About six weeks after I had left the Hall, my father and Clara
returned to London for the season.
It is not my intention to delay over my life either at home or at
North Villa, during the spring and summer. This would be merely to
repeat much of what has been already related. It is better to proceed
at once to the closing period of my probation; to a period which it
taxes my resolution severely to write of at all. A few weeks more of
toil at my narrative, and the penance of this poor task-work will be
over.
* * * * * *
Imagine then, that the final day of my long year of expectation has
arrived; and that on the morrow, Margaret, for whose sake I have
sacrificed and suffered so much, is at last really to be mine.
On the eve of the great change in my life that was now to take place,
the relative positions in which I, and the different persons with whom
I was associated, stood towards each other, may be sketched thus:--
My father's coldness of manner had not altered since his return to
London. On my side, I carefully abstained from uttering a word before
him, which bore the smallest reference to my real situation. Although
when we met, we outwardly preserved the usual relations of parent and
child, the estrangement between us had now become complete.
Clara did not fail to perceive this, and grieved over it in secret.
Other and happier feelings, however, became awakened within her, when
I privately hinted that the time for disclosing my secret to my sister
was not far off. She grew almost as much agitated as I was, though by
very different expectations--she could think of nothing else but the
explanation and the surprise in store for her. Sometimes, I almost
feared to keep her any longer in suspense; and half regretted having
said anything on the subject of the new and absorbing interest of my
life, before the period when I could easily have said all.
Mr. Sherwin and I had not latterly met on the most cordial terms. He
was dissatisfied with me for not having boldly approached the subject
of my marriage in my father's presence; and considered my reasons for
still keeping it secret, as dictated by morbid apprehension, and as
showing a total want of proper firmness. On the other hand, he was
obliged to set against this omission on my part, the readiness I had
shown in meeting his wishes on all remaining points. My life was
insured in Margaret's favour; and I had arranged to be called to the
bar immediately, so as to qualify myself in good time for every
possible place within place-hunting range. My assiduity in making
these preparations for securing Margaret's prospects and mine against
any evil chances that might happen, failed in producing the favourable
effect on Mr. Sherwin, which they must assuredly have produced on a
less selfish man. But they obliged him, at least, to stop short at
occasional grumblings about my reserve with my father, and to maintain
towards me a sort of sulky politeness, which was, after all, less
offensive than the usual infliction of his cordiality, with its
unfailing accompaniment of dull stories and duller jokes.
During the spring and summer, Mrs. Sherwin appeared to grow feebler
and feebler, from continued ill-health. Occasionally, her words and
actions--especially in her intercourse with me--suggested fears that
her mind was beginning to give way, as well as her body. For instance,
on one occasion, when Margaret had left the room for a minute or two,
she suddenly hurried up to me, whispering with eager looks and anxious
tones:--"Watch over your wife--mind you watch over her, and keep all
bad people from her! _I've_ tried to do it--mind _you_ do it, too!" I
asked immediately for an explanation of this extraordinary injunction;
but she only answered by muttering something about a mother's
anxieties, and then returned hastily to her place. It was impossible
to induce her to be more explicit, try how I might.
Margaret once or twice occasioned me much perplexity and distress, by
certain inconsistencies and variations in her manner, which began to
appear shortly after my return to North Villa from the country. At one
time, she would become, on a sudden, strangely sullen and silent--at
another, irritable and capricious. Then, again, she would abruptly
change to the most affectionate warmth of speech and demeanour,
anxiously anticipating every wish I could form, eagerly showing her
gratitude for the slightest attentions I paid her. These unaccountable
alterations of manner vexed and irritated me indescribably. I loved
Margaret too well to be able to look philosophically on the
imperfections of her character; I knew of no cause given by me for the
frequent changes in her conduct, and, if they only proceeded from
coquetry, then coquetry, as I once told her, was the last female
accomplishment that could charm me in any woman whom I really loved.
However, these causes of annoyance and regret--her caprices, and my
remonstrances--all passed happily away, as the term of my engagement
with Mr. Sherwin approached its end, Margaret's better and lovelier
manner returned. Occasionally, she might betray some symptoms of
confusion, some evidences of unusual thoughtfulness--but I remembered
how near was the day of the emancipation of our love, and looked on
her embarrassment as a fresh charm, a new ornament to the beauty of my
maiden wife.
Mr. Mannion continued--as far as attention to my interests went--to be
the same ready and reliable friend as ever; but he was, in some other
respects, an altered man. The illness of which he had complained
months back, when I returned to London, seemed to have increased. His
face was still the same impenetrable face which had so powerfully
impressed me when I first saw him, but his manner, hitherto so quiet
and self-possessed, had now grown abrupt and variable. Sometimes, when
he joined us in the drawing-room at North Villa, he would suddenly
stop before we had exchanged more than three or four words, murmur
something, in a voice unlike his usual voice, about an attack of spasm
and giddiness, and leave the room. These fits of illness had something
in their nature of the same secrecy which distinguished everything
else connected with him: they produced no external signs of
distortion, no unusual paleness in his face--you could not guess what
pain he was suffering, or where he was suffering it. Latterly, I
abstained from ever asking him to join us; for the effect on Margaret
of his sudden attacks of illness was, naturally, such as to discompose
her seriously for the remainder of the evening. Whenever I saw him
accidentally, at later periods of the year, the influence of the
genial summer season appeared to produce no alteration for the better
in him. I remarked that his cold hand, which had chilled me when I
took it on the raw winter night of my return from the country, was as
cold as ever, on the warm summer days which preceded the close of my
engagement at North Villa.
Such was the posture of affairs at home, and at Mr. Sherwin's, when I
went to see Margaret for the last time in my old character, on the
last night which yet remained to separate us from each other.
