A Witch of the Hills, v. 1-2 - The Original Classic Edition. Warden Florence

trying to be light, my heart smote me at the thought of deceiving him with the rest. 'The elephant,' it had been a joke between ourselves for me to call him; and like a great elephant he was, huge, intelligent, gentle, not without a certain massive beauty, with keen feelings of loyalty, and a long slow-smouldering memory, with inclinations towards a laborious and somewhat painful sportiveness. Rebel against his sententious homilies as I[42] occasionally might, he was a good old fellow, and I

       was fond of him. I moved a little to show him I was awake, and then said:

       'Hallo, Edgar, is that you?'

       'Yes. How do you feel?'

       'Oh, ever so much better. I shall be getting up soon now.'

       'Well, you mustn't be in too great a hurry. You have been patient so long, it would be a pity to destroy your credit just at the last.'

       'I am only waiting for my face to heal now, of course. But, I say, Edgar, it will take a long time for that to get all right. Why, part of

       my cheek was completely blown away. It will be months, at least, before I dare show myself. I think I shall go to some German baths, and, you know, I don't know how long I may have to stay there. In the meantime----'

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       'In the meantime, what?' [43]

       'Your sister--Helen--must know that she is free.'

       'But supposing she doesn't want to be free? Supposing----'

       'Supposing she has a fancy for being tied to a death's-head? No, Edgar, she must be released at once. I want you to write a letter from me to her, if you will. The sooner it is over the better for both of us.'

       I suppose Edgar felt that my attitude was not one of pure resignation, for he made no further effort to dissuade me, but went instantly in search of pens and paper. He was so very submissive, however, in taking this step, which I knew to be distasteful to him, that I was quite sure, before the letter was half written, that he was 'up to' something. So, when it was finished, I was mean enough to insist on his leaving it with me, together with the directed envelope; and after reading it carefully through myself[44] as soon as I was alone, I made the housekeeper fold it and seal it up in my presence, and directed her to get it posted at once.

       The letter said:

       My Dearest Helen--You have no doubt long ago heard the reason of my silence, and forgiven me for it, I am sure. I am sorry to tell you that my head [I felt an odd shyness of saying "my face"] has been injured so seriously that it will be a long time before I can re-turn to town; I am going straight to Germany as soon as I am able to leave here, and cannot yet tell when I shall be in England again. Under these circumstances, although I know that you would overlook my new imperfections with the same sweetness with which

       you have forgiven my older defects, I feel that I cannot impose again upon your generosity. I therefore set you free, begging you to do me one last kindness by not returning to me the little souvenirs that you have from time to time been good enough to accept from me. And please don't send me back my letters, if you have ever received them with any pleasure. Burn them if you like. I will send back yours if[45] you wish; but, as no woman will ever look with love upon my face again, your womanly dignity will suffer but little if you let me still keep them. There are only eight of them. And there is a glove, of course, and a packet of dried flowers, of course, and the little silver match-box. All these I shall insist upon keeping, whether you like it or not. They could not compromise anybody; the little glove could pass for a child's. You will trust me with them all, will you not? You see this isn't the usual broken-off match with its prelude of disastrous squabbles and wrangles. Some jealous demon who saw I did not deserve my good fortune has broken my hopes of happiness abruptly, and released you from a chain which I am afraid my ill-temper had already begun to make irksome to you. Forgive me now, and bear as kindly a recollection of me as you can. God bless you, Helen. I shall always treasure

       the remembrance of your little fairy face, and remember gratefully your sweet forbearance with me.--Yours most sincerely and affectionately,

       Henry Lyttleton Maude.

       I hoped the child would not think this[46] letter too cold and formal. My heart yearned towards her now with a longing more tender than before; I felt oppressed by the necessity of foregoing the shallow little love which, as the handsomest man about town, I had begun to consider far beneath my deserts.

       Two days later I received an answer from Helen. I waited until I was alone to read it, for I still guarded my face carefully from all eyes but the doctor's. The touch of the letter, the sight of the sprawling, slap-dash handwriting which it delighted Helen to assume, in common with the other young ladies of her generation, moved me; for I could not but feel that this was the last 'billet' by any possibility to be called 'doux' which I should ever receive. I opened it with an apprehension that I should find the contents less moving than the envelope. I was mistaken.

       [47]

       My Dearest Harry--I am afraid you have a very poor opinion of me if you think I care for nothing but personal attractions. You

       have always been most kind and generous to me, and you need not think because I am not intellectual myself I do not care for a man who is intellectual and all those things. I am coming down to see you myself and then if you wish to give me up you can do so--but

       I hope you will not throw me over so hastily. I am so sorry for your accident and that it has made you so ill, but I do not mind what else it has done.--Believe me, dearest Harry, with best love, hoping you will soon be quite recovered, yours ever lovingly,

       Helen.

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       Childish as the letter was it touched me deeply. Edgar must be right after all; I had misjudged a simple but loyal nature that only wanted an emergency to bring its nobler qualities to the surface. I told him about the letter, and added that it made giving her up harder to bear.

       'Why should you give her up?' said he[48] eagerly. 'You see she herself will not hear of it.'

       'Because she does not understand the case. I am disfigured past recognition; she would shrink with horror from the sight of me. It

       would be a shock even to you, a strong unromantic man, to see what I have become.'

       'You are too sensitive, old fellow. However shocking the change in you may be, you cannot fail to exaggerate its effect on others.'

       'We shall see.'

       A few days later, when the horror of my new appearance was indeed a little mitigated by the falling off of the withered outer skin which had covered the right side of my face, I tried the effect of my striking physiognomy on Edgar.

       Whether he had expected some such surprise, or whether he was endowed with[49] a splendid insensibility to ugliness, he stood the shock with the most stolid placidity.

       'Well?' said I defiantly, looking at him from out my ill-matched eyes in a passion of aggressive rage.

       'Well?' said he, as complacently as if I had been a turnip.

       'I hope you admire this style of beauty,' I hurled out savagely.

       'I don't go quite so far as that, but it's really much better than I expected.'

       'You are easily pleased.'

       He went on quietly. 'The chief impression your countenance gives one now is not, as you flatter yourself, of consummate ugliness,

       but--forgive me--of consummate villainy.'

       'What!'

       'You are preserved for ever from the danger of being anything but strictly virtuous and straightforward in your dealings,[50] for no one would trust the possessor of that countenance with either a secret or a sovereign.'

       This blunt frankness acted better than any softer measures could have done; it made me laugh. Looking again at myself in a glass, for I was now up and dressed, I noticed, what had escaped me before in my paralysed contemplation of the change in my own features, that the drawing up of the right-hand corners of my mouth and eye, together with the removal of every vestige of hair from that

       side of the face, had given me the grotesquely repulsive leer of a