XX THEY VANISH

The Blithedale Romance

by Nathaniel Hawthorne

XX THEY VANISH, THE BLITHEDALE ROMANCE by Nathaniel Hawthorne

Priscilla immediately answered the summons, and made her appearance
through the door of the boudoir. I had conceived the idea, which I now
recognized as a very foolish one, that Zenobia would have taken measures
to debar me from an interview with this girl, between whom and herself
there was so utter an opposition of their dearest interests, that, on one
part or the other, a great grief, if not likewise a great wrong, seemed a
matter of necessity. But, as Priscilla was only a leaf floating on the
dark current of events, without influencing them by her own choice or
plan, as she probably guessed not whither the stream was bearing her, nor
perhaps even felt its inevitable movement,--there could be no peril of
her communicating to me any intelligence with regard to Zenobia's
purposes.

On perceiving me, she came forward with great quietude of manner; and
when I held out my hand, her own moved slightly towards it, as if
attracted by a feeble degree of magnetism.

"I am glad to see you, my dear Priscilla," said I, still holding her hand;
"but everything that I meet with nowadays makes me wonder whether I am
awake. You, especially, have always seemed like a figure in a dream, and
now more than ever."

"Oh, there is substance in these fingers of mine," she answered, giving
my hand the faintest possible pressure, and then taking away her own.
"Why do you call me a dream? Zenobia is much more like one than I; she
is so very, very beautiful! And, I suppose," added Priscilla, as if
thinking aloud, "everybody sees it, as I do."

But, for my part, it was Priscilla's beauty, not Zenobia's, of which I
was thinking at that moment. She was a person who could be quite
obliterated, so far as beauty went, by anything unsuitable in her attire;
her charm was not positive and material enough to bear up against a
mistaken choice of color, for instance, or fashion. It was safest, in
her case, to attempt no art of dress; for it demanded the most perfect
taste, or else the happiest accident in the world, to give her precisely
the adornment which she needed. She was now dressed in pure white, set
off with some kind of a gauzy fabric, which--as I bring up her figure in
my memory, with a faint gleam on her shadowy hair, and her dark eyes bent
shyly on mine, through all the vanished years--seems to be floating about
her like a mist. I wondered what Zenobia meant by evolving so much
loveliness out of this poor girl. It was what few women could afford to
do; for, as I looked from one to the other, the sheen and splendor of
Zenobia's presence took nothing from Priscilla's softer spell, if it
might not rather be thought to add to it.

"What do you think of her?" asked Zenobia.

I could not understand the look of melancholy kindness with which Zenobia
regarded her. She advanced a step, and beckoning Priscilla near her,
kissed her cheek; then, with a slight gesture of repulse, she moved to
the other side of the room. I followed.

"She is a wonderful creature," I said. "Ever since she came among us, I
have been dimly sensible of just this charm which you have brought out.
But it was never absolutely visible till now. She is as lovely as a
flower!"

"Well, say so if you like," answered Zenobia. "You are a poet,--at least,
as poets go nowadays,--and must be allowed to make an opera-glass of your
imagination, when you look at women. I wonder, in such Arcadian freedom
of falling in love as we have lately enjoyed, it never occurred to you to
fall in love with Priscilla. In society, indeed, a genuine American
never dreams of stepping across the inappreciable air-line which
separates one class from another. But what was rank to the colonists of
Blithedale?"

"There were other reasons," I replied, "why I should have demonstrated
myself an ass, had I fallen in love with Priscilla. By the bye, has
Hollingsworth ever seen her in this dress?"

"Why do you bring up his name at every turn?" asked Zenobia in an
undertone, and with a malign look which wandered from my face to
Priscilla's. "You know not what you do! It is dangerous, sir, believe me,
to tamper thus with earnest human passions, out of your own mere
idleness, and for your sport. I will endure it no longer! Take care
that it does not happen again! I warn you!"

"You partly wrong me, if not wholly," I responded. "It is an uncertain
sense of some duty to perform, that brings my thoughts, and therefore my
words, continually to that one point."