I had been all day preparing for our reception, on the morrow, in a
cottage which I had taken for a month, in a retired part of the
country, at some distance from London. One month's unalloyed happiness
with Margaret, away from the world and all worldly considerations, was
the Eden upon earth towards which my dearest hope and anticipations
had pointed for a whole year past--and now, now at last, those
aspirations were to be realized! All my arrangements at the cottage
were completed in time to allow me to return home, just before our
usual late dinner hour. During the meal, I provided for my month's
absence from London, by informing my father that I proposed visiting
one of my country friends. He heard me as coldly and indifferently as
usual; and, as I anticipated, did not even ask to what friend's house
I was going. After dinner, I privately informed Clara that on the
morrow, before starting, I would, in accordance with my promise, make
her the depositary of my long-treasured secret--which, as yet, was not
to be divulged to any one besides. This done, I hurried away, between
nine and ten o'clock, for a last half-hour's visit to North Villa;
hardly able to realise my own situation, or to comprehend the fulness
and exaltation of my own joy.
A disappointment was in store for me. Margaret was not in the house;
she had gone out to an evening party, given by a maiden aunt of hers,
who was known to be very rich, and was, accordingly, a person to be
courted and humoured by the family.
I was angry as well as disappointed at what had taken place. To send
Margaret out, on this evening of all others, showed a want of
consideration towards both of us, which revolted me. Mr. and Mrs.
Sherwin were in the room when I entered; and to _him_ I spoke my
opinion on the subject, in no very conciliatory terms. He was
suffering from a bad attack of headache, and a worse attack of
ill-temper, and answered as irritably as he dared.
"My good Sir!" he said, in sharp, querulous tones, "do, for once,
allow me to know what's best. You'll have it all _your_ way
to-morrow--just let me have _mine,_ for the last time, to-night. I'm
sure you've been humoured often enough about keeping Margaret away
from parties--and we should have humoured you this time, too; but a
second letter came from the old lady, saying she should be affronted
if Margaret wasn't one of her guests. I couldn't go and talk her over,
because of this infernal headache of mine--Hang it! it's your interest
that Margaret should keep in with her aunt; she'll have all the old
girl's money, if she only plays her cards decently well. That's why I
sent her to the party--her going will be worth some thousands to both
of you one of these days. She'll be back by half-past twelve, or
before. Mannion was asked; and though he's all out of sorts, he's gone
to take care of her, and bring her back. I'll warrant she comes home
in good time, when _he's_ with her. So you see there's nothing to make
a fuss about, after all."
It was certainly a relief to hear that Mr. Mannion was taking care of
Margaret. He was, in my opinion, much fitter for such a trust than her
own father. Of all the good services he had done for me, I thought
this the best--but it would have been even better still, if he had
prevented Margaret from going to the party.
"I must say again," resumed Mr. Sherwin, still more irritably, finding
I did not at once answer him, "there's nothing that any reasonable
being need make a fuss about. I've been doing everything for
Margaret's interests and yours--and she'll be back by twelve--and Mr.
Mannion takes care of her--and I don't know what you would have--and
it's devilish hard, so ill as I am too, to cut up rough with me like
this--devilish hard!"
"I am sorry for your illness, Mr. Sherwin; and I don't doubt your good
intentions, or the advantage of Mr. Mannion's protection for Margaret;
but I feel disappointed, nevertheless, that she should have gone out
to-night."
"I said she oughtn't to go at all, whatever her aunt wrote--_I_ said
that."
This bold speech actually proceeded from Mrs. Sherwin! I had never
before heard her utter an opinion in her husband's presence--such an
outburst from _her,_ was perfectly inexplicable. She pronounced the
words with desperate rapidity, and unwonted power of tone, fixing her
eyes all the while on me with a very strange expression.
"Damn it, Mrs. S.!" roared her husband in a fury, "will you hold your
tongue? What the devil do you mean by giving _your_ opinion, when
nobody wants it? Upon my soul I begin to think you're getting a little
cracked. You've been meddling and bothering lately, so that I don't
know what the deuce has come to you! I'll tell you what it is, Mr.
Basil," he continued, turning snappishly round upon me, "you had
better stop that fidgetty temper of yours, by going to the party
yourself. The old lady told me she wanted gentlemen; and would be glad
to see any friends of mine I liked to send her. You have only to
mention my name: Mannion will do the civil in the way of introduction.
There! there's an envelope with the address to it--they won't know who
you are, or what you are, at Margaret's aunt's--you've got your black
dress things on, all right and ready--for Heaven's sake, go to the
party yourself, and then I hope you'll be satisfied!"
Here he stopped; and vented the rest of his ill-humour by ringing the
bell violently for "his arrow-root," and abusing the servant when she
brought it.
I hesitated about accepting his proposal. While I was in doubt, Mrs.
Sherwin took the opportunity, when her husband's eye was off her, of
nodding her head at me significantly. She evidently wished me to join
Margaret at the party--but why? What did her behaviour mean?
It was useless to inquire. Long bodily suffering and weakness had but
too palpably produced a corresponding feebleness in her intellect.
What should I do? I was resolved to see Margaret that night; but to
wait for her between two and three hours, in company with her father
and mother at North Villa, was an infliction not to be endured. I
determined to go to the party. No one there would know anything about
me. They would be all people who lived in a different world from mine;
and whose manners and habits I might find some amusement in studying.
At any rate, I should spend an hour or two with Margaret, and could
make it my own charge to see her safely home. Without further
hesitation, therefore I took up the envelope with the address on it,
and bade Mr. and Mrs. Sherwin good-night.
It struck ten as I left North Villa. The moonlight which was just
beginning to shine brilliantly on my arrival there, now appeared but
at rare intervals; for the clouds were spreading thicker and thicker
over the whole surface of the sky, as the night advanced.