HUGH STANBURY IS SHEWN TO BE NO CONJUROR.
[Illustration]
Many weeks had now passed since Hugh Stanbury had paid his visit to
St. Diddulph's, and Nora Rowley was beginning to believe that her
rejection of her lover had been so firm and decided that she would
never see him or hear from him more; and she had long since confessed
to herself that if she did not see him or hear from him soon, life
would not be worth a straw to her. To all of us a single treasure
counts for much more when the outward circumstances of our life are
dull, unvaried, and melancholy, than it does when our days are full
of pleasure, or excitement, or even of business. With Nora Rowley at
St. Diddulph's life at present was very melancholy. There was little
or no society to enliven her. Her sister was sick at heart, and
becoming ill in health under the burden of her troubles. Mr. Outhouse
was moody and wretched; and Mrs. Outhouse, though she did her best
to make her house comfortable to her unwelcome inmates, could not
make it appear that their presence there was a pleasure to her.
Nora understood better than did her sister how distasteful the
present arrangement was to their uncle, and was consequently very
uncomfortable on that score. And in the midst of that unhappiness,
she of course told herself that she was a young woman miserable and
unfortunate altogether. It is always so with us. The heart when it is
burdened, though it may have ample strength to bear the burden, loses
its buoyancy and doubts its own power. It is like the springs of a
carriage which are pressed flat by the superincumbent weight. But,
because the springs are good, the weight is carried safely, and they
are the better afterwards for their required purposes because of the
trial to which they have been subjected.
Nora had sent her lover away, and now at the end of three months
from the day of his dismissal she had taught herself to believe that
he would never come again. Amidst the sadness of her life at St.
Diddulph's some confidence in a lover expected to come again would
have done much to cheer her. The more she thought of Hugh Stanbury,
the more fully she became convinced that he was the man who as a
lover, as a husband, and as a companion, would just suit all her
tastes. She endowed him liberally with a hundred good gifts in the
disposal of which Nature had been much more sparing. She made for
herself a mental portrait of him more gracious in its flattery than
ever was canvas coming from the hand of a Court limner. She gave
him all gifts of manliness, honesty, truth, and energy, and felt
regarding him that he was a Paladin,--such as Paladins are in this
age, that he was indomitable, sure of success, and fitted in all
respects to take the high position which he would certainly win
for himself. But she did not presume him to be endowed with such a
constancy as would make him come to seek her hand again. Had Nora at
this time of her life been living at the West-end of London, and
going out to parties three or four times a week, she would have been
quite easy about his coming. The springs would not have been weighted
so heavily, and her heart would have been elastic.
No doubt she had forgotten many of the circumstances of his visit
and of his departure. Immediately on his going she had told her
sister that he would certainly come again, but had said at the same
time that his coming could be of no use. He was so poor a man; and
she,--though poorer than he,--had been so little accustomed to
poverty of life, that she had then acknowledged to herself that she
was not fit to be his wife. Gradually, as the slow weeks went by her,
there had come a change in her ideas. She now thought that he never
would come again; but that if he did she would confess to him that
her own views about life were changed. "I would tell him frankly
that I could eat a crust with him in any garret in London." But this
was said to herself;--never to her sister. Emily and Mrs. Outhouse
had determined together that it would be wise to abstain from all
mention of Hugh Stanbury's name. Nora had felt that her sister had so
abstained, and this reticence had assisted in producing the despair
which had come upon her. Hugh, when he had left her, had certainly
given her encouragement to expect that he would return. She had been
sure then that he would return. She had been sure of it, though she
had told him that it would be useless. But now, when these sad weeks
had slowly crept over her head, when during the long hours of the
long days she had thought of him continually,--telling herself that
it was impossible that she should ever become the wife of any man if
she did not become his,--she assured herself that she had seen and
heard the last of him. She must surely have forgotten his hot words
and that daring embrace.
Then there came a letter to her. The question of the management of
letters for young ladies is handled very differently in different
houses. In some establishments the post is as free to young ladies
as it is to the reverend seniors of the household. In others it is
considered to be quite a matter of course that some experienced
discretion should sit in judgment on the correspondence of the
daughters of the family. When Nora Rowley was living with her sister
in Curzon Street, she would have been very indignant indeed had it
been suggested to her that there was any authority over her letters
vested in her sister. But now, circumstanced as she was at St.
Diddulph's, she did understand that no letter would reach her
without her aunt knowing that it had come. All this was distasteful
to her,--as were indeed all the details of her life at St.
Diddulph's;--but she could not help herself. Had her aunt told her
that she should never be allowed to receive a letter at all, she must
have submitted till her mother had come to her relief. The letter
which reached her now was put into her hands by her sister, but it
had been given to Mrs. Trevelyan by Mrs. Outhouse. "Nora," said
Mrs. Trevelyan, "here is a letter for you. I think it is from Mr.
Stanbury."
"Give it me," said Nora greedily.
