I Say No

by Wilkie Collins

  CHAPTER LXVII. THE TRUE CONSOLATION.

  Emily closed the pages which told her that her father had died by hisown hand.

  Cecilia still held her tenderly embraced. By slow degrees, her headdropped until it rested on her friend's bosom. Silently she suffered.Silently Cecilia bent forward, and kissed her forehead. The sounds thatpenetrated to the room were not out of harmony with the time. From adistant house the voices of children were just audible, singing theplaintive melody of a hymn; and, now and then, the breeze blew the firstfaded leaves of autumn against the window. Neither of the girls knew howlong the minutes followed each other uneventfully, before there was achange. Emily raised her head, and looked at Cecilia.

  "I have one friend left," she said.

  "Not only me, love--oh, I hope not only me!"

  "Yes. Only you."

  "I want to say something, Emily; but I am afraid of hurting you."

  "My dear, do you remember what we once read in a book of history atschool? It told of the death of a tortured man, in the old time, whowas broken on the wheel. He lived through it long enough to say thatthe agony, after the first stroke of the club, dulled his capacity forfeeling pain when the next blows fell. I fancy pain of the mind mustfollow the same rule. Nothing you can say will hurt me now."

  "I only wanted to ask, Emily, if you were engaged--at one time--to marryMr. Mirabel. Is it true?"

  "False! He pressed me to consent to an engagement--and I said he mustnot hurry me."

  "What made you say that?"

  "I thought of Alban Morris."

  Vainly Cecilia tried to restrain herself. A cry of joy escaped her.

  "Are you glad?" Emily asked. "Why?"

  Cecilia made no direct reply. "May I tell you what you wanted to know, alittle while since?" she said. "You asked why Mr. Morris left it all tome, instead of speaking to you himself. When I put the same question tohim, he told me to read what he had written. 'Not a shadow of suspicionrests on Mr. Mirabel,' he said. 'Emily is free to marry him--and freethrough Me. Can _I_ tell her that? For her sake, and for mine, it mustnot be. All that I can do is to leave old remembrances to plead for me.If they fail, I shall know that she will be happier with Mr. Mirabelthan with me.' 'And you will submit?' I asked. 'Because I love her,' heanswered, 'I must submit.' Oh, how pale you are! Have I distressed you?"

  "You have done me good."

  "Will you see him?"

  Emily pointed to the manuscript. "At such a time as this?" she said.

  Cecilia still held to her resolution. "Such a time as this is the righttime," she answered. "It is now, when you most want to be comforted,that you ought to see him. Who can quiet your poor aching heart as _he_can quiet it?" She impulsively snatched at the manuscript and threw itout of sight. "I can't bear to look at it," she said. "Emily! if I havedone wrong, will you forgive me? I saw him this morning before I camehere. I was afraid of what might happen--I refused to break the dreadfulnews to you, unless he was somewhere near us. Your good old servantknows where to go. Let me send her--"

  Mrs. Ellmother herself opened the door, and stood doubtful on thethreshold, hysterically sobbing and laughing at the same time. "I'meverything that's bad!" the good old creature burst out. "I've beenlistening--I've been lying--I said you wanted him. Turn me out of mysituation, if you like. I've got him! Here he is!"

  In another moment, Emily was in his arms--and they were alone. On hisfaithful breast the blessed relief of tears came to her at last: sheburst out crying.

  "Oh, Alban, can you forgive me?"

  He gently raised her head, so that he could see her face.

  "My love, let me look at you," he said. "I want to think again of theday when we parted in the garden at school. Do you remember the oneconviction that sustained me? I told you, Emily, there was a time offulfillment to come in our two lives; and I have never wholly lost thedear belief. My own darling, the time has come!"

  POSTSCRIPT.

  GOSSIP IN THE STUDIO.

  The winter time had arrived. Alban was clearing his palette, aftera hard day's work at the cottage. The servant announced that tea wasready, and that Miss Ladd was waiting to see him in the next room.

  Alban ran in, and received the visitor cordially with both hands."Welcome back to England! I needn't ask if the sea-voyage has done yougood. You are looking ten years younger than when you went away."

  Miss Ladd smiled. "I shall soon be ten years older again, if I go backto Netherwoods," she replied. "I didn't believe it at the time; but Iknow better now. Our friend Doctor Allday was right, when he said thatmy working days were over. I must give up the school to a younger andstronger successor, and make the best I can in retirement of what isleft of my life. You and Emily may expect to have me as a near neighbor.Where is Emily?"

  "Far away in the North."

  "In the North! You don't mean that she has gone back to Mrs. Delvin?"

