CHAPTER 29 - I VISIT STEERFORTH AT HIS HOME, AGAIN

I mentioned to Mr. Spenlow in the morning, that I wanted leave of

absence for a short time; and as I was not in the receipt of any

salary, and consequently was not obnoxious to the implacable

Jorkins, there was no difficulty about it. I took that

opportunity, with my voice sticking in my throat, and my sight

failing as I uttered the words, to express my hope that Miss

Spenlow was quite well; to which Mr. Spenlow replied, with no more

emotion than if he had been speaking of an ordinary human being,

that he was much obliged to me, and she was very well.

We articled clerks, as germs of the patrician order of proctors,

were treated with so much consideration, that I was almost my own

master at all times. As I did not care, however, to get to

Highgate before one or two o'clock in the day, and as we had

another little excommunication case in court that morning, which

was called The office of the judge promoted by Tipkins against

Bullock for his soul's correction, I passed an hour or two in

attendance on it with Mr. Spenlow very agreeably. It arose out of

a scuffle between two churchwardens, one of whom was alleged to

have pushed the other against a pump; the handle of which pump

projecting into a school-house, which school-house was under a

gable of the church-roof, made the push an ecclesiastical offence.

It was an amusing case; and sent me up to Highgate, on the box of

the stage-coach, thinking about the Commons, and what Mr. Spenlow

had said about touching the Commons and bringing down the country.

Mrs. Steerforth was pleased to see me, and so was Rosa Dartle. I

was agreeably surprised to find that Littimer was not there, and

that we were attended by a modest little parlour-maid, with blue

ribbons in her cap, whose eye it was much more pleasant, and much

less disconcerting, to catch by accident, than the eye of that

respectable man. But what I particularly observed, before I had

been half-an-hour in the house, was the close and attentive watch

Miss Dartle kept upon me; and the lurking manner in which she

seemed to compare my face with Steerforth's, and Steerforth's with

mine, and to lie in wait for something to come out between the two.

So surely as I looked towards her, did I see that eager visage,

with its gaunt black eyes and searching brow, intent on mine; or

passing suddenly from mine to Steerforth's; or comprehending both

of us at once. In this lynx-like scrutiny she was so far from

faltering when she saw I observed it, that at such a time she only

fixed her piercing look upon me with a more intent expression

still. Blameless as I was, and knew that I was, in reference to

any wrong she could possibly suspect me of, I shrunk before her

strange eyes, quite unable to endure their hungry lustre.

All day, she seemed to pervade the whole house. If I talked to

Steerforth in his room, I heard her dress rustle in the little

gallery outside. When he and I engaged in some of our old

exercises on the lawn behind the house, I saw her face pass from

window to window, like a wandering light, until it fixed itself in

one, and watched us. When we all four went out walking in the

afternoon, she closed her thin hand on my arm like a spring, to

keep me back, while Steerforth and his mother went on out of

hearing: and then spoke to me.

'You have been a long time,' she said, 'without coming here. Is

your profession really so engaging and interesting as to absorb

your whole attention? I ask because I always want to be informed,

when I am ignorant. Is it really, though?'

I replied that I liked it well enough, but that I certainly could

not claim so much for it.

'Oh! I am glad to know that, because I always like to be put right

when I am wrong,' said Rosa Dartle. 'You mean it is a little dry,

perhaps?'

'Well,' I replied; 'perhaps it was a little dry.'

'Oh! and that's a reason why you want relief and change -

excitement and all that?' said she. 'Ah! very true! But isn't it

a little - Eh? - for him; I don't mean you?'

A quick glance of her eye towards the spot where Steerforth was

walking, with his mother leaning on his arm, showed me whom she

meant; but beyond that, I was quite lost. And I looked so, I have

no doubt.

'Don't it - I don't say that it does, mind I want to know - don't

it rather engross him? Don't it make him, perhaps, a little more

remiss than usual in his visits to his blindly-doting - eh?' With

another quick glance at them, and such a glance at me as seemed to

look into my innermost thoughts.

'Miss Dartle,' I returned, 'pray do not think -'

'I don't!' she said. 'Oh dear me, don't suppose that I think

anything! I am not suspicious. I only ask a question. I don't

state any opinion. I want to found an opinion on what you tell me.

Then, it's not so? Well! I am very glad to know it.'

'It certainly is not the fact,' said I, perplexed, 'that I am

accountable for Steerforth's having been away from home longer than

usual - if he has been: which I really don't know at this moment,

unless I understand it from you. I have not seen him this long

while, until last night.'

'No?'

'Indeed, Miss Dartle, no!'

As she looked full at me, I saw her face grow sharper and paler,

and the marks of the old wound lengthen out until it cut through

the disfigured lip, and deep into the nether lip, and slanted down

the face. There was something positively awful to me in this, and

in the brightness of her eyes, as she said, looking fixedly at me:

'What is he doing?'