"Of course I will give it you. But I hope you do not intend to
correspond with him."
"If he has written to me I shall answer him of course," said Nora,
holding her treasure.
"Aunt Mary thinks that you should not do so till papa and mamma have
arrived."
"If Aunt Mary is afraid of me let her tell me so, and I will contrive
to go somewhere else." Poor Nora knew that this threat was futile.
There was no house to which she could take herself.
"She is not afraid of you at all, Nora. She only says that she thinks
you should not write to Mr. Stanbury." Then Nora escaped to the cold
but solitary seclusion of her bed-room and there she read her letter.
The reader may remember that Hugh Stanbury when he last left St.
Diddulph's had not been oppressed by any of the gloomy reveries of a
despairing lover. He had spoken his mind freely to Nora, and had felt
himself justified in believing that he had not spoken in vain. He had
had her in his arms, and she had found it impossible to say that she
did not love him. But then she had been quite firm in her purpose to
give him no encouragement that she could avoid. She had said no word
that would justify him in considering that there was any engagement
between them; and, moreover, he had been warned not to come to the
house by its mistress. From day to day he thought of it all, now
telling himself that there was nothing to be done but to trust in
her fidelity till he should be in a position to offer her a fitting
home, and then reflecting that he could not expect such a girl as
Nora Rowley to wait for him, unless he could succeed in making her
understand that he at any rate intended to wait for her. On one day
he would think that good faith and proper consideration for Nora
herself required him to keep silent; on the next he would tell
himself that such maudlin chivalry as he was proposing to himself was
sure to go to the wall and be neither rewarded nor recognised. So at
last he sat down and wrote the following letter:--
Lincoln's Inn Fields, January, 186--.
DEAREST NORA,
Ever since I last saw you at St. Diddulph's, I have been
trying to teach myself what I ought to do in reference
to you. Sometimes I think that because I am poor I ought
to hold my tongue. At others I feel sure that I ought to
speak out loud, because I love you so dearly. You may
presume that just at this moment the latter opinion is in
the ascendant.
As I do write I mean to be very bold; so bold that if I am
wrong you will be thoroughly disgusted with me and will
never willingly see me again. But I think it best to be
true, and to say what I think. I do believe that you love
me. According to all precedent I ought not to say so;--but
I do believe it. Ever since I was at St. Diddulph's that
belief has made me happy,--though there have been moments
of doubt. If I thought that you did not love me, I would
trouble you no further. A man may win his way to love when
social circumstances are such as to throw him and the girl
together; but such is not the case with us; and unless you
love me now, you never will love me.
"I do--I do!" said Nora, pressing the letter to her bosom.
If you do, I think that you owe it me to say so, and
to let me have all the joy and all the feeling of
responsibility which such an assurance will give me.
"I will tell him so," said Nora; "I don't care what may come
afterwards, but I will tell him the truth."
I know [continued Hugh] that an engagement with me now
would be hazardous, because what I earn is both scanty and
precarious; but it seems to me that nothing could ever
be done without some risk. There are risks of different
kinds,--
She wondered whether he was thinking when he wrote this of the rock
on which her sister's barque had been split to pieces;--
and we may hardly hope to avoid them all. For myself,
I own that life would be tame to me, if there were no
dangers to be overcome.
If you do love me, and will say so, I will not ask you
to be my wife till I can give you a proper home; but the
knowledge that I am the master of the treasure which I
desire will give me a double energy, and will make me feel
that when I have gained so much I cannot fail of adding to
it all other smaller things that may be necessary.
Pray,--pray, send me an answer. I cannot reach you except
by writing, as I was told by your aunt not to come to the
house again.
Dearest Nora, pray believe
That I shall always be truly yours only,
HUGH STANBURY.
Write to him! Of course she would write to him. Of course she would
confess to him the truth. "He tells me that I owe it to him to say
so, and I acknowledge the debt," she said aloud to herself. "And as
for a proper home, he shall be the judge of that." She resolved that
she would not be a fine lady, not fastidious, not coy, not afraid
to take her full share of the risk of which he spoke in such manly
terms. "It is quite true. As he has been able to make me love him,
I have no right to stand aloof,--even if I wished it." As she was
walking up and down the room so resolving her sister came to her.
"Well, dear!" said Emily. "May I ask what it is he says?"
Nora paused a moment, holding the letter tight in her hand, and then
she held it out to her sister. "There it is. You may read it." Mrs.
Trevelyan took the letter and read it slowly, during which Nora
stood looking out of the window. She would not watch her sister's
face, as she did not wish to have to reply to any outward signs of
disapproval. "Give it me back," she said, when she heard by the
refolding of the paper that the perusal was finished.
"Of course I shall give it you back, dear."
"Yes;--thanks. I did not mean to doubt you."
"And what will you do, Nora?"
"Answer it of course."
"I would think a little before I answered it," said Mrs. Trevelyan.
"I have thought,--a great deal, already."
"And how will you answer it?"
