The Three Brides

by Шарлотта Мэри Йондж

  "Have you finished, Miles? Could you speak to me in the library a minute? I beg your pardon, Mr. Charnock, but my time is short."

  "I hope-I quite understand. Do not let me be in your way." And the brothers repaired to the library, where Julius's first words were, "Miles, you must make up your mind. They are getting up a requisition to you to stand for Wil'sbro'."

  "To me?"

  "You are the most obvious person, and the feeling for dear Raymond is so strong as to prevent any contest. Whitlock told Bindon yesterday that you should have no trouble."

  "I can't. It is absurd. I know nothing about it. My poor mother bred up Raymond for nothing else. Don't you remember how she made him read history, volumes upon volumes, while I was learning nothing but the ropes? I declare, Julius, there he goes."

  "Who?"

  "Why, that old ass, down to hunt up poor Rosamond; I don't believe he thinks there's any one in the world but his daughter. I declare I'll hail him and stop him."

  "No, no, Miles, Rosamond can take care of herself. She won't come till she has seen to her patients down there; and, after all, Cecil's is the saddest case, poor thing. To return. If you don't take to politics in the end, I think you should let them put you in now, if only as a stop-gap, or we shall get some one whom it may not be easy to get rid of."

  "There's something in that, but I can't accept without knowing my position, and I would not utter a word to disturb my mother till it occurs to her of herself."

  "Now that Frank is better?"

  "No. It will all come on her soon enough."

  "Would you stand if she made it right for you?"

  "I can't tell. There would be no punishment so great to my poor Anne as to be dragged into society, and I don't know how she would bear it, even if she had no scruples. We never thought of anything but settling in Glen Fraser, only I wanted her to know you all. If that poor Cecil only had a child we could be free to go back. Poor Anne!"

  "Do you think she is still as homesick as at first?"

  "Well, not quite, perhaps; but I never can get to talk to her, and I know it is a terrible sacrifice to her to live here at all, and I won't have her forced into a style of thing against her conscience. If they come to me, I shall tell them to take Mr. Bowater."

  "Poor Mr. Bowater! He will have little heart."

  "Who else is there? That fellow Moy would like it, I suppose."

  "That fellow Moy may have to change his note," said Julius. "I think we have the means of clearing Archie, when we can see how to use them."

  Miles gave a sort of leap as he stood by the fire. "Tell me. Archie! I had no heart to write to him, poor fellow."

  "Write to him by all means, but say nothing here." And Julius briefly repeated what Gadley had said.

  "I don't see that the scoundrel Moy deserves any consideration."

  "I don't know whether he does; but he has a good wife, ailing and sickly, and a daughter. He has lived in good report these many years, and I think it is due to him and to old Proudfoot not to spread the report before giving him warning. In fact, I am not sure whether we could proceed against him as things stand."

  "It is just what Raymond would have known," said Miles, with a sigh; "but you are right, Julius, one ought to give him fair play. Ah! what's that, Jenkins?-Note from Lord Belfort? Wait for an answer. Can't they give one any peace?"

  While Miles was reluctantly answering his note, Julius, resolving to act before he was forbidden, mounted to Frank's room, requested to speak with his mother, and propelled her into the outer room, leaving Anne on guard.

  "Now then, my dear," she said, "I have known a talk must soon come. You have all been very good to me to leave it so long."

  "I am come now without poor Miles's knowledge or consent," said Julius, "because it is necessary for him to know what to do."

  "He will give up the navy," said his mother. "O, Julius! does he require to be told that he-?" and she laid her head on her son's shoulder.

  "It is what he cannot bear to be told; but what drives me on is that Whitlock tells me that the Wil'sbro' people want to bring him in at once, as the strongest proof of their feeling for Raymond."

  "Yes," she raised her head proudly, "of course he must come forward. He need have no doubt. Send him to me, Julius, I will tell him to open letters, and put matters in train. Perhaps you will write to Graves for me, if he does not like it, poor boy."

