An Old Man's Love
"Yes; you can go to bed," he said. Then she gave him her hand in
silence, and went off to her own room.
She had no sooner reached her bed, than she threw herself on it and
burst into tears. All this which she had to endure,--all that she
would have to bear,--would be, she thought, too much for her. And
there came upon her a feeling of contempt for his cruelty. Had he
sternly resolved to keep her to her promised word, and to forbid her
all happiness for the future,--to make her his wife, let her heart be
as it might;--had he said: "you have come to my house, and have eaten
my bread and have drunk of my cup, and have then promised to become
my wife, and now you shall not depart from it because this interloper
has come between us;"--then, though she might have felt him to be
cruel, still she would have respected him. He would have done, as she
believed, as other men do. But he wished to gain his object, and yet
not appear to be cruel. It was so that she thought of him. "And it
shall be as he would have it," she said to herself. But though she
saw far into his character, she did not quite read it aright.
He remained there alone in his library into the late hours of the
night. But he did not even take up a book with the idea of solacing
his hours. He too had his idea of self-sacrifice, which went quite
as far as hers. But yet he was not as sure as was she that the
self-sacrifice would be a duty. He did not believe, as did she, in
the character of John Gordon. What if he should give her up to one
who did not deserve her,--to one whose future would not be stable
enough to secure the happiness and welfare of such a woman as was
Mary Lawrie! He had no knowledge to guide him, nor had she;--nor, for
the matter of that, had John Gordon himself any knowledge of what his
own future might be. Of his own future Mr Whittlestaff could speak
and think with the greatest confidence. It would be safe, happy, and
bright, should Mary Lawrie become his wife. Should she not do so, it
must be altogether ruined and confounded.
He could not conceive it to be possible that he should be required
by duty to make such a sacrifice; but he knew of himself that if her
happiness, her true and permanent happiness, would require it, then
the sacrifice should be made.
CHAPTER XVI.
MRS BAGGETT'S PHILOSOPHY.
The next day was Saturday, and Mr Whittlestaff came out of his room
early, intending to speak to Mrs Baggett. He had declared to himself
that it was his purpose to give her some sound advice respecting her
own affairs,--as far as her affairs and his were connected together.
But low down in his mind, below the stratum in which his declared
resolution was apparent to himself, there was a hope that he might
get from her some comfort and strength as to his present purpose. Not
but that he would ultimately do as he himself had determined; but, to
tell the truth, he had not quite determined, and thought that a word
from Mrs Baggett might assist him.
As he came out from his room, he encountered Mary, intent upon her
household duties. It was something before her usual time, and he was
surprised. She had looked ill overnight and worn, and he had expected
that she would keep her bed. "What makes you so early, Mary?" He
spoke to her with his softest and most affectionate tone.
"I couldn't sleep, and I thought I might as well be up." She had
followed him into the library, and when there he put his arm round
her waist and kissed her forehead. It was a strange thing for him
to do. She felt that it was so--very, very strange; but it never
occurred to her that it behoved her to be angry at his caress. He had
kissed her once before, and only once, and it had seemed to her that
he had intended that their love-making should go on without kisses.
But was she not his property, to do as he pleased with her? And there
could be no ground for displeasure on her part.
"Dear Mary," he said, "if you could only know how constant my
thoughts are to you." She did not doubt that it was so; but just so
constant were her thoughts to John Gordon. But from her to him there
could be no show of affection--nothing but the absolute coldness
of perfect silence. She had passed the whole evening with him last
night, and had not been allowed to speak a single word to him beyond
the ordinary greetings of society. She had felt that she had not
been allowed to speak a single word to any one, because he had been
present. Mr Whittlestaff had thrown over her the deadly mantle of
his ownership, and she had consequently felt herself to be debarred
from all right over her own words and actions. She had become his
slave; she felt herself in very truth to be a poor creature whose
only duty it was in the world to obey his volition. She had told
herself during the night that, with all her motives for loving him,
she was learning to regard him with absolute hatred. And she hated
herself because it was so. Oh, what a tedious affair was this of
living! How tedious, how sad and miserable, must her future days be,
as long as days should be left to her! Could it be made possible to
her that she should ever be able to do her duty by this husband of
hers,--for her, in whose heart of hearts would be seated continually
the image of this other man?
"By-the-by," said he, "I want to see Mrs Baggett. I suppose she is
about somewhere."
"Oh dear, yes. Since the trouble of her husband has become nearer,
she is earlier and earlier every day. Shall I send her?" Then she
departed, and in a few minutes Mrs Baggett entered the room.
"Come in, Mrs Baggett."
"Yes, sir."
"I have just a few words which I want to say to you. Your husband has
gone back to Portsmouth?"
"Yes sir; he have." This she said in a very decided tone, as though
her master need trouble himself no further about her husband.
"I am very glad that it should be so. It's the best place for
him,--unless he could be sent to Australia."
"He ain't a-done nothing to fit himself for Botany Bay, Mr
Whittlestaff," said the old woman, bobbing her head at him.