  "She has gone back--with Mrs. Ellmother to take care of her--at myexpress request. You know what Emily is, when there is an act of mercyto be done. That unhappy man has been sinking (with intervals of partialrecovery) for months past. Mrs. Delvin sent word to us that the end wasnear, and that the one last wish her brother was able to express was thewish to see Emily. He had been for some hours unable to speak when mywife arrived. But he knew her, and smiled faintly. He was just ableto lift his hand. She took it, and waited by him, and spoke words ofconsolation and kindness from time to time. As the night advanced, hesank into sleep, still holding her hand. They only knew that he hadpassed from sleep to death--passed without a movement or a sigh--whenhis hand turned cold. Emily remained for a day at the tower to comfortpoor Mrs. Delvin--and she comes home, thank God, this evening!"

  "I needn't ask if you are happy?" Miss Ladd said.

  "Happy? I sing, when I have my bath in the morning. If that isn'thappiness (in a man of my age) I don't know what is!"

  "And how are you getting on?"

  "Famously! I have turned portrait painter, since you were sent away foryour health. A portrait of Mr. Wyvil is to decorate the town hall in theplace that he represents; and our dear kind-hearted Cecilia has induceda fascinated mayor and corporation to confide the work to my hands."

  "Is there no hope yet of that sweet girl being married?" Miss Laddasked. "We old maids all believe in marriage, Mr. Morris--though some ofus don't own it."

  "There seems to be a chance," Alban answered. "A young lord has turnedup at Monksmoor; a handsome pleasant fellow, and a rising man inpolitics. He happened to be in the house a few days before Cecilia'sbirthday; and he asked my advice about the right present to give her. Isaid, 'Try something new in Tarts.' When he found I was in earnest,what do you think he did? Sent his steam yacht to Rouen for some of thefamous pastry! You should have seen Cecilia, when the young lord offeredhis delicious gift. If I could paint that smile and those eyes, I shouldbe the greatest artist living. I believe she will marry him. Need Isay how rich they will be? We shall not envy them--we are rich too.Everything is comparative. The portrait of Mr. Wyvil will put threehundred pounds in my pocket. I have earned a hundred and twenty more byillustrations, since we have been married. And my wife's income (Ilike to be particular) is only five shillings and tenpence short of twohundred a year. Moral! we are rich as well as happy."

  "Without a thought of the future?" Miss Ladd asked slyly.

  "Oh, Doctor Allday has taken the future in hand! He revels in theold-fashioned jokes, which used to be addressed to newly-married people,in his time. 'My dear fellow,' he said the other day, 'you may possiblybe under a joyful necessity of sending for the doctor, before we areall a year older. In that case, let it be understood that I am HonoraryPhysician to the family.' The warm-hearted old man talks of getting meanother portrait to do. 'The greatest ass in the medical profession (heinformed me) has just been made a baronet; and his admiring friends havedecided that he is to be painted at full length, with his bandylegs hidden under a gown, and his great globular eyes staring at thespectator--I'll get you the job.' Sha
ll I tell you what he says of Mrs.Rook's recovery?"

  Miss Ladd held up her hands in amazement. "Recovery!" she exclaimed.

  "And a most remarkable recovery too," Alban informed her. "It is thefirst case on record of any person getting over such an injury as shehas received. Doctor Allday looked grave when he heard of it. 'I beginto believe in the devil,' he said; 'nobody else could have saved Mrs.Rook.' Other people don't take that view. She has been celebrated inall the medical newspapers--and she has been admitted to come excellentalmshouse, to live in comfortable idleness to a green old age. Thebest of it is that she shakes her head, when her wonderful recovery ismentioned. 'It seems such a pity,' she says; 'I was so fit for heaven.'Mr. Rook having got rid of his wife, is in excellent spirits. He isoccupied in looking after an imbecile old gentleman; and, when he isasked if he likes the employment, he winks mysteriously and slaps hispocket. Now, Miss Ladd, I think it's my turn to hear some news. Whathave you got to tell me?"

  "I believe I can match your account of Mrs. Rook," Miss Ladd said. "Doyou care to hear what has become of Francine?"

  Alban, rattling on hitherto in boyish high spirits, suddenly becameserious. "I have no doubt Miss de Sor is doing well," he said sternly."She is too heartless and wicked not to prosper."

  "You are getting like your old cynical self again, Mr. Morris--andyou are wrong. I called this morning on the agent who had the care ofFrancine, when I left England. When I mentioned her name, he showed mea telegram, sent to him by her father. 'There's my authority,' he said,'for letting her leave my house.' The message was short enough to beeasily remembered: 'Anything my daughter likes as long as she doesn'tcome back to us.' In those cruel terms Mr. de Sor wrote of his ownchild. The agent was just as unfeeling, in his way. He called her thevictim of slighted love and clever proselytizing. 'In plain words,' hesaid, 'the priest of the Catholic chapel close by has converted her;and she is now a novice in a convent of Carmelite nuns in the West ofEngland. Who could have expected it? Who knows how it may end?"

  As Miss Ladd spoke, the bell rang at the cottage gate. "Here she is!"Alban cried, leading the way into the hall. "Emily has come home."