CHAPTER XLVI.
A Love Gift.
When Alice heard of her cousin's success, and understood that he wasactually Member of Parliament for the Chelsea Districts, she resolvedthat she would be triumphant. She had sacrificed nearly everythingto her desire for his success in public life, and now that he hadachieved the first great step towards that success, it would havebeen madness on her part to decline her share in the ovation. Ifshe could not rejoice in that, what source of joy would then be leftfor her? She had promised to be his wife, and at present she wasunder the bonds of that promise. She had so promised because shehad desired to identify her interests with his,--because she wishedto share his risks, to assist his struggles, and to aid him in hispublic career. She had done all this, and he had been successful. Shestrove, therefore, to be triumphant on his behalf, but she knew thatshe was striving ineffectually. She had made a mistake, and the dayswere coming in which she would have to own to herself that she haddone so in sackcloth, and to repent with ashes.
But yet she struggled to be triumphant. The tidings were firstbrought to her by her servant, and then she at once sat down towrite him a word or two of congratulation. But she found the taskmore difficult than she had expected, and she gave it up. She hadwritten no word to him since the day on which he had left her almostin anger, and now she did not know how she was to address him. "Iwill wait till he comes," she said, putting away from her the paperand pens. "It will be easier to speak than to write." But she wroteto Kate, and contrived to put some note of triumph into her letter.Kate had written to her at length, filling her sheet with a loud paeanof sincere rejoicing. To Kate, down in Westmoreland, it had seemedthat her brother had already done everything. He had already tiedFortune to his chariot wheels. He had made the great leap, and hadovercome the only obstacle that Fate had placed in his way. In hergreat joy she almost forgot whence had come the money with which thecontest had been won. She was not enthusiastic in many things;--aboutherself she was never so; but now she was elated with an enthusiasmwhich seemed to know no bounds. "I am proud," she said, in her letterto Alice. "No other thing that he could have done would have made meso proud of him. Had the Queen sent for him and made him an earl, itwould have been as nothing to this. When I think that he has forcedhis way into Parliament without any great friend, with nothing toback him but his own wit"--she had, in truth, forgotten Alice's moneyas she wrote;--"that he has achieved his triumph in the metropolis,among the most wealthy and most fastidious of the richest city in theworld, I do feel proud of my brother. And, Alice, I hope that you areproud of your lover." Poor girl! One cannot but like her pride, nay,almost love her for it, though it was so sorely misplaced. It must beremembered that she had known nothing of Messrs. Grimes and Scruby,and the River Bank, and that the means had been wanting to her oflearning the principles upon which some metropolitan elections areconducted.
"And, Alice, I hope that you are proud of your lover!" "He is notmy lover," Alice said to herself. "He knows that he is not. Heunderstands it, though she may not." And if not your lover, AliceVavasor, what is he then to you? And what are you to him, if not hislove? She was beginning to understand that she had put herself inthe way of utter destruction--that she had walked to the brink ofa precipice, and that she must now topple over it. "He is not mylover," she said; and then she sat silent and moody, and it took herhours to get her answer written to Kate.
On the same afternoon she saw her father for a moment or two. "SoGeorge has got himself returned," he said, raising his eyebrows.
"Yes, he has been successful. I'm sure you must be glad, papa."
"Upon my word, I'm not. He has bought a seat for three months; andwith whose money has he purchased it?"
"Don't let us always speak of money, papa."
"When you discuss the value of a thing just purchased, you mustmention the price before you know whether the purchaser has done wellor badly. They have let him in for his money because there are only afew months left before the general election. Two thousand pounds hehas had, I believe?"
"And if as much more is wanted for the next election he shall haveit."
"Very well, my dear;--very well, If you choose to make a beggar ofyourself, I cannot help it. Indeed, I shall not complain though heshould spend all your money, if you do not marry him at last." Inanswer to this, Alice said nothing. On that point her father's wisheswere fast growing to be identical with her own.
"I tell you fairly what are my feelings and my wishes," he continued."Nothing, in my opinion, would be so deplorable and ruinous as sucha marriage. You tell me that you have made up your mind to take him,and I know well that nothing that I can say will turn you. But Ibelieve that when he has spent all your money he will not take you,and that thus you will be saved. Thinking as I do about him, you canhardly expect that I should triumph because he has got himself intoParliament with your money!"
Then he left her, and it seemed to Alice that he had been very cruel.There had been little, she thought, nay, nothing of a father's lovingtenderness in his words to her. If he had spoken to her differently,might she not even now have confessed everything to him? But hereinAlice accused him wrongfully. Tenderness from him on this subjecthad, we may say, become impossible. She had made it impossible. Norcould he tell her the extent of his wishes without damaging his owncause. He could not let her know that all that was done was so donewith the view of driving her into John Grey's arms.
