CHAPTER V.
"I SUPPOSE IT WAS A DREAM."
It seemed to her, as she sat there at the window, that she ought totell Mrs Baggett what had occurred. There had been that between themwhich, as she thought, made it incumbent on her to let Mrs Baggettknow the result of her interview with Mr Whittlestaff. So she wentdown-stairs, and found that invaluable old domestic interferingmaterially with the comfort of the two younger maidens. She wasdetermined to let them "know what was what," as she expressed it.
"You oughtn't to be angry with me, because I've done nothing," saidJane the housemaid, sobbing.
"That's just about it," said Mrs Baggett. "And why haven't you donenothing? Do you suppose you come here to do nothing? Was it doingnothing when Eliza tied down them strawberries without putting ine'er a drop of brandy? It drives me mortial mad to think what youyoung folks are coming to."
"I ain't a-going anywhere, Mrs Baggett, because of them strawberriesbeing tied down which, if you untie them, as I always intended, willhave the sperrits put on them as well now as ever. And as for yourgoing mad, Mrs Baggett, I hope it won't be along of me."
"Drat your imperence."
"I ain't imperence at all. Here's Miss Lawrie, and she shall saywhether I'm imperence."
"Mrs Baggett, I want to speak to you, if you'll come into the otherroom," said Mary.
"You are imperent, both of you. I can't say a word but I'm taken upthat short that--. They've been and tied all the jam down, so thatit'll all go that mouldy that nobody can touch it. And then, when Isays a word, they turns upon me." Then Mrs Baggett walked out of thekitchen into her own small parlour, which opened upon the passagejust opposite the kitchen door. "They was a-going to be openedthis very afternoon," said Eliza, firing a parting shot after thedeparting enemy.
"Mrs Baggett, I've got to tell you," Mary began.
"Well!"
"He came to me for an answer, as he said he would."
"Well!"
"And I told him it should be as he would have it."
"Of course you would. I knew that."
"You told me that it was your duty and mine to give him whatever hewanted."
"I didn't say nothing of the kind, Miss."
"Oh, Mrs Baggett!"
"I didn't. I said, if he wanted your head, you was to let him takeit. But if he wanted mine, you wasn't to give it to him."
"He asked me to be his wife, and I said I would."
"Then I may as well pack up and be off for Portsmouth."
"No; not so. I have obeyed you, and I think that in these matters youshould obey him too."
"I daresay; but at my age I ain't so well able to obey. I daresay asthem girls knew all about it, or they wouldn't have turned round uponme like that. It's just like the likes of them. When is it to be,Miss Lawrie?--because I won't stop in the house after you be themissus of it. That's flat. If you were to talk till you're deaf anddumb, I wouldn't do it. Oh, it don't matter what's to become of me! Iknow that."
"But it will matter very much."
"Not a ha'porth."
"You ask him, Mrs Baggett."
"He's got his plaything. That's all he cares about. I've been withhim and his family almost from a baby, and have grown old a-servinghim, and it don't matter to him whether I goes into the hedges andditches, or where I goes. They say that service is no heritance, andthey says true. I'm to go to-- But don't mind me. He won't, and whyshould you? Do you think you'll ever do half as much for him as I'vedone? He's got his troubles before him now;--that's the worst of it."
This was very bad. Mrs Baggett had been loud in laying down for herthe line of duty which she should follow, and she, to the best of herability, had done as Mrs Baggett had told her. It was the case thatMrs Baggett had prevailed with her, and now the woman turned againsther! Was it true that he had "his troubles before him," because ofher acceptance of his offer? If so, might it not yet be mended? Wasit too late? Of what comfort could she be to him, seeing that she hadbeen unable to give him her heart? Why should she interfere with thewoman's happiness? In a spirit of true humility she endeavoured tothink how she might endeavour to do the best. Of one thing she wasquite, quite sure,--that all the longings of her very soul were fixedupon that other man. He was away;--perhaps he had forgotten her;perhaps he was married. Not a word had been spoken to her on whichshe could found a fair hope. But she had never been so certain of herlove,--of her love as a true, undoubted, and undoubtable fact--ofan unchangeable fact,--as she was now. And why should this poor oldwoman, with her many years of service, be disturbed? She went againup to her bedroom, and sitting at her open window and looking out,saw him still pacing slowly up and down the long walk. As she lookedat him, he seemed to be older than before. His hands were stillclasped behind his back. There was no look about him as that of athriving lover. Care seemed to be on his face,--nay, even present,almost visibly, on his very shoulders. She would go to him and pleadfor Mrs Baggett.
