchin;large,grave,wistfullyattentiveeyes;nervous,uncertainlips;andlighthairofapale,brownish-yellowhue.
Therewasnothingwild,nothingimmodestinhermanner:itwasquietandself-controlled,alittlemelancholyandalittletouchedbysuspicion;notexactlythemannerofalady,and,atthesametime,notthemannerofawomaninthehumblestrankoflife.
Thevoice,littleasIhadyetheardofit,hadsomethingcuriouslystillandmechanicalinitstones,andtheutterancewasremarkablyrapid.
Sheheldasmallbaginherhand:andherdress—bonnet,shawl,andgownallofwhite—was,sofarasIcouldguess,certainlynotcomposedofverydelicateorveryexpensivematerials.
Herfigurewasslight,andratherabovetheaverageheight—hergaitandactionsfreefromtheslightestapproachtoextravagance.
ThiswasallthatIcouldobserveofherinthedimlightandundertheperplexinglystrangecircumstancesofourmeeting.
Whatsortofawomanshewas,andhowshecametobeoutaloneinthehigh-road,anhouraftermidnight,Ialtogetherfailedtoguess.
TheonethingofwhichIfeltcertainwas,thatthegrossestofmankindcouldnothavemisconstruedhermotiveinspeaking,evenatthatsuspiciouslylatehourandinthatsuspiciouslylonelyplace.
“Didyouhearme?”shesaid,stillquietlyandrapidly,andwithouttheleastfretfulnessorimpatience.“IaskedifthatwasthewaytoLondon.”
“Yes,”Ireplied,“thatistheway:itleadstoSt.John’sWoodandtheRegent’sPark.
Youmustexcusemynotansweringyoubefore.
Iwasratherstartledbyyoursuddenappearanceintheroad;andIam,evennow,quiteunabletoaccountforit.”
“Youdon’tsuspectmeofdoinganythingwrong,doyou?havedonenothingwrong.Ihavemetwithanaccident—Iamveryunfortunateinbeingherealonesolate.Whydoyoususpectmeofdoingwrong?”
Shespokewithunnecessaryearnestnessandagitation,andshrankbackfrommeseveralpaces.Ididmybesttoreassureher.
“Praydon’tsupposethatIhaveanyideaofsuspectingyou,”Isaid,“oranyotherwishthantobeofassistancetoyou,ifIcan.
Ionlywonderedatyourappearanceintheroad,becauseitseemedtometobeemptytheinstantbeforeIsawyou.”
Sheturned,andpointedbacktoaplaceatthejunctionoftheroadtoLondonandtheroadtoHampstead,wheretherewasagapinthehedge.
“Iheardyoucoming,”shesaid,“andhidtheretoseewhatsortofmanyouwere,beforeIriskedspeaking.
Idoubtedandfearedaboutittillyoupassed;andthenIwasobligedtostealafteryou,andtouchyou.”
Stealaftermeandtouchme?Whynotcalltome?Strange,tosaytheleastofit.
“MayItrustyou?”sheasked.“Youdon’tthinktheworseofmebecauseIhavemetwithanaccident?”Shestoppedinconfusion;shiftedherbagfromonehandtotheother;andsighedbitterly.
Thelonelinessandhelplessnessofthewomantouchedme.
Thenaturalimpulsetoassistherandtosparehergotthebetterofthejudgment,thecaution,theworldlytact,whichanolder,wiser,andcoldermanmighthavesummonedtohelphiminthisstrangeemergency.
“Youmaytrustmeforanyharmlesspurpose,”Isaid.
“Ifittroublesyoutoexplainyourstrangesituationtome,don’tthinkofreturningtothesubjectagain.
Ihavenorighttoaskyouforanyexplanations.
TellmehowIcanhelpyou;andifIcan,Iwill.”
“Youareverykind,andIamvery,verythankfultohavemetyou.”
ThefirsttouchofwomanlytendernessthatIhadheardfromhertrembledinhervoiceasshesaidthewords;butnotearsglistenedinthoselarge,wistfullyattentiveeyesofhers,whichwerestillfixedonme.
“IhaveonlybeeninLondononcebefore,”shewenton,moreandmorerapidly,“andIknownothingaboutthatsideofit,yonder.
