ALL in haste, and in a peremptory tone, to which nobody could be less used to than she was, I had sent little Sara away on some commission, invented on the spur of the moment, when the door closed on Dr. Roberts. The child looked up in my face with an amazed uncomprehension of any order issued to her; I fancy I can see her great eyes growing larger and blacker as she turned, asking what I meant. But Sara had understanding in her, wilful as she was; she saw there was occasion for it, though she could not understand how; and whenever her first surprise was over, she went off and obeyed me with an alacrity which I shall always remember. We two were left alone. I took up some work that lay on the table. I could not tell whether it was mine or Sara’s, or who it belonged to. I bent my head fumbling over it, too agitated to see what I was doing. Now the volcano was about to explode. Now, even, an explanation might be possible.
“What was that I heard from you just now?” cried Sarah, in her shrill whisper. “You were so lost to all common feeling, you were so forgetful of my claims and everybody else’s, that you invited a common foreign impostor to come here—here, without an idea what bad intentions he might have—here to my house!”
“Sarah! for heaven’s sake what do you know about him? What have you to do with this young man?” said I, the words bursting, in spite of myself, from my lips.
I suppose she did not expect this question. She stopped with a flood of other reproaches and accusations ready to be poured forth, staring at me—staring—there is no other word for it. Her looks were dreadful to me. She looked like some baited animal that had turned to bay. Was it my doing? Presently her senses came back to her. And I was glad, really thankful, when I saw that it was mere passion—one of her fits of temper, poor dear soul! that had returned upon her again.
“You dare to ask me such questions?” she cried; “you, a poor simpleton that throws our doors open to any adventurer!{129} This is what I have to do with him. He shall never enter my house. I’ll have him expelled if he comes here. I’ll muster the servants and let them know who’s mistress,—you, a rustical fool that knows nothing of the world, and are ready to throw yourself at anybody’s head that flatters you a little, or me, that knows life and can detect a cheat! What! you’ll go slander me in addition, will you? You worry and drive me out of my senses, and then pretend that I have something to do with every impostor you pick up in the streets. I tell you I’ll have him turned out if he dares to come to this house. I will not have my peace molested for your fool’s tricks and intrigues. An Italian forsooth! a fellow that will cringe to you, and flatter you, and be as smooth as velvet. I’ll have him thrown into prison if he dares to come here!”
“Sarah! Sarah! for what reason? the poor young man has never harmed you,” I cried, holding up my hands.
She gave a strange bitter cry. “Fool! how can you tell whether he has harmed me?” she cried out, wringing her thin hands: then suddenly stopping short, came to herself again, and stared at me once more. Always that stare of blank resistance—the hunted creature brought to bay. She had been standing while she spoke before. Now she dropped into her chair, exhausted, breathless, with a strange look of fury at herself. She thought she had betrayed herself—and most likely so she had, if I had possessed the slightest clue by which to find her mystery out.
“I beg and entreat you to be calm, and not to excite yourself,” cried I, trying, if it were possible, to soothe her. “I know nothing whatever about this young Italian, Sarah. I took an interest in him from his appearance, and something in his voice—and because he was a stranger and had no friends. But I will write to him immediately not to come—he is nothing to me. He has neither flattered me nor asked anything of me. I see no harm in him; but I shall certainly write and say he is not to come. You might know well that there is no stranger in the world for whom I would cross you.”
“Oh, I am used to fair speeches, Milly,” said my sister, “quite used to them; and used to being made no account of when all’s done. I, that might have been so different. I might have had a coronet, and been one of the leaders of life, instead of vegetating here; and, instead of respecting me after I have resigned all that, I am to be badgered to death by your{130} old maid’s folly, and have a vulgar impostor brought in upon me to oust me out of my home. Bring in whom you like, thank heaven, I’m more than a match for you. I tell you, you shall bring nobody here—it is my house, and was my house before you were born. I shall keep it mine, and leave it to whom I like. Your romances and fictions are nothing in this world to me. I am mistress, and I will be mistress. You are only my younger sister, and I have nothing in the world to consult but my own pleasure. I am not to be driven into changing my mind by any persecution. I advise you to give up your schemes before you suffer for them. Nobody, I tell you,—no man in the world with evil designs against me, and my fortune, and my honour, shall come into my house!”
“Sarah! what on earth do you mean? Who is plotting against you? Your fortune and your honour? What are you thinking of? You have gone too far to draw back now,” cried I, in the greatest excitement. “Explain yourself before we go any farther—what do you mean?”
Once more she stared at me blankly and fiercely; but she had got it out, and had more command of herself after she had relieved her mind. Could it be only an outburst of passion? but my spiri............