Mr. Tulkinghorn arrives in his turret-room a little breathed by thejourney up, though leisurely performed. There is an expression onhis face as if he had discharged his mind of some grave matter andwere, in his close way, satisfied. To say of a man so severely andstrictly self-repressed that he is triumphant would be to do him asgreat an injustice as to suppose him troubled with love orsentiment or any romantic weakness. He is sedately satisfied.
Perhaps there is a rather increased sense of power upon him as heloosely grasps one of his veinous wrists with his other hand andholding it behind his back walks noiselessly up and down.
There is a capacious writing-table in the room on which is a prettylarge accumulation of papers. The green lamp is lighted, hisreading-glasses lie upon the desk, the easy-chair is wheeled up toit, and it would seem as though he had intended to bestow an houror so upon these claims on his attention before going to bed. Buthe happens not to be in a business mind. After a glance at thedocuments awaiting his notice--with his head bent low over thetable, the old man's sight for print or writing being defective atnight--he opens the French window and steps out upon the leads.
There he again walks slowly up and down in the same attitude,subsiding, if a man so cool may have any need to subside, from thestory he has related downstairs.
The time was once when men as knowing as Mr. Tulkinghorn would walkon turret-tops in the starlight and look up into the sky to readtheir fortunes there. Hosts of stars are visible to-night, thoughtheir brilliancy is eclipsed by the splendour of the moon. If hebe seeking his own star as he methodically turns and turns upon theleads, it should be but a pale one to be so rustily representedbelow. If he be tracing out his destiny, that may be written inother characters nearer to his hand.
As he paces the leads with his eyes most probably as high above histhoughts as they are high above the earth, he is suddenly stoppedin passing the window by two eyes that meet his own. The ceilingof his room is rather low; and the upper part of the door, which isopposite the window, is of glass. There is an inner baize door,too, but the night being warm he did not close it when he cameupstairs. These eyes that meet his own are looking in through theglass from the corridor outside. He knows them well. The bloodhas not flushed into his face so suddenly and redly for many a longyear as when he recognizes Lady Dedlock.
He steps into the room, and she comes in too, closing both thedoors behind her. There is a wild disturbance--is it fear oranger?--in her eyes. In her carriage and all else she looks as shelooked downstairs two hours ago.
Is it fear or is it anger now? He cannot be sure. Both might beas pale, both as intent.
"Lady Dedlock?"She does not speak at first, nor even when she has slowly droppedinto the easy-chair by the table. They look at each other, liketwo pictures.
"Why have you told my story to so many persons?""Lady Dedlock, it was necessary for me to inform you that I knewit.""How long have you known it?""I have suspected it a long while--fully known it a little while.""Months?""Days."He stands before her with one hand on a chair-back and the other inhis old-fashioned waistcoat and shirt-frill, exactly as he hasstood before her at any time since her marriage. The same formalpoliteness, the same composed deference that might as well bedefiance; the whole man the same dark, cold object, at the samedistance, which nothing has ever diminished.
"Is this true concerning the poor girl?"He slightly inclines and advances his head as not quiteunderstanding the question.
"You know what you related. Is it true? Do her friends know mystory also? Is it the town-talk yet? Is it chalked upon the wallsand cried in the streets?"So! Anger, and fear, and shame. All three contending. What powerthis woman has to keep these raging passions down! Mr.
Tulkinghorn's thoughts take such form as he looks at her, with hisragged grey eyebrows a hair's breadth more contracted than usualunder her gaze.
"No, Lady Dedlock. That was a hypothetical case, arising out ofSir Leicester's unconsciously carrying the matter with so high ahand. But it would be a real case if they knew--what we know.""Then they do not know it yet?""No.""Can I save the poor girl from injury before they know it?""Really, Lady Dedlock," Mr. Tulkinghorn replies, "I cannot give asatisfactory opinion on that point."And he thinks, with the interest of attentive curiosity, as hewatches the struggle in her breast, "The power and force of thiswoman are astonishing!""Sir," she says, for the moment obliged to set her lips with allthe energy she has, that she may speak distinctly, "I will make itplainer. I do not dispute your hypothetical case. I anticipatedit, and felt its truth as strongly as you can do, when I saw Mr.