But what words were those for a father to speak to a daughter! Hadshe brought herself to such a state that her own father desired tosee her deserted and thrown aside? And was it probable that this wishof his should come to pass? As to that, Alice had already made upher mind. She thought that she had made up her mind that she wouldnever become her cousin's wife. It needed not her father's wish toaccomplish her salvation, if her salvation lay in being separatedfrom him.
On the next morning George went to her. The reader will, perhaps,remember their last interview. He had come to her after her letter tohim from Westmoreland, and had asked her to seal their reconciliationwith a kiss; but she had refused him. He had offered to embrace her,and she had shuddered before him, fearing his touch, telling him bysigns much more clear than any words, that she felt for him none ofthe love of a woman. Then he had turned from her in anger, declaringto her honestly that he was angry. Since that he had borrowed hermoney,--had made two separate assaults upon her purse,--and was nowcome to tell her of the results. How was he to address her? I begthat it may be also remembered that he was not a man to forget thetreatment he had received. When he entered the room, Alice lookedat him, at first, almost furtively. She was afraid of him. It mustbe confessed that she already feared him. Had there been in the mananything of lofty principle he might still have made her his slave,though I doubt whether he could ever again have forced her to lovehim. She looked at him furtively, and perceived that the gash on hisface was nearly closed. The mark of existing anger was not there. Hehad come to her intending to be gentle, if it might be possible. Hehad been careful in his dress, as though he wished to try once againif the role of lover might be within his reach.
Alice was the first to speak. "George, I am so glad that you havesucceeded! I wish you joy with my whole heart."
"Thanks, dearest. But before I say another word, let me acknowledgemy debt. Unless you had aided me with your money, I could not havesucceeded."
"Oh, George! pray don't speak of that!"
"Let me rather speak of it at once, and have done. If you will thinkof it, you will know that I must speak of it sooner or later." Hesmiled and looked pleasant, as he used to do in those Swiss days.
"Well, then, speak and have done."
"I hope you have trusted me in thus giving me the command of yourfortune?"
"Oh, yes."
"I do believe that you have. I need hardly say that I could not havestood for this last election without it; and I must try to make youunderstand that if I had not come forward at this vacancy, I shouldhave stood no chance for the next; othe
rwise, I should not have beenjustified in paying so dearly for a seat for one session. You canunderstand that; eh, Alice?"
"Yes; I think so?
"Anybody, even your father, would tell you that; though, probably,he regards my ambition to be a Member of Parliament as a sign ofdownright madness. But I was obliged to stand now, if I intended togo on with it, as that old lord died so inopportunely. Well, aboutthe money! It is quite upon the cards that I may be forced to ask foranother loan when the autumn comes."
"You shall have it, George."
"Thanks, Alice. And now I will tell you what I propose. You knowthat I have been reconciled,--with a sort of reconciliation,--to mygrandfather? Well, when the next affair is over, I propose to tellhim exactly how you and I then stand."
"Do not go into that now, George. It is enough for you at present tobe assured that such assistance as I can give you is at your command.I want you to feel the full joy of your success, and you will do somore thoroughly if you will banish all these money troubles from yourmind for a while."
"They shall, at any rate, be banished while I am with you," said he."There; let them go!" And he lifted up his right hand, and blew atthe tips of his fingers. "Let them vanish," said he. "It is alwayswell to be rid of such troubles for a time."
It is well to be rid of them at any time, or at all times, if onlythey can be banished without danger. But when a man has overused hisliver till it will not act for him any longer, it is not well for himto resolve that he will forget the weakness of his organ just as hesits down to dinner.
It was a pretty bit of acting, that of Vavasor's, when he blew awayhis cares; and, upon the whole, I do not know that he could havedone better. But Alice saw through it, and he knew that she did so.The whole thing was uncomfortable to him, except the fact that hehad the promise of her further moneys. But he did not intend torest satisfied with this. He must extract from her some meed ofapprobation, some show of sympathy, some spark of affection, true orpretended, in order that he might at least affect to be satisfied,and be enabled to speak of the future without open embarrassment. Howcould even he take her money from her, unless he might presume thathe stood with her upon some ground that belonged mutually to themboth?
"I have already taken my seat," said he.
"Yes; I saw that in the newspapers. My acquaintance among Members ofParliament is very small, but I see that you were introduced, as theycall it, by one of the few men that I do know. Is Mr. Bott a friend ofyours?"
"No,--certainly not a friend. I may probably have to act with him inpublic."
"Ah, that's just what they said of Mr. Palliser when they felt ashamedof his having such a man as his guest. I think if I were in publiclife I should try to act with people that I could like."
"Then you dislike Mr. Bott?"
"I do not like him, but my feelings about him are not violent."
"He is a vulgar ass," said George, "with no more pretensions to rankhimself a gentleman than your footman."
"If I had one."
"But he will get on in Parliament, to a certain extent."
