A profound belief in the efficacy of his eloquence, when he chose
to expend it, was one of the principal supports of Edward's sense of
mastery; a secret sense belonging to certain men in every station
of life, and which is the staff of many an otherwise impressible and
fluctuating intellect. With this gift, if he trifled, or slid downward
in any direction, he could right himself easily, as he satisfactorily
conceived. It is a gift that may now and then be the ruin of promising
youths, though as a rule they find it helpful enough. Edward had exerted
it upon his father, and upon Robert. Seeing Rhoda's approach, he thought
of it as a victorious swordsman thinks of his weapon, and aimed his
observation over her possible weak and strong points, studying
her curiously even when she was close up to him. With Robert, the
representative of force, to aid her, she could no longer be regarded
in the light of a despicable hindrance to his wishes. Though inclined
strongly to detest, he respected her. She had decision, and a worthy
bearing, and a marvellously blooming aspect, and a brain that worked
withal. When she spoke, desiring him to walk on by her side, he was
pleased by her voice, and recognition of the laws of propriety, and
thought it a thousand pities that she likewise should not become the
wife of a gentleman. By degrees, after tentative beginnings, he put his
spell upon her ears, for she was attentive, and walked with a demure
forward look upon the pavement; in reality taking small note of what
things he said, until he quoted, as against himself, sentences from
Dahlia's letters; and then she fixed her eyes on him, astonished that he
should thus heap condemnation on his own head. They were most pathetic
scraps quoted by him, showing the wrestle of love with a petrifying
conviction of its hopelessness, and with the stealing on of a malady of
the blood. They gave such a picture of Dahlia's reverent love for this
man, her long torture, her chastity of soul and simple innocence, and
her gathering delirium of anguish, as Rhoda had never taken at all
distinctly to her mind. She tried to look out on him from a mist of
tears.
“How could you bear to read the letters?” she sobbed.
“Could any human being read them and not break his heart for her?” said
he.
“How could you bear to read them and leave her to perish!”
His voice deepened to an impressive hollow: “I read them for the first
time yesterday morning, in France, and I am here!”
It was undeniably, in its effect on Rhoda, a fine piece of pleading
artifice. It partially excused or accounted for his behaviour, while
it filled her with emotions which she felt to be his likewise, and
therefore she could not remain as an unsympathetic stranger by his side.
With this, he flung all artifice away. He told her the whole story,
saving the one black episode of it--the one incomprehensible act of
a desperate baseness that, blindly to get free, he had deliberately
permitted, blinked at, and had so been guilty of. He made a mental pause
as he was speaking, to consider in amazement how and by what agency
he had been reduced to shame his manhood, and he left it a marvel.
Otherwise, he in no degree exonerated himself. He dwelt sharply on his
vice of ambition, and scorned it as a misleading light. “Yet I have
done little since I have been without her!” And then, with a persuasive
sincerity, he assured her that he could neither study nor live apart
from Dahlia. “She is the dearest soul to me on earth; she is the purest
woman. I have lived with her, I have lived apart from her, and I cannot
live without her. I love her with a husband's love. Now, do you suppose
I will consent to be separated from her? I know that while her heart
beats, it's mine. Try to keep her from me--you kill her.”
“She did not die,” said Rhoda. It confounded his menaces.
“This time she might,” he could not refrain from murmuring.
“Ah!” Rhoda drew off from him.
“But I say,” cried he, “that I will see her.”
“We say, that she shall do what is for her good.”
“You have a project? Let me hear it. You are mad, if you have.”
“It is not our doing, Mr. Blancove. It was--it was by her own choice.
She will not always be ashamed to look her father in the face. She dare
not see him before she is made worthy to see him. I believe her to have
been directed right.”
“And what is her choice?”
“She has chosen for herself to marry a good and worthy man.”
Edward called out, “Have you seen him--the man?”
Rhoda, thinking he wished to have the certainty of the stated fact
established, replied, “I have.”
“A good and worthy man,” muttered Edward. “Illness, weakness, misery,
have bewildered her senses. She thinks him a good and worthy man?”
“I think him so.”
“And you have seen him?”
“I have.”
“Why, what monstrous delusion is this? It can't be! My good creature,
you're oddly deceived, I imagine. What is the man's name? I can
understand that she has lost her will and distinct sight; but you are
clear-sighted, and can estimate. What is the man's name?”
“I can tell you,” said Rhoda; “his name is Mr. Sedgett.”
“Mister--!” Edward gave one hollow stave of laughter. “And you have seen
him, and think him--”
“I know he is not a gentleman,” said Rhoda. “He has been deeply good to
my sister, and I thank him, and do respect him.”
“Deeply!” Edward echoed. He was prompted to betray and confess himself:
courage failed.
They looked around simultaneously on hearing an advancing footstep.
The very man appeared--in holiday attire, flushed, smiling, and with a
nosegay of roses in his hand. He studied the art of pleasing women. His
eye struck on Edward, and his smile vanished. Rhoda gave him no word of
recognition. As he passed on, he was led to speculate from his having
seen Mr. Edward instead of Mr. Algernon, and from the look of the
former, that changes were in the air, possibly chicanery, and the
proclaiming of himself as neatly diddled by the pair whom, with another,
he heartily hoped to dupe.
After he had gone by, Edward and Rhoda changed looks. Both knew the
destination of that lovely nosegay. The common knowledge almost kindled
an illuminating spark in her brain; but she was left in the dark, and
thought him strangely divining, or only strange. For him, a horror
cramped his limbs. He felt that he had raised a devil in that abominable
smirking ruffian. It may not, perhaps, be said that he had distinctly
known Sedgett to be the man. He had certainly suspected the possibility
of his being the man. It is out of the power of most wilful and selfish
natures to imagine, so as to see accurately, the deeds they prompt
or permit to be done. They do not comprehend them until these black
realities stand up before their eyes.
Ejaculating “Great heaven!” Edward strode some steps away, and returned.
“It's folly, Rhoda!--the uttermost madness ever conceived! I do not
believe--I know that Dahlia would never consent--first, to marry any man
but myself; secondly, to marry a man who is not a perfect gentleman. Her
delicacy distinguishes her among women.”
“Mr. Blancove, my sister is nearly dead, only that she is so strong.
The disgrace has overwhelmed her, it has. When she is married, she will
thank and honour him, and see nothing but his love and kindness. I will
leave you now.”
“I am going to her,” said Edward.
“Do not.”
“There's an end of talking. I trust no one will come in my path. Where
am I?”
He looked up at the name of the street, and shot away from her. Rhoda
departed in another direction, firm, since she had seen Sedgett pass,
that his nobleness should not meet with an ill reward. She endowed
him with fair moral qualities, which she contrasted against Edward
Blancove's evil ones; and it was with a democratic fervour of contempt
that she dismissed the superior outward attractions of the gentleman.