I repeated the words, more to myself than her, being so amazed.

'What is he doing?' she said, with an eagerness that seemed enough

to consume her like a fire. 'In what is that man assisting him,

who never looks at me without an inscrutable falsehood in his eyes?

If you are honourable and faithful, I don't ask you to betray your

friend. I ask you only to tell me, is it anger, is it hatred, is

it pride, is it restlessness, is it some wild fancy, is it love,

what is it, that is leading him?'

'Miss Dartle,' I returned, 'how shall I tell you, so that you will

believe me, that I know of nothing in Steerforth different from

what there was when I first came here? I can think of nothing. I

firmly believe there is nothing. I hardly understand even what you

mean.'

As she still stood looking fixedly at me, a twitching or throbbing,

from which I could not dissociate the idea of pain, came into that

cruel mark; and lifted up the corner of her lip as if with scorn,

or with a pity that despised its object. She put her hand upon it

hurriedly - a hand so thin and delicate, that when I had seen her

hold it up before the fire to shade her face, I had compared it in

my thoughts to fine porcelain - and saying, in a quick, fierce,

passionate way, 'I swear you to secrecy about this!' said not a

word more.

Mrs. Steerforth was particularly happy in her son's society, and

Steerforth was, on this occasion, particularly attentive and

respectful to her. It was very interesting to me to see them

together, not only on account of their mutual affection, but

because of the strong personal resemblance between them, and the

manner in which what was haughty or impetuous in him was softened

by age and sex, in her, to a gracious dignity. I thought, more

than once, that it was well no serious cause of division had ever

come between them; or two such natures - I ought rather to express

it, two such shades of the same nature - might have been harder to

reconcile than the two extremest opposites in creation. The idea

did not originate in my own discernment, I am bound to confess, but

in a speech of Rosa Dartle's.

She said at dinner:

'Oh, but do tell me, though, somebody, because I have been thinking

about it all day, and I want to know.'

'You want to know what, Rosa?' returned Mrs. Steerforth. 'Pray,

pray, Rosa, do not be mysterious.'

'Mysterious!' she cried. 'Oh! really? Do you consider me so?'

'Do I constantly entreat you,' said Mrs. Steerforth, 'to speak

plainly, in your own natural manner?'

'Oh! then this is not my natural manner?' she rejoined. 'Now you

must really bear with me, because I ask for information. We never

know ourselves.'

'It has become a second nature,' said Mrs. Steerforth, without any

displeasure; 'but I remember, - and so must you, I think, - when

your manner was different, Rosa; when it was not so guarded, and

was more trustful.'

'I am sure you are right,' she returned; 'and so it is that bad

habits grow upon one! Really? Less guarded and more trustful?

How can I, imperceptibly, have changed, I wonder! Well, that's

very odd! I must study to regain my former self.'

'I wish you would,' said Mrs. Steerforth, with a smile.

'Oh! I really will, you know!' she answered. 'I will learn

frankness from - let me see - from James.'

'You cannot learn frankness, Rosa,' said Mrs. Steerforth quickly -

for there was always some effect of sarcasm in what Rosa Dartle

said, though it was said, as this was, in the most unconscious

manner in the world - 'in a better school.'

'That I am sure of,' she answered, with uncommon fervour. 'If I am

sure of anything, of course, you know, I am sure of that.'

Mrs. Steerforth appeared to me to regret having been a little

nettled; for she presently said, in a kind tone:

'Well, my dear Rosa, we have not heard what it is that you want to

be satisfied about?'

'That I want to be satisfied about?' she replied, with provoking

coldness. 'Oh! It was only whether people, who are like each

other in their moral constitution - is that the phrase?'

'It's as good a phrase as another,' said Steerforth.

'Thank you: - whether people, who are like each other in their

moral constitution, are in greater danger than people not so

circumstanced, supposing any serious cause of variance to arise

between them, of being divided angrily and deeply?'

'I should say yes,' said Steerforth.

'Should you?' she retorted. 'Dear me! Supposing then, for

instance - any unlikely thing will do for a supposition - that you

and your mother were to have a serious quarrel.'

'My dear Rosa,' interposed Mrs. Steerforth, laughing

good-naturedly, 'suggest some other supposition! James and I know

our duty to each other better, I pray Heaven!'

'Oh!' said Miss Dartle, nodding her head thoughtfully. 'To be

sure. That would prevent it? Why, of course it would. Exactly.

Now, I am glad I have been so foolish as to put the case, for it is

so very good to know that your duty to each other would prevent it!

Thank you very much.'