"I'm afraid I don't quite understand what are the requisites forParliamentary success, or indeed of what it consists. Is hisambition, do you suppose, the same as yours?"
"His ambition, I take it, does not go beyond a desire to beParliamentary flunkey to a big man,--with wages, if possible, butwithout, if the wages are impossible."
"And yours?"
"Oh, as to mine;--there are some things, Alice, that a man does nottell to any one."
"Are there? They must be very terrible things."
"The schoolboy, when he sits down to make his rhymes, dares not say,even to his sister, that he hopes to rival Milton but he nurses sucha hope. The preacher, when he preaches his sermon, does not whisper,even to his wife, his belief that thousands may perhaps be turnedto repentance by the strength of his words; but he thinks that thethousand converts are possible."
"And you, though you will not say so, intend to rival Chatham, and tomake your thousand converts in politics."
"I like to hear you laugh at me,--I do, indeed. It does me good tohear your voice again with some touch of satire in it. It brings backthe old days,--the days to which I hope we may soon revert withoutpain. Shall it not be so, dearest?"
Her playful manner at once deserted her. Why had he made this foolishattempt to be tender? "I do not know," she said, gloomily.
For a few minutes he sat silent, fingering some article belonging toher which was lying on the table. It was a small steel paper-knife,of which the handle was cast and gilt; a thing of no great value, ofwhich the price may have been five shillings. He sat with it, passingit through his fingers, while she went on with her work.
"Who gave you this paper-cutter?" he said, suddenly.
"Goodness me, why do you ask? and especially, why do you ask in thatway?"
"I asked simply because if it is a present to you from any one, Iwill take up something else."
"It was given me by Mr. Grey."
He let it drop from his fingers on to the table with a noise, andthen pushed it from him, so that it fell on the other side, near towhere she sat.
"George," she said, as she stooped and picked it up, "your violenceis unreasonable; pray do not repeat it."
"I did not mean it," he said, "and I beg your pardon. I was simplyunfortunate in the article I selected. And who gave you this?" Insaying which he took up a little ivory foot-rule that was folded upso as to bring it within the compass of three inches.
"It so happens that no one gave me that; I bought it at a stupidbazaar."
"Then this will do. You shall give it me as a present, on the renewalof our love."
"It is too poor a thing to give," said she, speaking still moregloomily than she had done before.
"By no means; nothing is too poor, if given in that way. Anythingwill do; a ribbon, a glove, a broken sixpence. Will you give mesomething that I may take, and, taking it, may know that your heartis given with it?"
"Take the rule, if you please," she said.
"And about the heart?" he asked.
He should have been more of a rascal or less. Seeing how very much ofa rascal he was already, I think it would have been better that heshould have been more,--that he should have been able to content hisspirit with the simple acquisition of her money, and that he shouldhave been free from all those remains of a finer feeling which madehim desire her love also. But it was not so. It was necessary forhis comfort that she should, at any rate, say she loved him. "Well,Alice, and what about the heart?" he asked again.
"I would so much rather talk about politics, George," said she.
The cicatrice began to make itself very visible in his face, and thedebonair manner was fast vanishing. He had fixed his eyes upon her,and had inserted his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat.
"Alice, that is not quite fair," he said.
"I do not mean to be unfair."
"I am not so sure of that. I almost think that you do mean it. Youhave told me that you intend to become my wife. If, after that, youwilfully make me miserable, will not that be unfair?"
"I am not making you miserable,--certainly not wilfully."
"Did that letter which you wrote to me from Westmoreland meananything?"
"George, do not strive to make me think that it meant too much."
"If it did, you had better say so at once."
But Alice, though she would have said so had she dared, made noanswer to this. She sat silent, turning her face away from his gaze,longing that the meeting might be over, and feeling that she had losther own self-respect.
"Look here, Alice," he said, "I find it very hard to understand you.When I look back over all that has passed between us, and to thatother episode in your life, summing it all up with your conduct to meat present, I find myself at a loss to read your character."
"I fear I cannot help you in the reading of it."
