CHAPTER XXII.
JOHN GORDON WRITES A LETTER.
When they parted in the park, Mr Whittlestaff trudged off to his ownhotel, through the heat and sunshine. He walked quickly, and neverlooked behind him, and went as though he had fully accomplished hisobject in one direction, and must hurry to get it done in another. ToGordon he had left no directions whatever. Was he to be allowed to godown to Mary, or even to write her a letter? He did not know whetherMary had ever been told of this wonderful sacrifice which had beenmade on her behalf. He understood that he was to have his own way,and was to be permitted to regard himself as betrothed to her, buthe did not at all understand what steps he was to take in the matter,except that he was not to go again to the diamond-fields. But MrWhittlestaff hurried himself off to his hotel, and shut himself up inhis own bedroom,--and when there, he sobbed, alas! like a child.
The wife whom he had won for himself was probably more valuable tohim than if he had simply found her disengaged and ready to jump intohis arms. She, at any rate, had behaved well. Mr Whittlestaff had nodoubt proved himself to be an angel, perfect all round,--such a manas you shall not meet perhaps once in your life. But Mary, too, hadso behaved as to enhance the love of any man who had been alreadyengaged to her. As he thought of the whole story of the past week,the first idea that occurred to him was that he certainly had beenpresent to her mind during the whole period of his absence. Thoughnot a word had passed between them, and though no word of absolutelove for each other had even been spoken before, she had been steadyto him, with no actual basis on which to found her love. He hadknown, and she had been sure, and therefore she had been true to him.Of course, being a true man himself, he worshipped her all the more.Mr Whittlestaff was absolutely, undoubtedly perfect; but in Gordon'sestimation Mary was not far off perfection. But what was he to donow, so that he might approach her?
He had pledged himself to one thing, and he must at once go to workand busy himself in accomplishing it. He had promised not to returnto Africa; and he must at once see Mr Tookey, and learn whether thatgentleman's friends would be allowed to go on with the purchase asarranged. He knew Poker & Hodge to be moneyed men, or to be men, atany rate, in command of money. If they would not pay him at once,he must look elsewhere for buyers; but the matter must be settled.Tookey had promised to come to his club this day, and there he wouldgo and await his coming.
He went to his club, but the first person who came to him wasMr Whittlestaff. Mr Whittlestaff when he had left the park haddetermined never to see John Gordon again, or to see him only duringthat ceremony of the marriage, which it might be that he would evenyet escape. All that was still in the distant future. Dim ideas as tosome means of avoiding it flitted through his brain. But even thoughhe might see Gordon on that terrible occasion, he need not speakto him. And it would have to be done then, and then only. But nowanother idea, certainly very vague, had found its way into his mind,and with the object of carrying it out, Mr Whittlestaff had come tothe club. "Oh, Mr Whittlestaff, how do you do again?"
"I'm much the same as I was before, thank you. There hasn't happenedanything to improve my health."
"I hope nothing may happen to injure it."
"It doesn't much matter. You said something about some propertyyou've got in diamonds, and you said once that you must go out tolook after it."
"But I'm not going now. I shall sell my share in the mines. I amgoing to see a Mr Tookey about it immediately."
"Can't you sell them to me?"
"The diamond shares,--to you!"
"Why not to me? If the thing has to be done at once, of course youand I must trust each other. I suppose you can trust me?"
"Certainly I can."
"As I don't care much about it, whether I get what I buy or not, itdoes not much matter for me. But in truth, in such an affair as thisI would trust you. Why should not I go in your place?"
"I don't think you are the man who ought to go there."
"I am too old? I'm not a cripple, if you mean that. I don't see why Ishouldn't go to the diamond-fields as well as a younger man."
"It is not about your age, Mr Whittlestaff; but I do not think youwould be happy there."
"Happy! I do not know that my state of bliss here is very great. If Ihad bought your shares, as you call them, and paid money for them, Idon't see why my happiness need stand in the way."
"You are a gentleman, Mr Whittlestaff."
"Well; I hope so."