One other little circumstance connected with Miss Dartle I must not

omit; for I had reason to remember it thereafter, when all the

irremediable past was rendered plain. During the whole of this

day, but especially from this period of it, Steerforth exerted

himself with his utmost skill, and that was with his utmost ease,

to charm this singular creature into a pleasant and pleased

companion. That he should succeed, was no matter of surprise to

me. That she should struggle against the fascinating influence of

his delightful art - delightful nature I thought it then - did not

surprise me either; for I knew that she was sometimes jaundiced and

perverse. I saw her features and her manner slowly change; I saw

her look at him with growing admiration; I saw her try, more and

more faintly, but always angrily, as if she condemned a weakness in

herself, to resist the captivating power that he possessed; and

finally, I saw her sharp glance soften, and her smile become quite

gentle, and I ceased to be afraid of her as I had really been all

day, and we all sat about the fire, talking and laughing together,

with as little reserve as if we had been children.

Whether it was because we had sat there so long, or because

Steerforth was resolved not to lose the advantage he had gained, I

do not know; but we did not remain in the dining-room more than

five minutes after her departure. 'She is playing her harp,' said

Steerforth, softly, at the drawing-room door, 'and nobody but my

mother has heard her do that, I believe, these three years.' He

said it with a curious smile, which was gone directly; and we went

into the room and found her alone.

'Don't get up,' said Steerforth (which she had already done)' my

dear Rosa, don't! Be kind for once, and sing us an Irish song.'

'What do you care for an Irish song?' she returned.

'Much!' said Steerforth. 'Much more than for any other. Here is

Daisy, too, loves music from his soul. Sing us an Irish song,

Rosa! and let me sit and listen as I used to do.'

He did not touch her, or the chair from which she had risen, but

sat himself near the harp. She stood beside it for some little

while, in a curious way, going through the motion of playing it

with her right hand, but not sounding it. At length she sat down,

and drew it to her with one sudden action, and played and sang.

I don't know what it was, in her touch or voice, that made that

song the most unearthly I have ever heard in my life, or can

imagine. There was something fearful in the reality of it. It was

as if it had never been written, or set to music, but sprung out of

passion within her; which found imperfect utterance in the low

sounds of her voice, and crouched again when all was still. I was

dumb when she leaned beside the harp again, playing it, but not

sounding it, with her right hand.

A minute more, and this had roused me from my trance: - Steerforth

had left his seat, and gone to her, and had put his arm laughingly

about her, and had said, 'Come, Rosa, for the future we will love

each other very much!' And she had struck him, and had thrown him

off with the fury of a wild cat, and had burst out of the room.

'What is the matter with Rosa?' said Mrs. Steerforth, coming in.

'She has been an angel, mother,' returned Steerforth, 'for a little

while; and has run into the opposite extreme, since, by way of

compensation.'

'You should be careful not to irritate her, James. Her temper has

been soured, remember, and ought not to be tried.'

Rosa did not come back; and no other mention was made of her, until

I went with Steerforth into his room to say Good night. Then he

laughed about her, and asked me if I had ever seen such a fierce

little piece of incomprehensibility.

I expressed as much of my astonishment as was then capable of

expression, and asked if he could guess what it was that she had

taken so much amiss, so suddenly.

'Oh, Heaven knows,' said Steerforth. 'Anything you like - or

nothing! I told you she took everything, herself included, to a

grindstone, and sharpened it. She is an edge-tool, and requires

great care in dealing with. She is always dangerous. Good night!'

'Good night!' said I, 'my dear Steerforth! I shall be gone before

you wake in the morning. Good night!'

He was unwilling to let me go; and stood, holding me out, with a

hand on each of my shoulders, as he had done in my own room.

'Daisy,' he said, with a smile - 'for though that's not the name

your godfathers and godmothers gave you, it's the name I like best

to call you by - and I wish, I wish, I wish, you could give it to

me!'

'Why so I can, if I choose,' said I.

'Daisy, if anything should ever separate us, you must think of me

at my best, old boy. Come! Let us make that bargain. Think of me

at my best, if circumstances should ever part us!'

'You have no best to me, Steerforth,' said I, 'and no worst. You

are always equally loved, and cherished in my heart.'

So much compunction for having ever wronged him, even by a

shapeless thought, did I feel within me, that the confession of

having done so was rising to my lips. But for the reluctance I had

to betray the confidence of Agnes, but for my uncertainty how to

approach the subject with no risk of doing so, it would have

reached them before he said, 'God bless you, Daisy, and good

night!' In my doubt, it did NOT reach them; and we shook hands, and

we parted.

I was up with the dull dawn, and, having dressed as quietly as I

could, looked into his room. He was fast asleep; lying, easily,

with his head upon his arm, as I had often seen him lie at school.

The time came in its season, and that was very soon, when I almost

wondered that nothing troubled his repose, as I looked at him. But

he slept - let me think of him so again - as I had often seen him

sleep at school; and thus, in this silent hour, I left him.

- Never more, oh God forgive you, Steerforth! to touch that passive

hand in love and friendship. Never, never more!

Read next: CHAPTER 30 - A LOSS

Read previous: CHAPTER 28 - Mr. MICAWBER'S GAUNTLET

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