  She had roused herself into the woman of business, and when Miles, after some indignation at her having been disturbed, obeyed the summons, she held out her arms, and became the consoler.

  "Come, my boy," she said, "we must face it sooner or later. You must stand foremost and take up his work for him."

  "Oh, mother! mother! you know how little I am able," said Miles, covering his face with his hands.

  "You do not bring his burthened heart to the task," she said. "If you had watched and felt with him, as perhaps only his mother could, you would know that I can be content that the long heartache should have ceased, where the weary are at rest. Yes, Miles, I feel as if I had put him to sleep after a long day of pain, as when he was a little child."

  They hardened themselves to the discussion, Mrs. Poynsett explaining what she thought the due of her eldest son, only that Cecil's jointure would diminish the amount at her disposal. Indeed, when she was once aroused, she attended the most fully; but when Miles found her apologizing for only affording him the little house in the village, he cried out with consternation.

  "My dear," she said, "it is best so; I will not be a burthen on you young ones. I see the mistake."

  "I know," stammered Miles, "my poor Anne is not up to your mark-not clever like you or Jenny-but I thought you did like her pretty handy ways."

  "I feel them and love them with all my heart; but I cannot have her happiness and yours sacrificed to me. Yes, you boys love the old nest; but even Julius and Rose rejoice in their own, and you must see what she really wishes, not what she thinks her duty. Take her out walking, you both need it badly enough."

  They ventured to comply, and eluding Mr. Charnock, went into the park, silvery with the unstanched dews, and the leaves floating down one by one like golden rain. "Not much like the Bush," said Miles.

  "No," was all Anne durst say.

  "Poor Nan, how dreary it must have looked to you last year!"

  "I am afraid I wrote very complaining letters!"

  "Not complaining, but a direful little effort at content, showing the more piteously, because involuntarily, what a mistake I had made."

  "No, no mistake. Indeed, Miles, it was not. Nothing else would have cured me of the dreadful uncharitableness which was the chief cause of my unhappiness, and if I had not been so forlorn, I should never have seen how good and patient your mother was with me. Yes, I mean it. I read over my old diary and saw how tiresome and presumptuous I was, and how wonderfully she bore with me, and so did Julius and Rosamond, while all the time I fancied them-no Christians."

  "Ah! you child! You know I would never have done it if I had known you were to be swamped among brides. At any rate, this poor old place doesn't look so woefully dismal and hateful to you now."

  "It could not, where you are, and where I have so many to know and love."

  "You can bear the downfall of our Bush schemes?"

  "Your duty is here now."

  "Are you grieved, little one?"

  "I don't know. I should like to have seen mamma; but she does not need me now as your mother does."

  "Then you are willing to be her daughter?"

  "I have tried hard, and she is very kind; but I am far too dull and ignorant for her. I can only wait upon her; but when she has you and Julius to talk to, my stupidity will not matter."

  "Would you be content to devote yourself to her, instead of making a home of our own?"

  "She can't be left alone in that great house."

  "The question is, can you be happy in it? or do you wish for a house to ourselves?"

  "You don't, Mil
es, it is your own home."

  "That's not the question."

  "Miles, why do you look at me so?"

  "I was told to ascertain your wishes."

  "I don't wish anything-now I have you-but to be a comfort to your mother. That is my first earthly wish just now."

  "If that be earthly, it has a touch of the heavenly," muttered Miles to himself. "You will make it clear to mother then that you like to go on with her?"

  "If she does not mind having me."

  "And Julius says it really cheered our dear Raymond to think you would be the one to look after her! But that's not all, Nanny, I've only till to-morrow to decide whether I am to be Member for Wil'sbro'."

  "Is that a duty?"

  "Not such a duty as to bind me if it were altogether repugnant to you. I was not brought up for it, and may be a mere stop-gap, but it is every man's duty to come to the front when he is called for, and do his utmost for his country in Parliament, I suppose, as much as in action."

  "I see; but it would be leaving your mother alone a great deal."