"And of that kind that you would have your eyes picked out of yourhead before you had been there a week. Don't go. Take my word for it,that life will be pleasanter to you here than there, and that for youthe venture would be altogether dangerous. Here is Mr Tookey." Atthis point of the conversation, Mr Tookey entered the hall-door, andsome fashion of introduction took place between the two strangers.John Gordon led the way into a private room, and the two othersfollowed him. "Here's a gentleman anxious to buy my shares, Tookey,"said Gordon.
"What! the whole lot of the old Stick-in-the-Mud? He'll have toshell down some money in order to do that! If I were to be asked myopinion, I should say that the transaction was hardly one in thegentleman's way of business."
"I suppose an honest man may work at it," said Mr Whittlestaff.
"It's the honestest business I know out," said Fitzwalker Tookey;"but it does require a gentleman to have his eyes about him."
"Haven't I got my eyes?"
"Oh certainly, certainly," said Tookey; "I never knew a gentlemanhave them brighter. But there are eyes and eyes. Here's Mr Gordondid have a stroke of luck out there;--quite wonderful! But because hetumbled on to a good thing, it's no reason that others should. Andhe's sold his claim already, if he doesn't go himself,--either to me,or else to Poker & Hodge."
"I'm afraid it is so," said John Gordon.
"There's my darling wife, who is going out with me, and who meansto stand all the hardship of the hard work amidst those scenes ofconstant labour,--a lady who is dying to see her babies there. I amsure, sir, that Mr Gordon won't forget his promises to me and mywife."
"If you have the money ready."
"There is Mr Poker in a hansom cab outside, and ready to go with youto the bank at once, as the matter is rather pressing. If you willcome with him, he will explain everything. I will follow in anothercab, and then everything can be completed." John Gordon did make anappointment to meet Mr Poker in the city later on in the day, andthen was left together with Mr Whittlestaff at the club.
It was soon decided that Mr Whittlestaff should give up all idea ofthe diamond-fields, and in so doing he allowed himself to be broughtback to a state of semi-courteous conversation with his happy rival."Well, yes; you may write to her, I suppose. Indeed I don't knowwhat right I have to say that you may, or you mayn't. She's moreyours than mine, I suppose." "Turn her out! I don't know what makesyou take such an idea as that in your head." John Gordon had notsuggested that Mr Whittlestaff would turn Mary Lawrie out,--thoughhe had spoken of the steps he would have to take were he to findMary left without a home. "She shall have my house as her own tillshe can find another. As she will not be my wife, she shall be mydaughter,--till she is somebody else's wife." "I told you before thatyou may come and marry her. Indeed I can't help myself. Of courseyou may go on as you would with some other girl;--only I wish itwere some other girl. You can go and stay with Montagu Blake, if youplease. It is nothing to me. Everybody knows it now." Then he did saygood-bye, though he could not be persuaded to shake hands with JohnGordon.
Mr Whittlestaff did not go home that day, but on the next, remainingin town till he was driven out of it by twenty-four hours of absolutemisery. He had said to himself that he would remain till he couldthink of some future plan of life that should have in it some betterpromise of success for him than his sudden scheme of going to thediamond-fields. But there was no other plan which became practicablein his eyes. On the afternoon of the very next day London was nolonger bearable to him; and as there was no other place but Croker'sHall to which he could
take himself with any prospect of meetingfriends who would know anything of his ways of life, he did go downon the following day. One consequence of this was, that Mary hadreceived from her lover the letter which he had written almost assoon as he had received Mr Whittlestaff's permission to write. Theletter was as follows:--
DEAR MARY,--I do not know whether you are surprised by what Mr Whittlestaff has done; but I am,--so much so that I hardly know how to write to you on the matter. If you will think of it, I have never written to you, and have never been in a position in which writing seemed to be possible. Nor do I know as yet whether you are aware of the business which has brought Mr Whittlestaff to town.