CanIgetafly,oracarriageofanykind?Isittoolate?Idon’tknow.
Ifyoucouldshowmewheretogetafly—andifyouwillonlypromisenottointerferewithme,andtoletmeleaveyou,whenandhowIplease—IhaveafriendinLondonwhowillbegladtoreceiveme—Iwantnothingelse—willyoupromise?”
Shelookedanxiouslyupanddowntheroad;shiftedherbagagainfromonehandtotheother;repeatedthewords,“Willyoupromise?”
andlookedhardinmyface,withapleadingfearandconfusionthatittroubledmetosee.
WhatcouldIdo?Herewasastrangerutterlyandhelplesslyatmymercy—andthatstrangeraforlornwoman.
Nohousewasnear;noonewaspassingwhomIcouldconsult;andnoearthlyrightexistedonmyparttogivemeapowerofcontroloverher,evenifIhadknownhowtoexerciseit.
Itracetheselines,self-distrustfully,withtheshadowsofafter-eventsdarkeningtheverypaperIwriteon;andstillIsay,whatcouldIdo?
WhatIdiddo,wastotryandgaintimebyquestioningher.“AreyousurethatyourfriendinLondonwillreceiveyouatsuchalatehourasthis?”Isaid.
“Quitesure.OnlysayyouwillletmeleaveyouwhenandhowIplease—onlysayyouwon’tinterferewithme.Willyoupromise?”
Assherepeatedthewordsforthethirdtime,shecameclosetomeandlaidherhand,withasuddengentlestealthiness,onmybosom—athinhand;acoldhand(whenIremoveditwithmine)evenonthatsultrynight.
RememberthatIwasyoung;rememberthatthehandwhichtouchedmewasawoman’s.
“Willyoupromise?”
“Yes.”
Oneword!Thelittlefamiliarwordthatisoneverybody’slips,everyhourintheday.Ohme!andItremble,now,whenIwriteit.
WesetourfacestowardsLondon,andwalkedontogetherinthefirststillhourofthenewday—I,andthiswoman,whosename,whosecharacter,whosestory,whoseobjectsinlife,whoseverypresencebymyside,atthatmoment,werefathomlessmysteriestome.Itwaslikeadream.WasIWalterHartright?
Wasthisthewell-known,uneventfulroad,whereholidaypeoplestrolledonSundays?
HadIreallyleft,littlemorethananhoursince,thequiet,decent,conventionallydomesticatmosphereofmymother’scottage?
Iwastoobewildered—tooconsciousalsoofavaguesenseofsomethinglikeself-reproach—tospeaktomystrangecompanionforsomeminutes.
Itwashervoiceagainthatfirstbrokethesilencebetweenus.
“Iwanttoaskyousomething,”shesaidsuddenly.“DoyouknowmanypeopleinLondon?”
“Yes,agreatmany.”
“Manymenofrankandtitle?”Therewasanunmistakabletoneofsuspicioninthestrangequestion.Ihesitatedaboutansweringit.
“Some,”Isaid,afteramoment’ssilence.
“Many”—shecametoafullstop,andlookedmesearchinglyintheface—“manymenoftherankofBaronet?”
Toomuchastonishedtoreply,Iquestionedherinmyturn.
“Whydoyouask?”
“BecauseIhope,formyownsake,thereisoneBaronetthatyoudon’tknow.”
“Willyoutellmehisname?”
“Ican’t—Idaren’t—IforgetmyselfwhenImentionit.”
Shespokeloudlyandalmostfiercely,raisedherclenchedhandintheair,andshookitpassionately;then,onasudden,controlledherselfagain,andadded,intonesloweredtoawhisper“TellmewhichofthemYOUknow.”
Icouldhardlyrefusetohumourherinsuchatrifle,andImentionedthreenames.
Two,thenamesoffathersoffamilieswhosedaughtersItaught;one,thenameofabachelorwhohadoncetakenmeacruiseinhisyacht,tomakesketchesforhim.
“Ah!youDON’Tknowhim,”shesaid,withasighofrelief.“Areyouamanofrankandtitleyourself?”
“Farfromit.Iamonlyadrawing-master.”
