An Old Man's Love
undertook to get for him at the station, he was induced to go down
with her, and was absolutely despatched. Her own box was still locked
up, and she had slept with one of the two maids. All this had not
happened without great disturbance in the household. She herself was
very angry with her master because of the box; she was very angry
with Mary, because Mary was, she thought, averse to her old lover;
she was very angry with Mr Gordon, because she well understood that
Mr Gordon was anxious to disturb the arrangement which had been made
for the family. She was very angry with her husband, not because he
was generally a drunken old reprobate, but because he had especially
disgraced her on the present occasion by the noise which he had made
in the road. No doubt she had been treated unfairly in the matter of
the box, and could have succeeded in getting the law of her master.
But she could not turn against her master in that way. She could give
him a bit of her own mind, and that she did very freely; but she
could not bring herself to break the lock of his door. And then, as
things went now, she did think it well that she should remain a few
days longer at Croker's Hall. The occasion of her master's marriage
was to be the cause of her going away. She could not endure not to be
foremost among all the women at Croker's Hall. But it was intolerable
to her feelings that any one should interfere with her master; and
she thought that, if need were, she could assist him by her tongue.
Therefore she was disposed to remain yet a few days in her old place,
and had come, after she had got the ticket for her husband,--which
had been done before Mr Whittlestaff's breakfast,--to inform her
master of her determination. "Don't be a fool," Mr Whittlestaff had
said.
"I'm always a fool, whether I go or stay, so that don't much matter."
This had been her answer, and then she had gone in to scold the
maids.
As soon as she had heard of the intended dinner-party, she attacked
Mary Lawrie. "So you're going to see this young man again?"
"Mr Whittlestaff is going to dine at Little Alresford, and intends
to take me with him."
"Oh yes; that's all very well. He'd have left you behind if he'd
been of my way of thinking. Mr Gordon here, and Mr Gordon there! I
wonder what's Mr Gordon! He ain't no better than an ordinary miner.
Coals and diamonds is all one to me;--I'd rather have the coals for
choice." But Mary was not in a humour to contest the matter with Mrs
Baggett, and left the old woman the mistress of the field.
When the time arrived for going to the dinner, Mr Whittlestaff took
Mary in the pony carriage with him. "There is always a groom about
there," he said, "so we need not take the boy." His object was, as
Mary in part understood, that he should be able to speak what last
words he might have to utter without having other ears than hers to
listen to them.
Mary would have been surprised had she known how much painful thought
Mr Whittlestaff gave to the matter. To her it seemed as though he
had made up his mind without any effort, and was determined to abide
by it. He had thought it well to marry her; and having asked her,
and having obtained her consent, he intended to take advantage of
her promise. That was her idea of Mr Whittlestaff, as to which she
did not at all blame him. But he was, in truth, changing his purpose
every quarter of an hour;--or not changing it, but thinking again and
again throughout the entire day whether he would not abandon himself
and all his happiness to the romantic idea of making this girl
supremely happy. Were he to do so, he must give up everything. The
world would have nothing left for him as to which he could feel the
slightest interest. There came upon him at such moments insane ideas
as to the amount of sacrifice which would be demanded of him. She
should have everything--his house, his fortune; and he, John Gordon,
as being a part of her, should have them also. He, Whittlestaff,
would abolish himself as far as such abolition might be possible.
The idea of suicide was abominable to him--was wicked, cowardly, and
inhuman. But if this were to take place he could wish to cease to
live. Then he would comfort himself by assuring himself again and
again that of the two he would certainly make the better husband. He
was older. Yes; it was a pity that he should be so much the elder.
And he knew that he was old of his age,--such a one as a girl like
Mary Lawrie could hardly be brought to love passionately. He brought
up against himself all the hard facts as sternly as could any younger
rival. He looked at himself in the glass over and over again, and
always gave the verdict against his own appearance. There was nothing
to recommend him. So he told himself,--judging of himself most
unfairly. He set against himself as evils little points by which
Mary's mind and Mary's judgment would never be affected. But in truth
throughout it all he thought only of her welfare. But there came upon
him constantly an idea that he hardly knew how to be as good to her
as he would have been had it not been for Catherine Bailey. To have
attempted twice, and twice to have failed so disastrously! He was a
man to whom to have failed once in such a matter was almost death.
How should he bear it twice and still live? Nevertheless he did
endeavour to think only of her welfare. "You won't find it cold, my
dear?" he said.
"Cold! Why, Mr Whittlestaff, it's quite hot."
"I meant hot. I did mean to say hot."
"I've got my parasol."
"Oh!--ah!--yes; so I perceive. Go on, Tommy. That foolish old woman
will settle down at last, I think." To this Mary could make no
answer, because, according to her ideas, Mrs Baggett's settling down
must depend on her master's marriage. "I think it very civil of Mr
Hall asking us in this way."
"I suppose it is."
"Because you may be sure he had heard of your former acquaintance
with him."