But in that case what should become of herself? She was aware thatshe could no longer stay in his house as his adopted daughter. Butshe could go forth,--and starve if there was nothing better for her.But as she thought of starvation, she stamped with one foot againstthe other, as though to punish herself for her own falsehood. Hewould not let her starve. He would get some place for her as agoverness. And she was not in the least afraid of starvation. Itwould be sweeter for her to work with any kind of hardship aroundher, and to be allowed to think of John Gordon with her heart free,than to become the comfortable mistress of his house. She would notadmit the plea of starvation even to herself. She wanted to be freeof him, and she would tell him so, and would tell him also of theruin he was about to bring on his old servant.
She watched him as he came back into the house, and then she rosefrom her chair. "But I shall never see him again," she said, as shepaused before she left the room.
But what did that matter? Her not seeing him again ought to make,should make, no difference with her. It was not that she mightsee him, but that she might think of him with unsullied thoughts.That should be her object,--that and the duty that she owed to MrsBaggett. Why was not Mrs Baggett entitled to as much considerationas was she herself,--or even he? She turned to the glass, and wipedher eyes with the sponge, and brushed her hair, and then she wentacross the passage to Mr Whittlestaff's library.
She knocked at the door,--which she had not been accustomed todo,--and then at his bidding entered the room. "Oh, Mary," he saidlaughing, "is that the way you begin, by knocking at the door?"
"I think one knocks when one wants a moment of reprieve."
"You mean to say that you are bashful in assuming your newprivileges. Then you had better go back to your old habits, becauseyou always used to come where I was. You must come and go now like myvery second self." Then he came forward from the desk at which he waswont to stand and write, and essayed to put his arm round her waist.She drew back, but still he was not startled. "It was but a cold kissI gave you down below. You must kiss me now, you, as a wife kissesher husband."
"Never."
"What!" Now he was startled.
"Mr Whittlestaff, pray--pray do not be angry with me."
"What is the meaning of it?"
Then she bethought herself,--how she might best explain the meaning.It was hard upon her, this having to explain it, and she toldherself, very foolishly, that it would be better for her to beginwith the story of Mrs Baggett. She could more easily speak of MrsBaggett than of John Gordon. But it must be remembered, on herbehalf, that she had but a second to think how she might best beginher story. "I have spoken to Mrs Baggett about your wishes."
"Well!"
"She has lived with you and your family from before you were born."
"She is an old fool. Who is going to hurt her? And if it did hurther, are you and I to be put out of our course because of her? Shecan remain here as long as she obeys you as her mistress."
"She says that after so many years she cannot do that."
"She shall leave the
house this very night, if she disturbs yourhappiness and mine. What! is an old woman like that to tell hermaster when he may and when he may not marry? I did not think you hadbeen so soft."
She could not explain it all to him,--all that she thought upon thesubject. She could not say that the interference of any domesticbetween such a one as John Gordon and his love,--between him and herif she were happy enough to be his love,--would be an absurdity toofoolish to be considered. They, that happy two, would be followingthe bent of human nature, and would speak no more than a soft word tothe old woman, if a soft word might avail anything. Their love, theirhappy love, would be a thing too sacred to admit of any questionfrom any servant, almost from any parent. But why, in this matter,was not Mrs Baggett's happiness to be of as much consequence as MrWhittlestaff's;--especially when her own peace of mind lay in thesame direction as Mrs Baggett's? "She says that you are only layingup trouble for yourself in this, and I think that it is true."
Then he rose up in his wrath and spoke his mind freely, and showedher at once that John Gordon had not dwelt much on his mind. He hadbade her not to speak of him, and then he had been contented to lookupon him as one whom he would not be compelled to trouble himselfwith any further. "I think, Mary, that you are making too little ofme, and of yourself, to talk to me, or even to consider, in sucha matter, what a servant says to you. As you have given me youraffection, you should now allow nothing that any one can say to youto make you even think of changing your purpose." How grossly musthe be mistaken, when he could imagine that she had given him herheart! Had she not expressly told him that her love had been set uponanother person? "To me you are everything. I have been thinking as Iwalked up and down the path there, of all that I could do to make youhappy. And I was so happy myself in feeling that I had your happinessto look after. How should I not let the wind blow too coldly on you?How should I be watchful to see that nothing should ruffle yourspirits? What duties, what pleasures, what society should I providefor you? How should I change my habits, so as to make my advancedyears fit for your younger life? And I was teaching myself to hopethat I was not yet too old to make this altogether impossible. Thenyou come to me, and tell me that you must destroy all my dreams,dash all my hopes to the ground,--because an old woman has shown hertemper and her jealousy!"
