Dawn

by H. Rider Haggard

  CHAPTER XLV

  A few days after the dinner at the Quinta Carr, the Bellamys' visit toMadeira drew to a close. On the evening before their departure, Arthurvolunteered to take Lady Bellamy down to the parade to hear the bandplay. After they had walked about a while under the shade of themagnolia-trees, which were starred all over with creamy cups of bloom,and sufficiently inspected the gay throng of Portuguese inhabitantsand English visitors, made gayer still by the amazingly gorgeousuniforms of the officials, Arthur spied two chairs in a comparativelyquiet corner, and suggested that they should sit down.

  "Lady Bellamy," he said, after hesitating a while, "you are a woman ofthe world, and I believe a friend of my own. I want to ask your adviceabout something."

  "It is entirely at your service, Mr. Heigham."

  "Well, really it is very awkward----"

  "Shall I turn my head so as not to see your blushes?"

  "Don't laugh at me, Lady Bellamy. Of course you will say nothing ofthis."

  "If you doubt my discretion, Mr. Heigham, do not choose me as aconfidante. You are going, unless I am mistaken, to speak to me aboutMrs. Carr."

  "Yes, it is about her. But how did you know that? You always seem tobe able to read one's thoughts before one speaks. Do you know,sometimes I think that she has taken a fancy to me, do you see, and Iwanted to ask you what you thought about it."

  "Well, supposing that she had, most young men, Mr. Heigham, would nottalk of such a thing in a tone befitting a great catastrophe. But, ifI am not entering too deeply into particulars, what makes you thinkso?"

  "Well, really, I don't exactly know. She sometimes gives me a generalidea."

  "Oh, then, there has been nothing tangible."

  "Well, yes, once she took my hand, or I took hers, I don't know which;but I don't think much of that, because it's the sort of thing that'salways happening, don't you know, and nine times out of ten meansnothing at all. But why I ask you about it is that, if there isanything of the sort, I had better cut and run out of this, because itwould not be fair to stop, either to her, or to Angela, or myself. Itwould be dangerous, you see, playing with such a woman as Mildred."

  "So you would go away if you thought that she took any warmer interestin you than ladies generally do in men engaged to be married."

  "Certainly I should."

  "Well, then, I think that I can set your mind at ease. I have observedMrs. Carr pretty closely, and in the way you suppose she cares for youno more than she does for your coat. She is, no doubt, a bit of aflirt, and very likely wishes to get you to fall in love with her--anatural ambition on the part of a woman; but, as for being in lovewith you herself, the idea is absurd. Women of the world do not fallin love so readily; they are too much taken up with thinking aboutthemselves to have time to think about anybody else. With them it isall self, self, self, from morning till night. Besides, look at thecommon-sense side of the thing. Do you suppose it likely that a personof Mrs. Carr's wealth and beauty, who has only to lift her hand tohave all London at her feet, is likely to fix her affections upon ayoung man whom she knows is already engaged to be married, and who--forgive me if I say so--has not got the same recommendations to herfavour that many of her suitors have? It is, of course, quite possiblethat Mrs. Carr's society may be dangerous to you, in which case itmight be wise for you to go; but I really do not think that you needfeel any anxiety on her account. She finds you a charming companion,and in some ways a useful one, and that is all. When you go, somebodyelse will soon fill the vacant space."

  "Then that's all right," said Arthur, though somehow he did not feelas wildly delighted as he should have done at hearing it so clearlydemonstrated that Mildred did not care a brass button about him; butthen that is human nature. Between eighteen and thirty-five, ninetyper cent. of the men in the world would like to centre in themselvesthe affections of every young and pretty woman they know, even ifthere was not the ghost of a chance of their marrying one of them. Thesame tendency is to be observed conversely in the other sex, only intheir case with a still smaller proportion of exceptions.

  "By the way," asked Arthur, presently, "how is my late guardian, Mr.George Caresfoot?"

  "Not at all well, I am sorry to say. I am very anxious about hishealth. He is in the south of England now for a change."

  "I am sorry he is ill. Do you know, I daresay you will think meabsurd; but you have taken a weight off my mind. I always had an ideathat he wanted to marry Angela, and sometimes I am afraid that I havesuspected that Philip Caresfoot carted me off in order to give him achance. You see, Philip is uncommonly fond of money, and George isrich."

  "What an absurd idea, Mr. Heigham! Why, George looks upon matrimony asan institution of the evil one. He admires Angela, I know--he alwaysdoes admire a pretty face; but as for dreaming of marrying a girl halfhis age and his own cousin into the bargain, it is about the lastthing that he would do."