"I don't care what place he has fitted himself for, so long as he
doesn't come here. He is a disreputable old man."
"You needn't be so hard upon him, Mr Whittlestaff. He ain't a-done
nothing much to you, barring sleeping in the stable one night when
he had had a drop o' drink too much." And the old woman pulled out a
great handkerchief, and began to wipe her eyes piteously.
"What a fool you are, Mrs Baggett."
"Yes; I am a fool. I knows that."
"Here's this disreputable old man eating and drinking your
hard-earned wages."
"But they are my wages. And who's a right to them, only he?"
"I don't say anything about that, only he comes here and disturbs
you."
"Well, yes; he is disturbing; if it's only because of his wooden leg
and red nose. I don't mean to say as he's the sort of a man as does a
credit to a gentleman's house to see about the place. But he was my
lot in matrimony, and I've got to put up with him. I ain't a-going to
refuse to bear the burden which came to be my lot. I don't suppose
he's earned a single shilling since he left the regiment, and that is
hard upon a poor woman who's got nothing but her wages."
"Now, look here, Mrs Baggett."
"Yes, sir."
"Send him your wages."
"And have to go in rags myself,--in your service."
"You won't go in rags. Don't be a fool."
"I am a fool, Mr Whittlestaff; you can't tell me that too often."
"You won't go in rags. You ought to know us well enough--"
"Who is us, Mr Whittlestaff? They ain't no us;--just yet."
"Well;--me."
"Yes, I know you, Mr Whittlestaff."
"Send him your wages. You may be quite sure that you'll find yourself
provided with shoes and stockings, and the rest of it."
"And be a woluntary burden beyond what I earns! Never;--not as long
as Miss Mary is coming to live here as missus of your house. I should
do summat as I should have to repent of. But, Mr Whittlestaff, I've
got to look the world in the face, and bear my own crosses. I never
can do it no younger."
"You're an old woman now, and you talk of throwing yourself upon the
world without the means of earning a shilling."
"I think I'd earn some, at something, old as I am, till I fell down
flat dead," she said. "I have that sperit in me, that I'd still be
doing something. But it don't signify; I'm not going to remain here
when Miss Mary is to be put over me. That's the long and the short of
it all."
Now had come the moment in which, if ever, Mr Whittlestaff must
get the strength which he required. He was quite sure of the old
woman,--that her opinion would not be in the least influenced by any
desire on her own part to retain her position as his housekeeper. "I
don't know about putting Miss Mary over you," he said.
"Don't know about it!" she shouted.
"My mind is not absolutely fixed."
"'As she said anything?"
"Not a word."
"Or he? Has he been and dared to speak up about Miss Mary. And
he,--who, as far as I can understand, has never done a ha'porth for
her since the beginning. What's Mr Gordon? I should like to know.
Diamonds! What's diamonds in the way of a steady income? They're all
a flash in the pan, and moonshine and dirtiness. I hates to hear of
diamonds. There's all the ill in the world comes from them; and you'd
give her up to be taken off by such a one as he among the diamonds!
I make bold to tell you, Mr Whittlestaff, that you ought to have more
strength of mind than what that comes to. You're telling me every day
as I'm an old fool."
"So you are."
"I didn't never contradict you; nor I don't mean, if you tells me so
as often again. And I don't mean to be that impident as to tell my
master as I ain't the only fool about the place. It wouldn't be no
wise becoming."
"But you think it would be true."
"I says nothing about that. That's not the sort of language anybody
has heard to come out of my mouth, either before your face or behind
your back. But I do say as a man ought to behave like a man. What!
Give up to a chap as spends his time in digging for diamonds! Never!"
"What does it matter what he digs for; you know nothing about his
business."
"But I know something about yours, Mr Whittlestaff. I know where you
have set your wishes. And I know that when a man has made up his mind
in such an affair as this, he shouldn't give way to any young diamond
dealer of them all."
"Not to him."
"And what's she? Are you to give up everything because she's
love-sick for a day or two? Is everything to be knocked to pieces
here at Croker's Hall, because he has come and made eyes at her? She
was glad enough to take what you offered before he had come this
way."
"She was not glad enough. That is it. She was not glad enough."
"She took you, at any rate, and I'd never make myself mean enough to
make way for such a fellow as that."
"It isn't for him, Mrs Baggett."
"It is for him. Who else? To walk away and just leave the game open
because he has come down to Hampshire! There ain't no spirit of
standing up and fighting about it."
"With whom am I to fight?"
"With both of 'em;--till you have your own way. A foolish, stupid,
weak girl like that!"
"I won't have her abused."
"She's very well. I ain't a-saying nothing against her. If she'll do
what you bid her, she'll turn out right enough. You asked her, and
she said she'd do it. Is not that so? There's nothing I hate so much
as them romantic ways. And everything is to be made to give way
because a young chap is six foot high! I hates romance and manly
beauty, as they call it, and all the rest of it. Where is she to get
her bread and meat? That's what I want to know."
"There'll be bread and meat for her."
"I dare say. But you'll have to pay for it, while she's philandering