"Do you think so?"
"Not a doubt about it. He said as much to me in his note. That young
clergyman of his will have told him everything. 'Percontatorem fugito
nam garrulus idem est.' I've taught you Latin enough to understand
that. But, Mary, if you wish to change your mind, this will be your
last opportunity." His heart at that moment had been very tender
towards her, and she had resolved that hers should be very firm to
him.
CHAPTER XV.
MR WHITTLESTAFF GOES OUT TO DINNER.
This would be her last opportunity. So Mary told herself as she got
out of the carriage at Mr Hall's front door. It was made manifest to
her by such a speech that he did not expect that she should do so,
but looked upon her doing so as within the verge of possibility. She
could still do it, and yet not encounter his disgust or his horror.
How terrible was the importance to herself, and, as she believed, to
the other man also. Was she not justified in so thinking? Mr Gordon
had come home, travelling a great distance, at much risk to his
property, at great loss of time, through infinite trouble and danger,
merely to ask her to be his wife. Had a letter reached her from him
but a week ago bidding her to come, would she not have gone through
all the danger and all the trouble? How willingly would she have
gone! It was the one thing that she desired; and, as far as she could
understand the signs which he had given, it was the one, one thing
which he desired. He had made his appeal to that other man, and, as
far as she could understand the signs which had reached her, had been
referred with confidence to her decision. Now she was told that the
chance of changing her mind was still in her power.
The matter was one of terrible importance; but was its importance
to Mr Whittlestaff as great as to John Gordon? She put herself
altogether out of the question. She acknowledged to herself, with a
false humility, that she was nobody;--she was a poor woman living on
charity, and was not to be thought of when the position of these two
men was taken into consideration. It chanced that they both wanted
her. Which wanted the most? Which of the two would want her for the
longest? To which would her services be of the greater avail in
assisting him to his happiness. Could there be a doubt? Was it not
in human nature that she should bind herself to the younger man, and
with him go through the world, whether safely or in danger?
But though she had had time to allow these questions to pass through
her mind between the utterance of Mr Whittlestaff's words and her
entrance into Mr Hall's drawing-room, she did not in truth doubt.
She knew that she had made up her mind on the matter. Mr Gordon
would in all probability have no opportunity of saying another word
to her. But let him say what word he might, it should be in vain.
Nothing that he could say, nothing that she could say, would avail
anything. If this other man would release her,--then indeed she would
be released. But there was no chance of such release coming. In
truth, Mary did not know how near the chance was to her;--or rather,
how near the chance had been. He had now positively made up his mind,
and would say not a word further unless she asked him. If Mary said
nothing to John Gordon on this evening, he would take an opportunity
before they left the house to inform Mr Hall of his intended
marriage. When once the word should have passed his mouth, he could
not live under the stigma of a second Catherine Bailey.
"Miss Lawrie, pray let me make you known to my intended." This came
from Mr Montagu Blake, who felt himself to be justified by his
peculiar circumstances in so far taking upon himself the work of
introducing the guests in Mr Hall's house. "Of course, you've heard
all about it. I am the happiest young man in Hampshire,--and she is
the next."
"Speak for yourself, Montagu. I am not a young man at all."
"You're a young man's darling, which is the next thing to it."
"How are you, Whittlestaff?" said Mr Hall. "Wonderful weather, isn't
it? I'm told that you've been in trouble about that drunken husband
which plagues the life out of that respectable housekeeper of yours."
"He is a trouble; but if he is bad to me, how much worse must he be
to her?"
"That's true. He must be very bad, I should think. Miss Mary, why
don't you come over this fine weather, and have tea with my girls and
Kattie Forrester in the woods? You should take your chance while you
have a young man willing to wait upon you."
"I shall be quite delighted," said Blake, "and so will John Gordon."
"Only that I shall be in London this time to-morrow," said Gordon.
"That's nonsense. You are not going to Kimberley all at once. The
young ladies expect you to bring out a lot of diamonds and show them
before you start. Have you seen his diamonds, Miss Lawrie?"
"Indeed no," said Mary.
"I think I should have asked just to see them," said Evelina Hall.
Why should they join her name with his in this uncivil manner, or
suppose that she had any special power to induce him to show his
treasures.
"When you first find a diamond," said Mr Hall, "what do you do with
it? Do you ring a bell and call together your friends, and begin to
rejoice."
"No, indeed. The diamond is generally washed out of the mud by some
nigger, and we have to look very sharp after him to see that he
doesn't hide it under his toe-nails. It's not a very romantic kind of
business from first to last."
"Only profitable," said the curate.
"That's as may be. It is subject to greater losses than the preaching
of sermons."
"I should like to go out and see it all," said Miss Hall, looking
into Miss Lawrie's face. This also appeared to Mary to be
ill-natured.
Then the butler announced the dinner, and they all followed Mr Hall
and the curate's bride out of one room into the other. "This young