Man and Wife

'No.'

'Another instance of sympathy between us. No educated person ought to be ignorant of Milton. Let us be educated persons. Please begin.'

'At the beginning?'

'Of course! Stop! You musn't sit all that way off—you must sit where I can look at you. My attention wanders if I don't look at people while they read.'

Arnold took a stool at Blanche's feet, and opened the 'First Book' of Paradise Lost. His 'system' as a reader of blank verse was simplicity itself. In poetry we are some of us (as many living poets can testify) all for sound; and some of us (as few living poets can testify) all for sense. Arnold was for sound. He ended every line inexorably with a full stop; and he got on to his full stop as fast as the inevitable impediment of the words would let him. He began:

'Of Man's first disobedience and the fruit.

Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste.

Brought death into the world and all our woe.

With loss of Eden till one greater Man.

Restore us and regain the blissful seat.

Sing heavenly Muse—'

'Beautiful!' said Blanche. 'What a shame it seems to have had Milton all this time in the library and never to have read him yet! We will have Mornings with Milton, Arnold. He seems long; but we are both young, and we may live to get to the end of him. Do you know dear, now I look at you again, you don't seem to have come back to Windygates in good spirits.'

'Don't I? I can't account for it.'

'I can. It's sympathy with Me. I am out of spirits too.'

'You!'

'Yes. After what I saw at Craig Fernie, I grow more and more uneasy about Anne. You will understand that, I am sure, after what I told you this morning?'

Arnold looked back, in a violent hurry, from Blanche to Milton. That renewed reference to events at Craig Fernie was a renewed reproach to him for his conduct at the inn. He attempted to silence her by pointing to Geoffrey.

'Don't forget,' he whispered, 'that there is somebody in the room besides ourselves.'

Blanche shrugged her shoulders contemptuously.

'What does he matter?' she asked. 'What does he know or care about Anne?'

There was only one other chance of diverting her from the delicate subject. Arnold went on reading headlong, two lines in advance of the place at which he had left off, with more sound and less sense than ever:

'In the beginning how the heavens and earth.

Rose out of Chaos or if Sion hill—'

At 'Sion hill,' Blanche interrupted him again.

'Do wait a little, Arnold. I can't have Milton crammed down my throat in that way. Besides I had something to say. Did I tell you that I consulted my uncle about Anne? I don't think I did. I caught him alone in this very room. I told him all I have told you. I showed him Anne's letter. And I said, 'What do you think?' He took a little time (and a great deal of snuff) before he would say what he thought. When he did speak, he told me I might quite possibly be right in suspecting Anne's husband to be a very abominable person. His keeping himself out of my way was (just as I thought) a suspicious circumstance, to begin with. And then there was the sudden extinguishing of the candles, when I first went in. I thought (and Mrs. Inchbare thought) it was done by the wind. Sir Patrick suspects it was done by the horrid man himself, to prevent me from seeing him when I entered the room. I am firmly persuaded Sir Patrick is right. What do you think?'

'I think we had better go on,' said Arnold, with his head down over his book. 'We seem to be forgetting Milton.'

'How you do worry about Milton! That last bit wasn't as interesting as the other. Is there any love in Paradise Lost?'

'Perhaps we may find some if we go on.'

'Very well, then. Go on. And be quick about it.'

Arnold was so quick about it that he lost his place. Instead of going on he went back. He read once more:

'In the beginning how the heavens and earth.

Rose out of Chaos or if Sion hill—'

'You read that before,' said Blanche.

'I think not.'

'I'm sure you did. When you said 'Sion hill' I recollect I thought of the Methodists directly. I couldn't have thought of the Methodists, if you hadn't said 'Sion hill.' It stands to reason.'

'I'll try the next page,' said Arnold. 'I can't have read that before—for I haven't turned over yet.'

Blanche threw herself back in her chair, and flung her handkerchief resignedly over her face. 'The flies,' she explained. 'I'm not going to sleep. Try the next page. Oh, dear me, try the next page!'

Arnold proceeded:

'Say first for heaven hides nothing from thy view.

Nor the deep tract of hell say first what cause.

Moved our grand parents in that happy state—'

Blanche suddenly threw the handkerchief off again, and sat bolt upright in her chair. 'Shut it up,' she cried. 'I can't bear any more. Leave off, Arnold—leave off!'

'What's, the matter now?'

''That happy state,'' said Blanche. 'What does 'that happy state' mean? Marriage, of course! And marriage reminds me of Anne. I won't have any more. Paradise Lost is painful. Shut it up. Well, my next question to Sir Patrick was, of course, to know what he thought Anne's husband had done. The wretch had behaved infamously to her in some way. In what way? Was it any thing to do with her marriage? My uncle considered again. He thought it quite possible. Private marriages were dangerous things (he said)—especially in Scotland. He asked me if they had