CHAPTER IV.
"IT SHALL BE DONE."
Lord Hampstead has been left standing for a long time in MarionFay's sitting-room after the perpetration of his great offence, andMrs. Roden has been standing there also, having come to the housealmost immediately after her return home from her Italian journey.Hampstead, of course, knew most of the details of the Di Crinolaromance, but Marion had as yet heard nothing of it. There had beenso much for him to say to her during the interview which had been sowretchedly interrupted by his violence that he had found no time tomention to her the name either of Roden or of Di Crinola.
"You have done that which makes me ashamed of myself." These had beenMarion's last words as Mrs. Roden entered the room. "I didn't knowLord Hampstead was here," said Mrs. Roden.
"Oh, Mrs. Roden, I'm so glad you are come," exclaimed Marion. Thisof course was taken by the lady as a kindly expression of joy thatshe should have returned from her journey; whereas to Hampsteadit conveyed an idea that Marion was congratulating herself thatprotection had come to her from further violence on his part. PoorMarion herself hardly knew her own meaning,--hardly had any. Shecould not even tell herself that she was angry with her lover. It wasprobable that the very ecstacy of his love added fuel to hers. Ifa lover so placed as were this lover,--a lover who had come to herasking her to be his wife, and who had been received with the warmestassurance of her own affection for him,--if he were not justified intaking her in his arms and kissing her, when might a lover do so?The ways of the world were known to her well enough to make her feelthat it was so, even in that moment of her perturbation. Angry withhim! How could she be angry with him? He had asked her, and she haddeclared to him that she was not angry. Nevertheless she had beenquite in earnest when she had said that now,--after the thing that hehad done,--he must "never, never come to her again."
She was not angry with him, but with herself she was angry. Atthe moment, when she was in his arms, she bethought herself howimpossible had been the conditions she had imposed upon him. That heshould be assured of her love, and yet not allowed to approach heras a lover! That he should be allowed to come there in order thatshe might be delighted in looking at him, in hearing his voice, inknowing and feeling that she was dear to him; but that he should bekept at arm's length because she had determined that she should notbecome his wife! That they should love each other dearly; but eachwith a different idea of love! It was her fault that he should bethere in her presence at all. She had told herself that it was herduty to sacrifice herself, but she had only half carried out herduty. Should she not have kept her love to herself,--so that he mighthave left her, as he certainly would have done had she behaved tohim coldly, and as her duty had required of her. She had longedfor some sweetness which would be sweet to her though only a vainencouragement to him. She had painted for her own eyes a foolishpicture, had dreamed a silly dream. She had fancied that for thelittle of life that was left to her she might have been allowed thedelight of loving, and had been vain enough to think that her lovermight be true to her and yet not suffer himself! Her sacrifice hadbeen altogether imperfect. With herself she was angry,--not with him.Angry with him, whose very footfall was music to her ears! Angry withhim, whose smile to her was as a light specially sent from heaven forher behoof! Angry with him, the very energy of whose passion thrilledher with a sense of intoxicating joy! Angry with him because she hadbeen enabled for once,--only for once,--to feel the glory of herlife, to be encircled in the warmth of his arms, to become consciousof the majesty of his strength! No,--she was not angry. But he mustbe made to understand,--he must be taught to acknowledge,--that hemust never, never come to her again. The mind can conceive a joy soexquisite that for the enjoyment of it, though it may last but for amoment, the tranquillity, even the happiness, of years may be givenin exchange. It must be so with her. It had been her own doing, andif the exchange were a bad one, she must put up with the bargain. Hemust never come again. Then Mrs. Roden had entered the room, and shewas forced to utter whatever word of welcome might first come to hertongue.
"Yes," said Hampstead, trying to smile, as though nothing hadhappened which called for special seriousness of manner, "I am here.I am here, and hope to be here often and often till I shall havesucceeded in taking our Marion to another home."
"No," said Marion faintly, uttering her little protest ever sogently.
"You are very constant, my lord," said Mrs. Roden.
"I suppose a man is constant to what he really loves best. But whata history you have brought back with you, Mrs. Roden! I do not knowwhether I am to call you Mrs. Roden."
"Certainly, my lord, you are to call me so."
"What does it mean?" asked Marion.
"You have not heard," he said. "I have not been here time enough totell her all this, Mrs. Roden."
"You know it then, Lord Hampstead?"
