Pemberley Shades. D. A.Bonavia-Hunt

always known him to be hundreds of miles away. We soldiers have to think only of our immediate task, whatever it may be.”

      “I can understand that,” said Darcy. “But to the Englishman at home whose view, though deficient in many particulars yet comprehends the whole, the idea that a man sprung from the people has in a comparatively short time assumed control over vast territories, and in consequence the lives and destinies of millions of human beings, does very powerfully affect his imagination, besides affronting his sense of justice.”

      “When I had time to reflect, which was seldom, I thought exactly as you do,” Major Wakeford replied. “But as another artillery officer, I confess that I admired him. His use of the arm was masterly.”

      “While we stay-at-homes regard him as evil incarnate,” said Elizabeth. “You must know that we are half-persuaded that he cannot be human, for in that case how could he perform such prodigies as he has done? Whence his invincibility, if not from the fact that his uniform conceals the cloven hoof, not to mention the other distinguishing marks of a fiend—horns, and tail?”

      “Excellent, upon my word!” said Mr. Acworth, laughing rather affectedly.

      “But,” she continued, ignoring the compliment, “I dare say there is some good in him. I defy anyone to be wicked without one redeeming trait.”

      “Most certainly,” agreed Acworth, “just as it would hardly be human to be undeviatingly virtuous. We look for a little leaven of wickedness, even in our dearest friends. The man or woman whose conduct appears impeccable must come under suspicion of hypocrisy.”

      It struck Elizabeth that this was a curious sentiment to come from a clergyman. She glanced at her husband and met his eye. Evidently the same thought had visited them both.

      “The question surely is which is to predominate,” said Darcy. “Even a murderer may have an amiable side to his character.”

      “And there are persons who pass for being everything that is good, and yet can and do commit the most atrocious acts,” said Georgiana, speaking for the first time. “A governess I once had threw a half-grown kitten into the water to drown. She not only did that, but could stand and watch it struggle.”

      Darcy turned towards her interrogatively, while Major Wakeford regarded her flushed face with interest. “That was atrocious and inexcusable,” he said. “No less barbarous than murder.”

      “Cruelty remains cruelty, whatever the object,” said Mr. Acworth with a moralising air. “And suffering also,” he added in a different tone. “Indeed there is a latent savagery in the human breast which too often seeks an outlet for just such actions as the one described by Miss Darcy, for the good reason that they go unpunished, the victims having neither voices nor rights. For the protection of the law is reserved for its framers and administrators—the rich and powerful.” He spoke towards the end with such bitterness—almost venom—that Elizabeth’s heart beat faster. Darcy said nothing, but he looked indignant and his colour rose. The conversation had taken such a decidedly wrong turn that something must be done, and Elizabeth made haste to smooth all over.

      “Cruelty, suffering—are not these relative terms? We all differ as much in our susceptibilities as in our aptitudes. What is tolerable to one is torture to another. If I were to confess to that which afflicts me most you would think it so unreasonable that I shall say nothing about it. But, Major Wakeford, I am sure that above all things you detest being questioned about your campaigns.”

      “It depends upon the questions and who asks them,” he replied with one of his rare smiles. “But since Mrs. Darcy has discovered and published my weakness, it is surely very ungenerous in her to conceal her own.”

      “Her discovery arises from a fellow feeling,” said Darcy. “There is more than one sort of campaign, and she very much dislikes being questioned about hers.”

      Elizabeth laughed and exclaimed, “As for Mr. Darcy, he says nothing about his own abhorrences because they are too many. Possibly there is an arch-abhorrence, but it has a hundred competitors in the field—all striving for first place.”

      “You cannot expect me to be any more candid than you are yourself.”

      She let the provocation pass with a smile and a shake of the head.

      “Speaking for myself,” said Mr. Acworth, “I would say that a woman who sings out of tune enrages me more than anything else in the world.”

      “That is the most effectual silencer I ever heard,” said Elizabeth with mock gravity. “But I have always understood that the offenders are never conscious of their guilt and continue the outrage. You must have suffered very much, and on many occasions.”

      Mr. Acworth appeared really delighted, but made a parade of his martyrdom. He cast up his eyes in a very foreign fashion, and in fact many of his gestures, such as his manner of shrugging his shoulders, recalled the antics of a Frenchman. At this point Darcy launched forth somewhat abruptly on a totally different subject, and the conversation became more general though less animated. Soon afterwards Elizabeth and Georgiana withdrew, leaving the gentlemen to their wine.

      In the drawing-room they discussed their new acquaintances, with more unanimity than is usual with ladies when the other sex come up for judgment. They agreed in approving of Major Wakeford and being dubious about Mr. Acworth. As a state of doubt is more interesting than certainty, it is not surprising that the latter gentleman should receive the greater share of their attention.

      “There is something very strange about him,” said Georgiana, “but I cannot fix upon what it is. I can truly say that I have never seen anyone in the least like him before.”

      “Then you have your wish,” said Elizabeth. “That was what you were desiring, you know. I think his strangeness comes in part from his variability. His character appears to shift from moment to moment, making him oddly inconsistent. One cannot in truth say what kind of a man he is, and for that reason should spare judgment until we know him better.”

      “He does not seem to be grieving for the death of his wife.”

      “Oh, Georgiana, how can you tell? He would not make a dis-play of it before strangers.” But as she spoke Elizabeth remembered that it was precisely what he had done in his first interview with Darcy. “One must not be too hasty in conjecture upon so slight an acquaintance,” she continued, “but I will hazard the guess that at all times Mr. Acworth is very much the creature of his surroundings, on which his humour will depend. If so, that would explain his apparent insensibility on first coming among us.”

      “At any rate he is quite different from anyone who has ever stayed at Pemberley.”

      “So, for that matter, is Major Wakeford.”

      “Not so different,” said Georgiana, walking away to the pianoforte. “The difference in Major Wakeford is owing to his—his condition, which is so dreadful. I could not bring myself to look at him, Elizabeth. Is that wrong in me?”

      “No—not wrong, provided you try to overcome it. The loss of an arm is indeed a calamity. But if he can bear it bravely, so can you.”

      But the next moment Mr. Acworth and Major Wakeford were both forgotten. On reaching the pianoforte Georgiana had found a parcel containing some music she had commissioned her brother to bring from town. Partly unwrapped, it lay surmounted by the list she had made out. An exclamation from her brought Elizabeth to her side. Together they went through the pile, and below the pianoforte music came upon some songs inscribed with Elizabeth’s name in Darcy’s handwriting.

      “Oh, Elizabeth, here is that Canzonetta we heard at Lady Fullerton’s party—that Fitzwilliam was so much struck with.”

      “Yes, I remember—and by the Italian woman who sang it. Her voice was certainly very wonderful. But what does he propose by bringing it for me?”

      “That you shall sing it, of course. Do try it, Elizabeth. There will be plenty of time before they come.”

      Seating herself at