  "Not necessarily. You could stay here part of the time, and I go backwards and forwards, as Raymond did before his marriage."

  "It would be better than your being at sea."

  "But remember," he added, "there is much that can't be shirked. I don't mean currying popularity, but if one is in that position, there's no shutting oneself up. It becomes a duty to keep society going, and give it the sort of tone that a nice woman can do. Do you see?"

  "I think I do. Julius said so once."

  "So if we are to have such tears and despair as there were about the ball in the Chimaera, then-"

  "I was wrong then," said Anne. "I did not behave at all well to you all that time, dear Miles; I have been sorry for it ever since I understood."

  "It was not you, little one, it was Mr. Pilgrim."

  "No, it was not Mr. Pilgrim who made me cross."

  "Yes, it was. He exacted pledges that he had no right to lay on your conscience, and your poor little conscience was in terrible straits, and I was too angry to feel for it. Never mind all that; you have done with the fellow, and understand better now."

  "He thought he was right, and that only such abstinence could guard me. And, Miles, a promise is a promise, and I do not think I ought to dance or play at cards. It is not that I think them wrong for others, but I cannot break my word. Except those-I will do whatever is fitting for your wife."

  "Spoken like a heroine!"

  "I don't think I could ever give a tone. Rosamond could, if she tried, but I have no readiness and no training; but I do see that there is more good in being friendly like Jenny Bowater, than in avoiding everything, and as long as one does it because it is right and loving, it can't be the world or worldliness."

  It was not lucidly expressed, but it satisfied the Captain.

  "All right, my bonnie Nance, I'll promise on my side never to ask you to go against your real conscience, and if you must have a Pope, I had rather it were Pope Julius than Pope Pilgrim."

  "Don't, Miles. Popes are all wrong, and I don't know whether Mr. Pilgrim would give the right hand of fellowship to Julius."

  Miles chuckled. "You may think yourself lucky you have not to adjust that question, Madame Nan."

  "There's the quarter chiming, Frank will want his beef-tea."

  Presently after Miles laid his hand on his mother's shoulder, and said, "Mother, here's a daughter who thinks you want to turn us out because she is too slow and stupid for your home child." And he drew Anne up blushing as if she were his freshly-won bride.

  "My dear, are you sure you don't want to go away from the old woman? Should you not be happier with him all to yourself?"

  "I could not be happy if you were left," said Anne. "May I go on as we did last winter? I will try to do better now I have him to help me."

  "My own dear child!"

  That was the way Anne forgot her own people and her father's house.

  CHAPTER XXXIII. Herbert's Victory

  And of our scholars let us learn Our own forgotten lore.-KEBLE

  "Joan, Jenny, dearest old Joanie!" It was eagerly spoken, though the voice was strangely altered that came from behind the flowered curtain of that big bed, while the fingers drew it back, and Rollo raised his black muzzle near at hand. "Oh, Jenny! have you come to me?"

  "My dear, dear, poor boy!"

  "No kissing-it's not safe," and he burrowed under the sheet.

  "As if I did not mean to do more for you than that! Besides, it is not catching."

  "So I said, till it caught me. What a jolly cold hand! You've not come in cold and hungry though?"

  "No, indeed, Rosamond forced me to sit down to a whole spread. As if one could eat with a knot in one's throat."

  "Mind you do, Jenny-it was what did for me. The Rector ordered me never to go about unfed; but one could not always-and there was something I have to tell you that drove all the rest out-"

  "Dear Herbs! Papa can't talk of what you have done without tears. He longed to come, but we could not leave mamma without one of us, and he thought I could do the most for you. I have a note for you."

  "Forgiving me?"

  "I should think so. It is in my bag-"

  "No, not this moment; I like to know it. And mammy-poor mammy-"

  "She is as comforted as she can be that you have Cranky and me; and then papa's being proud of you has cheered her-oh! so much."

  "I'm glad they can comfort themselves-"

  "But, Herbert, dear, you must be much better; I did not expect to see you so well."