Nora paused again before she replied. "As nearly as I know how to do
in such words as he would put into my mouth. I shall strive to write
just what I think he would wish me to write."
"Then you will engage yourself to him, Nora?"
"Certainly I shall. I am engaged to him already. I have been ever
since he came here."
"You told me that there was nothing of the kind."
"I told you that I loved him better than anybody in the world, and
that ought to have made you know what it must come to. When I am
thinking of him every day, and every hour, how can I not be glad to
have an engagement settled with him? I couldn't marry anybody else,
and I don't want to remain as I am." The tears came into the married
sister's eyes, and rolled down her cheeks, as this was said to her.
Would it not have been better for her had she remained as she was?
"Dear Emily," said Nora, "you have got Louey still."
"Yes;--and they mean to take him from me. But I do not wish to speak
of myself. Will you postpone your answer till mamma is here?"
"I cannot do that, Emily. What; receive such a letter as that, and
send no reply to it!"
"I would write a line for you, and explain--"
"No, indeed, Emily. I choose to answer my own letters. I have shewn
you that, because I trust you; but I have fully made up my mind as
to what I shall write. It will have been written and sent before
dinner."
"I think you will be wrong, Nora."
"Why wrong! When I came over here to stay with you, would mamma ever
have thought of directing me not to accept any offer till her consent
had been obtained all the way from the Mandarins? She would never
have dreamed of such a thing."
"Will you ask Aunt Mary?"
"Certainly not. What is Aunt Mary to me? We are here in her house for
a time, under the press of circumstances; but I owe her no obedience.
She told Mr. Stanbury not to come here; and he has not come; and I
shall not ask him to come. I would not willingly bring any one into
Uncle Oliphant's house that he and she do not wish to see. But I will
not admit that either of them have any authority over me."
"Then who has, dearest?"
"Nobody;--except papa and mamma; and they have chosen to leave me to
myself."
Mrs. Trevelyan found it impossible to shake her sister's firmness,
and could herself do nothing, except tell Mrs. Outhouse what was the
state of affairs. When she said that she should do this, there almost
came to be a flow of high words between the two sisters; but at last
Nora assented. "As for knowing, I don't care if all the world knows
it. I shall do nothing in a corner. I don't suppose Aunt Mary will
endeavour to prevent my posting my letter."
Emily at last went to seek Mrs. Outhouse, and Nora at once sat
down to her desk. Neither of the sisters felt at all sure that Mrs.
Outhouse would not attempt to stop the emission of the letter from
her house; but, as it happened, she was out, and did not return till
Nora had come back from her journey to the neighbouring post-office.
She would trust her letter, when written, to no hands but her
own; and as she herself dropped it into the safe custody of the
Postmaster-General, it also shall be revealed to the public:--
Parsonage, St. Diddulph's, January, 186--.
DEAR HUGH,
For I suppose I may as well write to you in that way now.
I have been made so happy by your affectionate letter. Is
not that a candid confession for a young lady? But you
tell me that I owe you the truth, and so I tell you the
truth. Nobody will ever be anything to me, except you; and
you are everything. I do love you; and should it ever be
possible, I will become your wife.
I have said so much, because I feel that I ought to obey
the order you have given me; but pray do not try to see me
or write to me till mamma has arrived. She and papa will
be here in the spring,--quite early in the spring, we
hope; and then you may come to us. What they may say, of
course, I cannot tell; but I shall be true to you.
Your own, with truest affection,
NORA.
Of course, you knew that I loved you, and I don't think
that you are a conjuror at all.
[Illustration: Nora's letter.]
As soon as ever the letter was written, she put on her bonnet, and
went forth with it herself to the post-office. Mrs. Trevelyan stopped
her on the stairs, and endeavoured to detain her, but Nora would not
be detained. "I must judge for myself about this," she said. "If
mamma were here, it would be different, but, as she is not here, I
must judge for myself."
What Mrs. Outhouse might have done had she been at home at the time,
it would be useless to surmise. She was told what had happened
when it occurred, and questioned Nora on the subject. "I thought I
understood from you," she said, with something of severity in her
countenance, "that there was to be nothing between you and Mr.
Stanbury--at any rate, till my brother came home?"
"I never pledged myself to anything of the kind, Aunt Mary," Nora
said. "I think he promised that he would not come here, and I don't
suppose that he means to come. If he should do so, I shall not see
him."
With this Mrs. Outhouse was obliged to be content. The letter was
gone, and could not be stopped. Nor, indeed, had any authority been
delegated to her by which she would have been justified in stopping
it. She could only join her husband in wishing that they both
might be relieved, as soon as possible, from the terrible burden
which had been thrown upon them. "I call it very hard," said Mr.
Outhouse;--"very hard, indeed. If we were to desire them to leave
the house, everybody would cry out upon us for our cruelty; and yet,
while they remain here, they will submit themselves to no authority.
As far as I can see, they may, both of them, do just what they
please, and we can't stop it."