Asthereplypassedmylips—alittlebitterly,perhaps—shetookmyarmwiththeabruptnesswhichcharacterisedallheractions.
“Notamanofrankandtitle,”sherepeatedtoherself.“ThankGod!ImaytrustHIM.”
Ihadhithertocontrivedtomastermycuriosityoutofconsiderationformycompanion;butitgotthebetterofmenow.
“Iamafraidyouhaveseriousreasontocomplainofsomemanofrankandtitle?”Isaid.
“Iamafraidthebaronet,whosenameyouareunwillingtomentiontome,hasdoneyousomegrievouswrong?
Ishethecauseofyourbeingouthereatthisstrangetimeofnight?”
“Don’taskme:don’tmakemetalkofit,”sheanswered.“I’mnotfitnow.
Ihavebeencruellyusedandcruellywronged.
Youwillbekinderthanever,ifyouwillwalkonfast,andnotspeaktome.
Isadlywanttoquietmyself,ifIcan.”
Wemovedforwardagainataquickpace;andforhalfanhour,atleast,notawordpassedoneitherside.
Fromtimetotime,beingforbiddentomakeanymoreinquiries,Istolealookatherface.
Itwasalwaysthesame;thelipscloseshut,thebrowfrowning,theeyeslookingstraightforward,eagerlyandyetabsently.
Wehadreachedthefirsthouses,andwerecloseonthenewWesleyancollege,beforehersetfeaturesrelaxedandshespokeoncemore.
“DoyouliveinLondon?”shesaid.
“Yes.”AsIanswered,itstruckmethatshemighthaveformedsomeintentionofappealingtomeforassistanceoradvice,andthatIoughttospareherapossibledisappointmentbywarningherofmyapproachingabsencefromhome.
SoIadded,“Butto-morrowIshallbeawayfromLondonforsometime.Iamgoingintothecountry.”
“Where?”sheasked.“Northorsouth?”
“North—toCumberland.”
“Cumberland!”sherepeatedthewordtenderly.“Ah!wishIwasgoingtheretoo.IwasoncehappyinCumberland.”
Itriedagaintolifttheveilthathungbetweenthiswomanandme.
“Perhapsyouwereborn,”Isaid,“inthebeautifulLakecountry.”
“No,”sheanswered.“IwasborninHampshire;butIoncewenttoschoolforalittlewhileinCumberland.Lakes?Idon’trememberanylakes.
It’sLimmeridgevillage,andLimmeridgeHouse,Ishouldliketoseeagain.”
Itwasmyturnnowtostopsuddenly.Intheexcitedstateofmycuriosity,atthatmoment,thechancereferencetoMr.Fairlie’splaceofresidence,onthelipsofmystrangecompanion,staggeredmewithastonishment.
“Didyouhearanybodycallingafterus?”sheasked,lookingupanddowntheroadaffrightedly,theinstantIstopped.
“No,no.IwasonlystruckbythenameofLimmeridgeHouse.IhearditmentionedbysomeCumberlandpeopleafewdayssince.”
“Ah!notmypeople.
Mrs.Fairlieisdead;andherhusbandisdead;andtheirlittlegirlmaybemarriedandgoneawaybythistime.
Ican’tsaywholivesatLimmeridgenow.
Ifanymoreareleftthereofthatname,IonlyknowIlovethemforMrs.Fairlie’ssake.”
Sheseemedabouttosaymore;butwhileshewasspeaking,wecamewithinviewoftheturnpike,atthetopoftheAvenueRoad.
Herhandtightenedroundmyarm,andshelookedanxiouslyatthegatebeforeus.
“Istheturnpikemanlookingout?”sheasked.
Hewasnotlookingout;nooneelsewasneartheplacewhenwepassedthroughthegate.Thesightofthegas-lampsandhousesseemedtoagitateher,andtomakeherimpatient.
“ThisisLondon,”shesaid.“DoyouseeanycarriageIcanget?Iamtiredandfrightened.Iwanttoshutmyselfinandbedrivenaway.”
Iexplainedtoherthatwemustwalkalittlefurthertogettoacab-stand,unlesswewerefortunateenoughtomeetwithanemptyvehicle;andthentriedtoresumethesubjectofCumberland.Itwasuseless.