I suppose I am to take it for granted that all that he tells me is true; though when I think what it is that I have to accept,--and that on the word of a man who is not your father, and who is a perfect stranger to me,--it does seem as though I were assuming a great deal. And yet it is no more than I asked him to do for me when I saw him at his own house.
I had no time then to ask for your permission; nor, had I asked for it, would you have granted it to me. You had pledged yourself, and would not have broken your pledge. If I asked for your hand at all, it was from him that I had to ask. How will it be with me if you shall refuse to come to me at his bidding?
I have never told you that I loved you, nor have you expressed your willingness to receive my love. Dear Mary, how shall it be? No doubt I do count upon you in my very heart as being my own. After this week of troubles it seems as though I can look back upon a former time in which you and I had talked to one another as though we had been lovers. May I not think that it was so? May it not be so? May I not call you my Mary?
And indeed between man and man, as I would say, only that you are not a man, have I not a right to assume that it is so? I told him that it was so down at Croker's Hall, and he did not contradict me. And now he has been the most indiscreet of men, and has allowed all your secrets to escape from his breast. He has told me that you love me, and has bade me do as seems good to me in speaking to you of my love.
But, Mary, why should there be any mock modesty or pretence between us? When a man and woman mean to become husband and wife, they should at any rate be earnest in their profession. I am sure of my love for you, and of my earnest longing to make you my wife. Tell me;--am I not right in counting upon you for wishing the same thing?
What shall I say in writing to you of Mr Whittlestaff? To me personally he assumes the language of an enemy. But he contrives to do so in such a way that I can take it only as the expression of his regret that I should be found to be standing in his way. His devotion to you is the most beautiful expression of self-abnegation that I have ever met. He tells me that nothing is done for me; but it is only that I may understand how much more is done for you. Next to me,--yes, Mary, next to myself, he should be the dearest to you of human beings. I am jealous already, almost jealous of his goodness. Would that I could look forward to a life in which I would be regarded as his friend.
Let me have a line from you to say that it is as I would wish it, and name a day in which I may come to visit you. I shall now remain in London only to obey your behests. As to my future life, I can settle nothing till I can discuss it with you, as it will be your life also. God bless you, my own one.--Yours affectionately,
JOHN GORDON.
We are not to return to the diamond-fields. I have promised Mr Whittlestaff that it shall be so.
Mary, when she received this letter, retired into her own room toread it. For indeed her life in public,--her life, that is, to whichMrs Baggett had access,--had been in some degree disturbed since thedeparture of the master of the house. Mrs Baggett certainly provedherself to be a most unreasonable old woman. She praised Mary Lawrieup to the sky as being the only woman fitted to be her master's wife,at the same time abusing Mary for driving her out of the house werethe marriage to take place; and then abusing her also because MrWhittlestaff had gone to town to look up another lover on Mary'sbehalf. "It isn't my fault; I did not send him," said Mary.
"You could make his going of no account. You needn't have the youngman when he comes back. He has come here, disturbing us all with hisdiamonds, in a most objectionable manner."
"You would be able to remain here and not have to go away with thatdreadfully drunken old man." This Mary had said, because there hadbeen rather a violent scene with the one-legged hero in the stable.
"What's that to do with it? Baggett ain't the worst man in the worldby any means. If he was a little cross last night, he ain't soalways. You'd be cross yourself, Miss, if you didn't get straw enoughunder you to take off the hardness of the stones."
"But you would go and live with him."
"Ain't he my husband! Why shouldn't a woman live with her husband?And what does it matter where I live, or how. You ain't going tomarry John Gordon, I know, to save me from Timothy Baggett!" Thenthe letter had come--the letter from Mary's lover; and Mary retiredto her own room to read it. The letter she thought was perfect, butnot so perfect as was Mr Whittlestaff. When she had read the letter,although she had pressed it to her bosom and kissed it a score oftimes, although she had declared that it was the letter of one whowas from head to foot a man, still there was room for that jealousyof which John Gordon had spoken. When Mary had said to herselfthat he was of all human beings surely the best, it was to MrWhittlestaff and not to John Gordon that she made allusion.
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