"When you first loved me;--for you did love me. I understood thatwell enou
gh. There is no young man who in early life does not readwith sufficient clearness that sweetest morsel of poetry.--And whenyou quarrelled with me, judging somewhat harshly of my offences, Iunderstood that also; for it is the custom of women to be hard intheir judgement on such sins. When I heard that you had accepted theoffer made to you by that gentleman in Cambridgeshire, I thought thatI understood you still,--knowing how natural it was that you shouldseek some cure for your wound. I understood it, and accused myself,not you, in that I had driven you to so fatal a remedy." Here Aliceturned round towards him sharply, as though she were going tointerrupt him, but she said nothing, though he paused for her tospeak; and then he went on. "And I understood it well when I heardthat this cure had been too much for you. By heavens, yes! there wasno misunderstanding that. I meant no insult to the man when I upsethis little toy just now. I have not a word to say against him. Formany women he would make a model husband, but you are not one ofthem. And when you discovered this yourself, as you did, I understoodthat without difficulty. Yes, by heavens! if ever woman had beendriven to a mistake, you had been driven to one there." Here shelooked at him again, and met his eyes. She looked at him withsomething of his own fierceness in her face, as though she werepreparing herself to fight with him; but she said nothing at themoment, and then he again went on. "And, Alice, I understood italso when you again consented to be my wife. I thought that I stillunderstood you then. I may have been vain to think so, but surely itwas natural. I believed that the old love had come back upon you, andagain warmed your heart. I thought that it had been cold during ourseparation, and I was pleased to think so. Was that unnatural? Putyourself in my place, and say if you would not have thought so. Itold myself that I understood you then, and I told myself that inall that you had done you had acted as a true, and good, and lovingwoman. I thought of you much, and I saw that your conduct, as awhole, was intelligible and becoming." The last word grated onAlice's ears, and she showed her anger by the motion of her foot uponthe floor. Her cousin noted it all, but went on as though he hadnot noted it. "But now your present behaviour makes all the rest ariddle. You have said that you would be my wife, declaring therebythat you had forgiven my offences, and, as I suppose, reassuring meof your love; and yet you receive me with all imaginable coldness.What am I to think of it, and in what way would you have me behave toyou? When last I was here I asked you for a kiss." As he said this helooked at her with all his eyes, with his mouth just open, so as toshow the edges of his white teeth, with the wound down his face allwide and purple. The last word came with a stigmatizing hiss fromhis lips. Though she did not essay to speak, he paused again, as ifhe were desirous that she might realize the full purport of such arequest. I think that, in the energy of his speaking, a touch of truepassion had come upon him; that he had forgotten his rascaldom, andhis need of her money, and that he was punishing her with his wholepower of his vengeance for the treatment which he had received fromher. "I asked you for a kiss. If you are to be my wife you can haveno shame in granting me such a request. Within the last two monthsyou have told me that you would marry me. What am I to think of sucha promise if you deny me all customary signs of your affection?" Thenhe paused again, and she found that the time had come in which shemust say something to him.
"I asked you for a kiss."]
"I wonder you cannot understand," she said, "that I have sufferedmuch."
"And is that to be my answer?"
"I don't know what answer you want."
"Come, Alice, do not be untrue; you do know what answer I want, andyou know also whether my wanting it is unreasonable."
"No one ever told me that I was untrue before," she said.
"You do know what it is that I desire. I desire to learn that thewoman who is to be my wife, in truth, loves me."
She was standing up, and so was he also, but still she said nothing.He had in his hand the little rule which she had told him that hemight take, but he held it as though in doubt what he would do withit. "Well, Alice, am I to hear anything from you?"
"Not now, George; you are angry, and I will not speak to you in youranger."
"Have I not cause to be angry? Do you not know that you are treatingme badly?"
"I know that my head aches, and that I am very wretched. I wish youwould leave me."
"There, then, is your gift," said he, and he threw the rule over onto the sofa behind her. "And there is the trumpery trinket which Ihad hoped you would have worn for my sake." Whereupon something whichhe had taken from his waistcoat-pocket was thrown violently into thefender, beneath the fire-grate. He then walked with quick steps tothe door; but when his hand was on the handle, he turned. "Alice," hesaid, "when I am gone, try to think honestly of your conduct to me."Then he went, and she remained still, till she heard the front doorclose behind him.
When she was sure that he was gone, her first movement was made insearch of the trinket. I fear that this was not dignified on herpart; but I think that it was natural. It was not that she had anydesire for the jewel, or any curiosity even to see it. She would verymuch have preferred that he should have brought nothing of the kindto her. But she had a feminine reluctance that anything of valueshould be destroyed without a purpose. So she took the shovel, andpoked among the ashes, and found the ring which her cousin had thrownthere. It was a valuable ring, bearing a ruby on it between two smalldiamonds. Such at least, she became aware, had been its bearing; butone of the side stones had been knocked out by the violence withwhich the ring had been flung. She searched even for this, scorchingher face and eyes, but in vain. Then she made up her mind that thediamond should be lost for ever, and that it should go out amongthe cinders into the huge dust-heaps of the metropolis. Better that,though it was distasteful to her feminine economy, than the otheralternative of setting the servants to search, and thereby tellingthem something of what had been done.
When her search was over, she placed the ring on the mantelpiece; butshe knew that it would not do to leave it there,--so she folded it upcarefully in a new sheet of note-paper, and put it in the drawer ofher desk. After that she sat herself down at the table to think whatshe would do; but her head was, in truth, racked with pain, and onthat occasion she could bring her thoughts to no conclusion.
Can You Forgive Her? Page 48