"Yes, I know it;--though Roden has not condescended to write me aline. What are we to call him?" To this Mrs. Roden made no answeron the spur of the moment. "Of course he has written to Fanny, andall the world knows it. It seems to have reached the Foreign Officefirst, and to have been sent down from thence to my people atTrafford. I suppose there isn't a club in London at which it has notbeen repeated a hundred times that George Roden is not George Roden."
"Not George Roden?" asked Marion.
"No, dearest. You will show yourself terribly ignorant if you callhim so."
"What is he then, my lord?"
"Marion!"
"I beg your pardon. I will not do it again this time. But what ishe?"
"He is the Duca di Crinola."
"Duke!" said Marion.
"That's what he is, Marion."
"Have they made him that over there?"
"Somebody made one of his ancestors that ever so many hundred yearsago, when the Traffords were--; well, I don't know what the Traffordswere doing then;--fighting somewhere, I suppose, for whatever theycould get. He means to take the title, I suppose?"
"He says not, my lord."
"He should do so."
"I think so too, Lord Hampstead. He is obstinate, you know; but,perhaps, he may consent to listen to some friend here. You will tellhim."
"He had better ask others better able than I am to explain all theins and outs of his position. He had better go to the Foreign Officeand see my uncle. Where is he now?"
"He has gone to the Post Office. We reached home about noon, and hewent at once. It was late yesterday when we reached Folkestone, andhe let me stay there for the night."
"Has he always signed the old name?" asked Hampstead.
"Oh yes. I think he will not give it up."
"Nor his office?"
"Nor his office. As he says himself, what else will he have to liveon?"
"My father might do something." Mrs. Roden shook her head. "My sisterwill have money, though it may probably be insufficient to furnishsuch an income as they will want."
"He would never live in idleness upon her money, my lord. Indeed Ithink I may say that he has quite resolved to drop the title as idlelumber. You perhaps know that he is not easily persuaded."
"The most obstinate fellow I ever knew in my life," said Hampstead,laughing. "And he has talked my sister over to his own views." Thenhe turned suddenly round to Marion, and asked her a question. "ShallI go now, dearest?" he said.
She had already told him to go,--to go, and never to return to her.But the question was put to her in such a manner that were she simplyto assent to his going, she would, by doing so, assent also to hisreturning. For the sake of her duty to him, in order that she mightcarry out that self-sacrifice in the performance of which she wouldnow be so resolute, it was necessary that he should in truth be madeto understand that he was not to come back to her. But how was thisto be done while Mrs. Roden was present with them? Had he not beenthere then she could have asked her friend to help her in her greatresolution. But before the two she could say nothing of that whichit was in her heart to say to both of them. "If it pleases you, mylo
rd," she said.
"I will not be 'my lord.' Here is Roden, who is a real duke, andwhose ancestors have been dukes since long before Noah, and he isallowed to be called just what he pleases, and I am to have no voicein it with my own particular and dearest friends! Nevertheless I willgo, and if I don't come to-day, or the day after, I will write youthe prettiest little love-letter I can invent."
"Don't," she said;--oh so weakly, so vainly;--in a manner so utterlyvoid of that intense meaning which she was anxious to throw into herwords. She was conscious of her own weakness, and acknowledged toherself that there must be another interview, or at any rate a letterwritten on each side, before he could be made to understand her ownpurpose. If it must be done by a letter, how great would be thestruggle to her in explaining herself. But perhaps even that mightbe easier than the task of telling him all that she would have totell, while he was standing by, impetuous, impatient, perhaps almostviolent, assuring her of his love, and attempting to retain her bythe pressure of his hand.
"But I shall," he said, as he held her now for a moment. "I am notquite sure whether I may not have to go to Trafford; and if so thereshall be the love-letter. I feel conscious, Mrs. Roden, of beingincapable of writing a proper love-letter. 'Dearest Marion, I amyours, and you are mine. Always believe me ever thine.' I don't knowhow to go beyond that. When a man is married, and can write aboutthe children, or the leg of mutton, or what's to be done with hishunters, then I dare say it becomes easy. Good-bye dearest. Good-bye,Mrs. Roden. I wish I could keep on calling you Duchess in revenge forall the 'my lordings.'" Then he left them.
There was a feeling in the mind of both of them that he had conductedhimself just as a man would do who was in a high good-humour athaving been permanently accepted by the girl to whom he had offeredhis hand. Marion Fay knew that it was not so;--knew that it nevercould be so. Mrs. Roden knew that it had not been so when she hadleft home, now nearly two months since; and knew also that Marion hadpledged herself that it should not be so. The young lord then hadbeen too strong with his love. A feeling of regret came over her asshe remembered that the reasons against such a marriage were stillas strong as ever. But yet how natural that it should be so! Wasit possible that such a lover as Lord Hampstead should not succeedin his love if he were constant to it himself? Sorrow must come ofit,--perhaps a tragedy so bitter that she could hardly bring herselfto think of it. And Marion had been so firm in her resolve that itshould not be so. But yet it was natural, and she could not bringherself to express to the girl either anger or disappointment. "Is itto be?" she said, putting on her sweetest smile.