Rouncewell here. I knew very well that if he could have had thepower of seeing me as I was, he would consider the poor girltarnished by having for a moment been, although most innocently,the subject of my great and distinguished patronage. But I have aninterest in her, or I should rather say--no longer belonging tothis place--I had, and if you can find so much consideration forthe woman under your foot as to remember that, she will be verysensible of your mercy."Mr. Tulkinghorn, profoundly attentive, throws this off with a shrugof self-depreciation and contracts his eyebrows a little more.
"You have prepared me for my exposure, and I thank you for thattoo. Is there anything that you require of me? Is there any claimthat I can release or any charge or trouble that I can spare myhusband in obtaining HIS release by certifying to the exactness ofyour discovery? I will write anything, here and now, that you willdictate. I am ready to do it."And she would do it, thinks the lawver, watchful of the firm handwith which she takes the pen!
"I will not trouble you, Lady Dedlock. Pray spare yourself.""I have long expected this, as you know. I neither wish to sparemyself nor to be spared. You can do nothing worse to me than youhave done. Do what remains now.""Lady Dedlock, there is nothing to be done. I will take leave tosay a few words when you have finished."Their need for watching one another should be over now, but they doit all this time, and the stars watch them both through the openedwindow. Away in the moonlight lie the woodland fields at rest, andthe wide house is as quiet as the narrow one. The narrow one!
Where are the digger and the spade, this peaceful night, destinedto add the last great secret to the many secrets of the Tulkinghornexistence? Is the man born yet, is the spade wrought yet? Curiousquestions to consider, more curious perhaps not to consider, underthe watching stars upon a summer night.
"Of repentance or remorse or any feeling of mine," Lady Dedlockpresently proceeds, "I say not a word. If I were not dumb, youwould be deaf. Let that go by. It is not for your ears."He makes a feint of offering a protest, but she sweeps it away withher disdainful hand.
"Of other and very different things I come to speak to you. Myjewels are all in their proper places of keeping. They will befound there. So, my dresses. So, all the valuables I have. Someready money I had with me, please to say, but no large amount. Idid not wear my own dress, in order that I might avoid observation.
I went to be henceforward lost. Make this known. I leave no othercharge with you.""Excuse me, Lady Dedlock," says Mr. Tulkinghorn, quite unmoved. "Iam not sure that I understand you. You want--""To be lost to all here. I leave Chesney Wold to-night. I go thishour."Mr. Tulkinghorn shakes his head. She rises, but he, without movinghand from chair-back or from old-fashioned waistcoat and shirt-frill, shakes his head.
"What? Not go as I have said?""No, Lady Dedlock," he very calmly replies.
"Do you know the relief that my disappearance will be? Have youforgotten the stain and blot upon this place, and where it is, andwho it is?""No, Lady Dedlock, not by any means."Without deigning to rejoin, she moves to the inner door and has itin her hand when he says to her, without himself stirring hand orfoot or raising his voice, "Lady Dedlock, have the goodness to stopand hear me, or before you reach the staircase I shall ring thealarm-bell and rouse the house. And then I must speak out beforeevery guest and servant, every man and woman, in it."He has conquered her. She falters, trembles, and puts her handconfusedly to her head. Slight tokens these in any one else, butwhen so practised an eye as Mr. Tulkinghorn's sees indecision for amoment in such a subject, he thoroughly knows its value.
He promptly says again, "Have the goodness to hear me, LadyDedlock," and motions to the chair from which she has risen. Shehesitates, but he motions again, and she sits down.
"The relations between us are of an unfortunate description, LadyDedlock; but as they are not of my making, I will not apologize forthem. The position I hold in reference to Sir Leicester is so wellknown to you that I can hardly imagine but that I must l............