  "I am not so bad between whiles," said Herbert, wearily. "And, while I can, I've got something to tell you that will make it up to you, and a great deal more."

  "Make it up?" said Jenny, looking with bewildered eyes at the dear face.

  "Yes, I made Gadley consent. The Rector has it in writing, and it will do quite as well if I die. O, Jenny, woman, think of my never knowing what you had gone through!"

  "Is it about Archie?" said Jenny, beginning to tremble.

  "Yes. It will clear him."

  "I always knew he was clear."

  "Yes, but he can come back now all right. Eh! what an ass I am! I've begun at the wrong end. He wasn't drowned-it was all a mistake; Miles saw him in Africa-Cranky, I say, come to her."

  "Yes, Master Herbert, you've been talking a great deal too much for your sister just off a journey. You'll get the fever on again. Miss Joanna, you ought to know better than to let him run on; I sha'n't be able to let you do nothing for him if this is the way."

  "Was it too sudden, Joan?" said Herbert, wistfully, as she bent to kiss his brow with trembling lips. "I couldn't let any one tell you but myself, while I could; but I don't seem able to go on. Is the Rector there, Cranky?"

  "Yes, sir, waiting in the parlour."

  "Rector," and Julius hurried in at once, "take her and tell her. I can't do it after all."

  "Is he alive?" whispered Jenny, so much overcome that Julius had to hold her up for a moment as he led her into the other room.

  "Really! She thinks me delirious," said Herbert, rather amused. "Tell her all, Rector."

  "Really, Joan," said Julius, putting her into the great chair, and holding her trembling hand. "Miles has seen him, has had him in his ship."

  "And you never told me!"

  "He made Miles promise not to tell."

  "But he told you!"

  "Yes, because it was Anne who gave the clue which led to his discovery; but when he found we all thought him dead, he laid Miles under the strictest charge to say nothing. He is on an ostrich farm in Natal, Jenny, well, and all that he ever was, and more too. He took your photograph from Miles's book."

  "And I never knew," moaned Jenny, quite overcome.

  "He would not be persuaded that it was not more for your peace not to know of his life, and when Miles was put on honour, what could we do? But now it is all changed. Since Herbert's discovery he need not be a banished man any more." And Juli
us told Jenny the manner of the discovery. She listened, evidently gathering all in, and then she asked: "And what have you done?"

  "Nothing as yet."

  "Nothing! while there is this blot on Archie's name, and he is living in exile, and that Moy is revelling in prosperity. Nothing! Why don't you publish it to every one?"

  "My dear Jenny, I have only known it a week, and I have not been able to find out where Mr. Moy is."

  "What, to have him taken up?"

  "Taken up, no; I don't imagine he could be prosecuted after this length of time and on this kind of evidence. No, to give him warning."

  "Warning? To flee away, and never clear Archie! What are you about, Julius? He ought to be exposed at once, if he cannot be made to suffer otherwise."

  "Nay, Jenny, that would be hard measure."

  "Hard measure!" she interrupted; "what has my innocent Archie had?"

  "Think of the old man, his wife and daughter, Jenny."

  "She's a Proudfoot.-And that girl the scandal of the country! You want to sacrifice Archie to them, Julius?"

  "You are tired and shaken, Jenny, or you would see that all I want to do is to act with common consideration and honour."

  She interrupted again. "What honour do you mean? You are not making it a secret of the confessional?"

  "You are misunderstanding me, Joanna," Julius gently said. "Herbert's vigil spared me from that difficulty, but-"

  "Then you would have sacrificed Archie to this imaginary-"

  "Hush, Jenny! I fear he is wandering again. Alas! it is the sad old refrain!"

  As they came to the door together, Herbert's voice, under that strange change which wandering brings, was heard muttering, "Give an account of thy stewardship, for thou mayest be no longer steward." And Mrs. Cranstoun received them, with her head shaking, and tearful eyes. "It has come on again, sir; I was afraid it would be too much for him."