This was true,--according to the light in which he saw her position.Had there been nothing between them two but a mutual desire to bemarried, the reason given by her for changing it all would be absurd.As he had continued to speak, slowly adding on one argument toanother, with a certain amount of true eloquence, she felt thatunless she could go back to John Gordon she must yield. But it wasvery hard for her to go back to John Gordon. In the first place, shemust acknowledge, in doing so, that she had only put forward MrsBaggett as a false plea. And then she must insist on her love fora man who had never spoken to her of love! It was so hard that shecould not do it openly. "I had thought so little of the value I couldbe to you."
"Your value to me is infinite. I think, Mary, that there has comeupon you a certain melancholy which is depressing you. Your regard tome is worth now more than any other possession or gift that the worldcan bestow. And I had taken pride to myself in saying that it hadbeen given." Yes;--her regard! She could not contradict him as tothat. "And have you thought of your own position? After all thathas passed between us, you can hardly go on living here as you havedone."
"I know that."
"Then, what would become of you if you were to break away from me?"
"I thought you would get a place for me as a governess,--or acompanion to some lady."
"Would that satisfy your ambition? I have got a place for you;--butit is here." As he spoke, he laid his hand upon his heart. "Not asa companion to a lady are you required to fulfil your duties hereon earth. It is a fuller task of work that you must do. I trust,--Itrust that it may not be more tedious." She looked at him again,and he did not now appear so old. There was a power of speech aboutthe man, and a dignity which made her feel that she could in truthhave loved him,--had it not been for John Gordon. "Unfortunately, Iam older than you,--very much older. But to you there may be thisadvantage, that you can listen to what I may say with something ofconfidence in my knowledge of the world. As my wife, you will filla position more honourable, and more suitable to your gifts, thancould belong to you as a governess or a companion. You will havemuch more to do, and will be able to go nightly to your rest with aconsciousness that you have done more as the mistress of our housethan you could have done in that tamer capacity. You will havecares,--and even those will ennoble the world to you, and you to theworld. That other life is a poor shrunken death,--rather than life.It is a way of passing her days, which must fall to the lot of manya female who does not achieve the other; and it is well that theyto whom it falls should be able to accommodate themselves to itwith contentment and self-respect. I think that I may say of myselfthat, even as my wife, you will stand higher than you would do as acompanion."
"I am sure of it."
"Not on that account should you accept any man that you cannot love."Had she not told him that she did not love him;--even that she lovedanother? And yet he spoke to her in this way! "You had better tellMrs Baggett to come to me."
"There is the memory of that other man," she murmured very gently.
Then the scowl came back upon his face;--or not a scowl, but alook rather of cold displeasure. "If I understand you rightly, thegentleman never addressed you as a lover."
"Never!"
"I see it all, Mary. Mrs Baggett has been violent and selfish, andhas made you think thoughts which should not have been put in yourhead to disturb you. You have dreamed a dream in your early life,--asgirls do dream, I suppose,--and it has now to be forgotten. Is it notso?"
"I suppose it was a dream."
"He has passed away, and he has left you to become the happiness ofmy life. Send Mrs Baggett to me, and I will speak to her." Then hecame up to her,--for they had been standing about a yard apart,--andpressed his lips to hers. How was it possible that she should preventhim?
She turned round, and slowly left the room, feeling, as she didso, that she was again engaged to him for ever and ever. She hatedherself because she had been so fickle. But how could she have doneotherwise? She asked herself, as she went back to her room, at whatperiod during the interview, which was now over, she could havedeclared to him the real state of her mind. He had, as it were, takencomplete possession of her, by right of the deed of gift which shehad made of herself that morning. She had endeavoured to resume thegift, but had altogether failed. She declared to herself that shewas weak, impotent, purposeless; but she admitted, on the other hand,that he had displayed more of power than she had ever guessed athis possessing. A woman always loves this display of power in a man,and she felt that she could have loved him had it not been for JohnGordon.
But there was one comfort for her. None knew of her weakness. Hermind had vacillated like a shuttlecock, but no one had seen thevacillation. She was in his hands, and she must simply do as he badeher. Then she went down to Mrs Baggett's room, and told the oldlady to go up-stairs at her master's behest. "I'm a-going," said MrsBaggett. "I'm a-going. I hope he'll find every one else as good atdoing what he tells 'em. But I ain't a-going to be a-doing for him orfor any one much longer."
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