"Oh, this stale excuse of duty!" said Zenobia, in a whisper so full of
scorn that it penetrated me like the hiss of a serpent. "I have often
heard it before, from those who sought to interfere with me, and I know
precisely what it signifies. Bigotry; self-conceit; an insolent
curiosity; a meddlesome temper; a cold-blooded criticism, founded on a
shallow interpretation of half-perceptions; a monstrous scepticism in
regard to any conscience or any wisdom, except one's own; a most
irreverent propensity to thrust Providence aside, and substitute one's
self in its awful place,--out of these, and other motives as miserable as
these, comes your idea of duty! But, beware, sir! With all your fancied
acuteness, you step blindfold into these affairs. For any mischief that
may follow your interference, I hold you responsible!"

It was evident that, with but a little further provocation, the lioness
would turn to bay; if, indeed, such were not her attitude already. I
bowed, and not very well knowing what else to do, was about to withdraw.
But, glancing again towards Priscilla, who had retreated into a corner,
there fell upon my heart an intolerable burden of despondency, the
purport of which I could not tell, but only felt it to bear reference to
her. I approached and held out my hand; a gesture, however, to which she
made no response. It was always one of her peculiarities that she seemed
to shrink from even the most friendly touch, unless it were Zenobia's or
Hollingsworth's. Zenobia, all this while, stood watching us, but with a
careless expression, as if it mattered very little what might pass.

"Priscilla," I inquired, lowering my voice, "when do you go back to
Blithedale?"

"Whenever they please to take me," said she.

"Did you come away of your own free will?" I asked.

"I am blown about like a leaf," she replied.

"I never have any free will."

"Does Hollingsworth know that you are here?" said I.

"He bade me come," answered Priscilla.

She looked at me, I thought, with an air of surprise, as if the idea were
incomprehensible that she should have taken this step without his agency.

"What a gripe this man has laid upon her whole being!" muttered I
between my teeth.

"Well, as Zenobia so kindly intimates, I have no more business here. I
wash my hands of it all. On Hollingsworth's head be the consequences!
Priscilla," I added aloud, "I know not that ever we may meet again.
Farewell!"

As I spoke the word, a carriage had rumbled along the street, and stopt
before the house. The doorbell rang, and steps were immediately
afterwards heard on the staircase. Zenobia had thrown a shawl over her
dress.

"Mr. Coverdale," said she, with cool courtesy, "you will perhaps excuse
us. We have an engagement, and are going out."

"Whither?" I demanded.

"Is not that a little more than you are entitled to inquire?" said she,
with a smile.

"At all events, it does not suit me to tell you."

The door of the drawing-room opened, and Westervelt appeared. I observed
that he was elaborately dressed, as if for some grand entertainment. My
dislike for this man was infinite. At that moment it amounted to nothing
less than a creeping of the flesh, as when, feeling about in a dark place,
one touches something cold and slimy, and questions what the secret
hatefulness may be. And still I could not but acknowledge that, for
personal beauty, for polish of manner, for all that externally befits a
gentleman, there was hardly another like him. After bowing to Zenobia,
and graciously saluting Priscilla in her corner, he recognized me by a
slight but courteous inclination.

"Come, Priscilla," said Zenobia; "it is time. Mr. Coverdale,
good-evening."

As Priscilla moved slowly forward, I met her in the middle of the
drawing-room.

"Priscilla," said I, in the hearing of them all, "do you know whither you
are going?"

"I do not know," she answered.

"Is it wise to go, and is it your choice to go?" I asked. "If not, I am
your friend, and Hollingsworth's friend. Tell me so, at once."

"Possibly," observed Westervelt, smiling, "Priscilla sees in me an older
friend than either Mr. Coverdale or Mr. Hollingsworth. I shall willingly
leave the matter at her option."

While thus speaking, he made a gesture of kindly invitation, and
Priscilla passed me, with the gliding movement of a sprite, and took his
offered arm. He offered the other to Zenobia; but she turned her proud
and beautiful face upon him with a look which--judging from what I caught
of it in profile--would undoubtedly have smitten the man dead, had he
possessed any heart, or had this glance attained to it. It seemed to
rebound, however, from his courteous visage, like an arrow from polished
steel. They all three descended the stairs; and when I likewise reached
the street door, the carriage was already rolling away.