Bab Bab 19 · THEY VANISH

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.

XXI.