"No!" said Marion, standing up suddenly,--by no means smiling as shespoke! "It is not to be. Why do you look at me like that, Mrs. Roden?Did I not tell you before you went that it should never be so?"
"But he treats you as though he were engaged to you?"
"How can I help it? What can I do to prevent it? When I bid him go,he still comes back again, and when I tell him that I can never behis wife he will not believe me. He knows that I love him."
"You have told him that?"
"Told him! He wanted no telling. Of course he knew it. Love him! Oh,Mrs. Roden, if I could die for him, and so have done with it! Andyet I would not wish to leave my dear father. What am I to do, Mrs.Roden?"
"But it seemed to me just now that you were so happy with him."
"I am never happy with him;--but yet I am as though I were inheaven."
"Marion!"
"I am never happy. I know that it cannot be, that it will not be, ashe would have it. I know that I am letting him waste his sweetnessall in vain. There should be some one else, oh, so different from me!There should be one like himself, beautiful, strong in health, withhot eager blood in her veins, with a grand name, with grand eyes anda broad brow and a noble figure, one who, in taking his name, willgive him as much as she takes--one, above all, who will not pine andfade before his eyes, and trouble him during her short life withsickness and doctors and all the fading hopes of a hopeless invalid.And yet I let him come, and I have told him how dearly I love him. Hecomes and he sees it in my eyes. And then it is so glorious, to beloved as he loves. Oh, Mrs. Roden, he kissed me." That to Mrs. Rodendid not seem to be extraordinary; but, not knowing what to say to itat the moment, she also kissed the girl. "Then I told him that hemust go, and never come back to me again."
"Were you angry with him?"
"Angry with him! With myself I was angry. I had given him theright to do it. How could I be angry with him? And what does itmatter;--except for his sake? If he could only understand! If hewould only know that I am in earnest when I speak to him! But I amweak in everything except one thing. He will never make me say thatI will be his wife."
"My Marion! Dear Marion!"
"But father wishes it."
"Wishes you to become his wife?"
"He wishes it. Why should I not be like any other girl, he says.How can I tell him? How can I say that I am not like to other girlsbecause of my darling, my own dearest mother? And yet he does notknow it. He does not see it, though he has seen so much. He will notsee it till I am there, on my bed, unable to come to him when hewants me."
"There is nothing now to show him or me that you may not live to beold as he is."
"I shall not live to be old. You know that I shall not live to bemore than young. Have any of them lived? For my father,--for my dearfather,--he must find it out for himself. I have sometimes thoughtthat even yet I might last his time--that I might be with him to theend. It might be so,--only that all this tortures me."
"Shall I tell him;--shall I tell Lord Hampstead?"
"He must at any rate be told. He is not bound to me as my father is.For him there need be no great sorrow." At this Mrs. Roden shook herhead. "Must it be so?"
"If he is banished from your presence he will not bear it lightly."
"Will a young man love me like that;--a young man who has so much inthe world to occupy him? He has his ship, and his hounds, and hisfriends, and his great wealth. It is only girls, I think, who lovelike that."
"He must bear his sorrow as others do."
"But it shall be made as light as I can make it,--shall it not? Ishould have done this before. I should have done it sooner. Had hebeen made to go away at once, then he would not have suffered. Whywould he not go when I told him? Why would he not believe me whenI spoke to him? I should have heard all his words and never haveanswered him even with a smile. I should not have trembled when hetold me that I was there, at his hearth, as a friend. But who thoughtthen, Mrs. Roden, that this young nobleman would have really caredfor the Quaker girl?"
"I saw it, Marion."
"Could you see just by looking at him that he was so different fromothers? Are his truth, and his loving heart, and his high honour, andhis pure honesty, all written in his eyes,--to you as they are tome? But, Mrs. Roden, there shall be an end of it! Though it may killme,--though it may for a little time half-break his heart,--it shallbe done! Oh, that his dear heart should be half-broken for me! I willthink of it, Mrs. Roden, to-night. If writing may do it, perhapsI may write. Or, perhaps, I may say a word that he will at leastunderstand. If not you shall tell him. But, Mrs. Roden, it shall bedone!"
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