This etext was produced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net>
[NOTE: There is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of thefile for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making anentire meal of them. D.W.]
BEAUCHAMP'S CAREER
By George Meredith
1897
BOOK 4.
XXVI. MR. BLACKBURN TUCKHAMXXVII. A SHORT SIDELOOK AT THE ELECTIONXXVIII. TOUCHING A YOUNG LADY'S HEART AND HER INTELLECTXXIX. THE EPISTLE OF DR. SHRAPNEL TO COMMANDER BEAUCHAMPXXX. THE BAITING OF DR. SHRAPNELXXXI. SHOWING A CHIVALROUS GENTLEMAN SET IN MOTIONXXXII. AN EFFORT TO CONQUER CECILIA IN BEAUCHAMP'S FASHIONXXXIII. THE FIRST ENCOUNTER AT STEYNHAM
CHAPTER XXVI
MR. BLACKBURN TUCKHAM
Some time after Beauchamp had been seen renewing his canvass in Bevishama report reached Mount Laurels that he was lame of a leg. The wits ofthe opposite camp revived the FRENCH MARQUEES, but it was generallyacknowledged that he had come back without the lady: she was invisible.Cecilia Halkett rode home with her father on a dusky Autumn evening, andfound the card of Commander Beauchamp awaiting her. He might have stayedto see her, she thought. Ladies are not customarily so very late inreturning from a ride on chill evenings of Autumn. Only a quarter of anhour was between his visit and her return. The shortness of the intervalmade it appear the deeper gulf. She noticed that her father particularlyinquired of the man-servant whether Captain Beauchamp limped. It seemeda piece of kindly anxiety on his part. The captain was mounted, the mansaid. Cecilia was conscious of rumours being abroad relating to Nevil'sexpedition to France; but he had enemies, and was at war with them, andshe held herself indifferent to tattle. This card bearing his name,recently in his hand, was much more insidious and precise. She took itto her room to look at it. Nothing but his name and naval title wasinscribed; no pencilled line; she had not expected to discover one. Thesimple card was her dark light, as a handkerchief, a flower, a knot ofriband, has been for men luridly illuminated by such small sparks tofling their beams on shadows and read the monstrous things for truths.Her purer virgin blood was, not inflamed. She read the signification ofthe card sadly as she did clearly. What she could not so distinctlyimagine was, how he could reconcile the devotion to his country, which hehad taught her to put her faith in, with his unhappy subjection to Madamede Rouaillout. How could the nobler sentiment exist side by side withone that was lawless? Or was the wildness characteristic of hispolitical views proof of a nature inclining to disown moral ties? Shefeared so; he did not speak of the clergy respectfully. Reading in thedark, she was forced to rely on her social instincts, and she distrustedher personal feelings as much as she could, for she wished to know thetruth of him; anything, pain and heartrending, rather than the shuttingof the eyes in an unworthy abandonment to mere emotion and fascination.Cecilia's love could not be otherwise given to a man, however near shemight be drawn to love—though she should suffer the pangs of lovecruelly.
She placed his card in her writing-desk; she had his likeness there.Commander Beauchamp encouraged the art of photography, as those that makelong voyages do, in reciprocating what they petition their friends for.Mrs. Rosamund Culling had a whole collection of photographs of him,equal to a visual history of his growth in chapters, from boyhood tomidshipmanship a