Thatideaofshuttingherselfin,andbeingdrivenaway,hadnowgotfullpossessionofhermind.
Shecouldthinkandtalkofnothingelse.
WehadhardlyproceededathirdofthewaydowntheAvenueRoadwhenIsawacabdrawupatahouseafewdoorsbelowus,ontheoppositesideoftheway.
Agentlemangotoutandlethimselfinatthegardendoor.
Ihailedthecab,asthedrivermountedtheboxagain.
Whenwecrossedtheroad,mycompanion’simpatienceincreasedtosuchanextentthatshealmostforcedmetorun.
“It’ssolate,”shesaid.“Iamonlyinahurrybecauseit’ssolate.”
“Ican’ttakeyou,sir,ifyou’renotgoingtowardsTottenhamCourtRoad,”saidthedrivercivilly,whenIopenedthecabdoor.“Myhorseisdeadbeat,andIcan’tgethimnofurtherthanthestable.”
“Yes,yes.Thatwilldoforme.I’mgoingthatway—I’mgoingthatway.”Shespokewithbreathlesseagerness,andpressedbymeintothecab.
IhadassuredmyselfthatthemanwassoberaswellascivilbeforeIletherenterthevehicle.
Andnow,whenshewasseatedinside,Ientreatedhertoletmeseehersetdownsafelyatherdestination.
“No,no,no,”shesaidvehemently.“I’mquitesafe,andquitehappynow.Ifyouareagentleman,rememberyourpromise.LethimdriveontillIstophim.Thankyou—oh!thankyou,thankyou!”
Myhandwasonthecabdoor.Shecaughtitinhers,kissedit,andpusheditaway.
Thecabdroveoffatthesamemoment—Istartedintotheroad,withsomevagueideaofstoppingitagain,Ihardlyknewwhy—hesitatedfromdreadoffrighteninganddistressingher—called,atlast,butnotloudlyenoughtoattractthedriver’sattention.
Thesoundofthewheelsgrewfainterinthedistance—thecabmeltedintotheblackshadowsontheroad—thewomaninwhitewasgone.
Tenminutesormorehadpassed.Iwasstillonthesamesideoftheway;nowmechanicallywalkingforwardafewpaces;nowstoppingagainabsently.
AtonemomentIfoundmyselfdoubtingtherealityofmyownadventure;atanotherIwasperplexedanddistressedbyanuneasysenseofhavingdonewrong,whichyetleftmeconfusedlyignorantofhowIcouldhavedoneright.
IhardlyknewwhereIwasgoing,orwhatImeanttodonext;Iwasconsciousofnothingbuttheconfusionofmyownthoughts,whenIwasabruptlyrecalledtomyself—awakened,Imightalmostsay—bythesoundofrapidlyapproachingwheelsclosebehindme.
Iwasonthedarksideoftheroad,inthethickshadowofsomegardentrees,whenIstoppedtolookround.
Ontheoppositeandlightersideoftheway,ashortdistancebelowme,apolicemanwasstrollingalonginthedirectionoftheRegent’sPark.
Thecarriagepassedme—anopenchaisedrivenbytwomen.
“Stop!”criedone.“There’sapoliceman.Let’saskhim.”
Thehorsewasinstantlypulledup,afewyardsbeyondthedarkplacewhereIstood.
“Policeman!”criedthefirstspeaker.“Haveyouseenawomanpassthisway?”
“Whatsortofwoman,sir?”
“Awomaninalavender-colouredgown——”
“No,no,”interposedthesecondman.“Theclotheswegaveherwerefoundonherbed.Shemusthavegoneawayintheclothessheworewhenshecametous.Inwhite,policeman.Awomaninwhite.”
“Ihaven’tseenher,sir.”
“Ifyouoranyofyourmenmeetwiththewoman,stopher,andsendherincarefulkeepingtothataddress.I’llpayallexpenses,andafairrewardintothebargain.”
Thepolicemanlookedatthecardthatwashandeddowntohim.
“Whyarewetostopher,sir?Whathasshedone?”
“Done!ShehasescapedfrommyAsylum.Don’tforget;awomaninwhite.Driveon.”
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