CHAPTER XLIV.

HIGH AND LOW.

When lord Morven heard of his son’s return, he sent for Donal, received

him in a friendly way, gave him to understand that, however he might

fail to fall in with his views, he depended thoroughly on his honesty,

and begged he would keep him informed of his son’s proceedings.

Donal replied that, while he fully acknowledged his lordship’s right to

know what his son was doing, he could not take the office of a spy.

“But I will warn lord Forgue,” he concluded, “that I may see it right

to let his father know what he is about. I fancy, however, he

understands as much already.”

“Pooh! that would be only to teach him cunning,” said the earl.

“I can do nothing underhand,” replied Donal. “I will help no man to

keep an unrighteous secret, but neither will I secretly disclose it.”

Meeting him a few days after, Forgue would have passed him without

recognition, but Donal stopped him, and said--

“I believe, my lord, you have seen Eppy since your return.”

“What the deuce is that to you?”

“I wish your lordship to understand that whatever comes to my knowledge

concerning your proceedings in regard to her, I will report to your

father if I see fit.”

“The warning is unnecessary. Few informers, however, would have given

me the advantage, and I thank you: so far I am indebted to you. None

the less the shame of the informer remains!”

“Your lordship’s judgment of me is no more to me than that of yon rook

up there.”

“You doubt my honour?” said Forgue with a sneer.

“I do. I doubt you. You do not know yourself. Time will show. For God’s

sake, my lord, look to yourself! You are in terrible danger.”

“I would rather do wrong for love than right for fear. I scorn such

threats.”

“Threats, my lord!” echoed Donal. “Is it a threat to warn you that your

very consciousness may become a curse to you? that to know yourself may

be your hell? that you may come to make it your first care to forget

what you are? Do you know what Shakspere says of Tarquin--

Besides, his soul’s fair temple is defaced;

To whose weak ruins muster troops of cares,

To ask the spotted princess how she fares--?”

“Oh, hang your preaching!” cried Forgue, and turned away.

“My lord,” said Donal, “if you will not hear me, there are preachers

you must.”

“They will not be quite so long-winded then!” Forgue answered.

“You are right,” said Donal; “they will not.”

All Forgue’s thoughts were now occupied with the question how with

least danger Eppy and he were to meet. He did not contemplate

treachery. At this time of his life he could not have respected

himself, little as was required for that, had he been consciously

treacherous; but no man who in love yet loves himself more, is safe

from becoming a traitor: potentially he is one already. Treachery to

him who is guilty of it seems only natural self-preservation; the man

who can do a vile thing is incapable of seeing it as it is; and that

ought to make us doubtful of our judgments of ourselves, especially

defensive judgments. Forgue did not suspect himself--not although he

knew that his passion had but just regained a lost energy, revived at

the idea of another man having the girl! It did not shame him that he

had begun to forget her, or that he had been so roused to fresh desire.

If he had stayed away six months, he would practically have forgotten

her altogether. Some may think that, if he had devotion enough to

surmount the vulgarities of her position and manners and ways of

thought, his love could hardly be such as to yield so soon; but Eppy

was not in herself vulgar. Many of even humbler education than she are

far less really vulgar than some in the forefront of society. No doubt

the conventionalities of a man like Forgue must have been sometimes

shocked in familiar intercourse with one like Eppy; but while he was

merely flirting with her, the very things that shocked would also amuse

him--for I need hardly say he was not genuinely refined; and by and by

the growing passion obscured them. There is no doubt that, had she been

confronted as his wife with the common people of society, he would have

become aware of many things as vulgarities which were only

simplicities; but in the meantime she was no more vulgar to him than a

lamb or a baby is vulgar, however unfit either for a Belgravian

drawing-room. Vulgar, at the same time, he would have thought and felt

her, but for the love that made him do her justice. Love is the opener

as well as closer of eyes. But men who, having seen, become blind

again, think they have had their eyes finally opened.

For some time there was no change in Eppy’s behaviour but that she was

not tearful as before. She continued diligent, never grumbled at the

hardest work, and seemed desirous of making up for remissness in the

past, when in truth she was trying to make up for something else in the

present: she would atone for what she would not tell, by doing

immediate duty with the greater devotion. But by and by she began

occasionally to show, both in manner and countenance, a little of the

old pertness, mingled with uneasiness. The phenomenon, however, was so

intermittent and unpronounced, as to be manifest only to eyes familiar

with her looks and ways: to Donal it was clear that the relation

between her and Forgue was resumed. Yet she never went out in the

evening except sent by her grandmother, and then she always came home

even with haste--anxious, it might have seemed, to avoid suspicion.

It was the custom with Donal and Davie to go often into the fields and

woods in the fine weather--they called this their observation class--to

learn what they might of the multitudinous goings on in this or that of

Nature’s workshops: there each for himself and the other exercised his

individual powers of seeing and noting and putting together. Donal knew

little of woodland matters, having been chiefly accustomed to meadows

and bare hill-sides; yet in the woods he was the keener of the two to

observe, and could the better teach that he was but a better learner.

One day, as they were walking together under the thin shade of a

fir-thicket, Davie said, with a sudden change of subject--

“I wonder if we shall meet Forgue to-day! he gets up early now, and

goes out. It is neither to fish nor shoot, for he doesn’t take his rod

or gun; he must be watching or looking for something!--Shouldn’t you

say so, Mr. Grant?”

This set Donal thinking. Eppy was never out at night, or only for a few

minutes; and Forgue went out early in the morning! But if Eppy would

meet him, how could he or anyone help it?