  "I am glad to hear it. I am sure I have been uncomfortable enoughthinking about him sometimes. Lady Bellamy, will you do something forme?"

  "What is that, Mr. Heigham?"

  "Tell Angela all about me."

  "But would that be quite honourable, Mr. Heigham--under the conditionsof your engagement, I mean?"

  "You never promised not to talk about me; I only promised not toattempt verbal or written communication with Angela."

  "Well, I will tell her that I met you, and that you are well, and, ifPhilip will allow me, I will tell her more; but of course I don't knowif he will or not. What ring is that you wear?"

  "It is one that Angela gave me when we became engaged. It was hermother's."

  "Will you let me look at it?"

  Arthur held out his hand. The ring was an antique, a large emerald,cut like a seal and heavily set in a band of dull gold. On the face ofthe stone were engraved some mysterious characters.

  "What is that engraved on the stone?"

  "I am not sure; but Angela told me that Mr. Fraser had taken animpression of it, and forwarded it to a great Oriental scholar. Hisfriend said that the stone must be extremely ancient, as the characteris a form of Sanscrit, and that he believed the word to mean 'Forever' or 'Eternity.' Angela said that it had been in her mother'sfamily for generations, and was supposed to have been brought from theEast about the year 1700. That is all I know about it."

  "The motto is better suited to a wedding-ring than to an engagementstone," said Lady Bellamy, with one of her dark smiles.

  "Why?"

  "Because engagements are like promises and pie-crust, made to bebroken."

  "I hope that will not be the case with ours, however," said Arthur,attempting a laugh.

  "I hope not, I am sure; but never pin your faith absolutely to anywoman, or you will regret it. Always accept her oaths andprotestations as you would a political statement, politely, and withan appearance of perfect faith, but with a certain grain of mistrust.Woman's fidelity is in the main a fiction. We are faithful just as menare, so long as it suits us to be so; with this difference however,men play false from passion or impulse, women from calculation."

  "You do not draw a pleasing picture of your own sex."

  "When is the truth pleasing? It is only when we clothe its nakednesswith the rags of imagination, or sweeten it with fiction, that it canplease. Of itself, it is so ugly a thing that society in itsrefinement will not even hear it, but prefers to employ acorresponding formula. Thus all passion, however vile, is called bythe name of 'love,' all superstitious terror and grovelling attemptsto conciliate the unseen are known as 'religion,' while selfish greedand the hungry lust for power masquerade as laudable 'ambition.' Menand women, especially women, hate the truth, because, like theelectric light, it shows them as they are, and that is vile. It hasgrown so strange to them from disuse that, like Pilate, they do noteven know what it is! I was going to say, however, that if you care totrust me with it, I think I see how I can take a message to Angela foryou--without either causing you to break your promise or doinganything
dishonourable myself."

  "How?"

  "Well, if you like, I will take her that ring. I think that is a verygenerous offer on my part, for I do not like the responsibility."

  "But what is the use of taking her the ring?"

  "It is something that there can be no mistake about, that is all, aspeaking message from yourself. But don't give it me if you do notlike; perhaps you had rather not!"

  "I don't like parting with it at all, I confess, but I should dearlylike to send her something. I suppose that you would not take aletter?"

  "You would not write one, Mr. Heigham!"

  "No, of course, I forget that accursed promise. Here, take the ring,and say all you can to Angela with it. You promise that you will?"

  "Certainly, I promise that I will say all I can."

  "You are very good and kind. I wish to Heaven that I were going toMarlshire with you. If you only knew how I long to see her again. Ithink that it would break my heart if anything happened to separateus," and his lips quivered at the thought.

  Lady Bellamy turned her sombre face upon him--there was compassion inher eyes.

  "If you bear Angela Caresfoot so great a love, be guided by me andshake it off, strangle it--be rid of it anyhow; for fulfilledaffection of that nature would carry a larger happiness with it thanis allowed in a world planned expressly to secure the greatest miseryof the greatest number. There is a fate which fights against it; itsministers are human folly and passion. You have seen many marriages,tell me, how many have you known, out of a novel, where the peoplemarried their true loves? In novels they always do, it is another ofsociety's pleasant fictions, but real life is like a novel without thethird volume. I do not want to alarm you, Mr. Heigham; but, because Ilike you, I ask you to steel your mind to disappointment, so that, ifa blow comes, it may not crush you."

  "What do you mean, Lady Bellamy, do you know of any impendingtrouble?"

  "I? Certainly not. I only talk on general principles. Do not be over-confident, and _never_ trust a woman. Come, let us get home."

  Next morning, when Arthur came down to breakfast, the Bellamys hadsailed. The mail had come in from the Cape at midnight, and left againat dawn, taking them with it.