PAULA LEAVES DEEPDALE.
Mrs Measures would have followed Paula Stafford to the schoolhouse
that very evening if her husband had not prevented it. He had told the
girl to take a couple of days to think over the matter, and he would
not let his wife interfere with her till the time was up. Meanwhile
he felt very depressed about it all. He had not the least suspicion
that the teacher had been guilty of any impropriety, but her reticence
and obstinacy puzzled and grieved him. Doubtless she had some good
reason for refusing to speak, but that assurance would not satisfy
his churchwardens, and he foresaw that he should lose an admirable
assistant in the school, and one which he should not easily replace.
Mrs Measures, on the contrary, anticipated no such evil consequences,
and rallied her husband on his want of circumspection.
‘Can’t you see, dear,’ she said, ‘that she only held her tongue in
order to annoy Mr Gribble? And I don’t wonder at it. Such a presuming,
impertinent, arbitrary little man as he is. I often question, Edward,
why you permit him to hold his office. He is quite unfit for it.’
‘I don’t see that, Mary. He is very zealous, and in this instance,
although he is hard and suspicious, he is perfectly just. Miss Stafford
should _not_ receive any visitors whose names she is ashamed to
acknowledge.’
‘Who said she was _ashamed_ to acknowledge them? Why, Edward, you are
becoming as hard as Mr Gribble. Miss Stafford confessed openly that Hal
Rushton had been with her. It was only the sailor whose identity she
preferred to keep to herself.’
‘And what business can she have with _sailors_? I don’t quite like it,
Mary. I wish it had never occurred.’
‘So do I, but I cannot regard it as such a terrible misfortune. I am
going to call on Miss Stafford after school this evening, and I am sure
she will tell me everything that is necessary for us to know.’
‘I hope so, my dear. I shall have a very poor opinion of her else. She
seemed very determined the other day, but she may have thought better
of it since.’
Mrs Measures felt quite sure of it, and rapped at the schoolhouse door
that evening in full faith that everything would have been set right
before she left it again. It was just past five o’clock. The scholars
had not been dismissed above a few minutes, and the woman whose
business it was to keep the schoolroom clean was already opening the
windows and sweeping away the dust caused by their fidgeting little
feet. She curtsied as she saw the vicar’s wife, and remarked that it
was a beautiful day, and there hadn’t been but a handful of scholars in
for afternoon school. Mrs Measures had hardly time to notice her remark
before Miss Stafford herself had opened the side door in answer to her
knock. She was looking very pale, and her eyes were red with weeping,
but she coloured faintly when she saw who was standing there.
‘Mrs Measures,’ she faltered, ‘I am so sorry. My room is so untidy. It
is hardly fit to ask you in to.’
‘Never mind untidiness,’ replied Mrs Measures cheerfully, as she stept
over the threshold. ‘I did not come to look at your room, my dear, but
to talk to yourself.’ But as she caught sight of the school teacher’s
boxes, and all the preparations for packing them strewn about the room,
she looked surprised. ‘Why, what is this? Surely you are not making
ready to leave us?’
‘Indeed, I am, Mrs Measures. I told Mr Measures the other evening that
he might as well give me my notice at once, as there is nothing for me
to do but to go.’
‘But, my dear,’ said the vicar’s wife, taking possession of a chair,
‘this is childish of you. Even if you eventually decide to leave us,
you must take a month’s notice. You are entitled to it.’
‘I do not wish to take it, Mrs Measures. I am going at once. There
is nothing left here for me to do. There were not more than a dozen
children at school this afternoon, and they behaved so impertinently
that it is evident I have lost my control over them. I was going to
write to the vicar to-night, and ask him to find a substitute for me at
once. I cannot submit to be insulted by my own scholars.’
‘Most certainly not,’ cried the lady warmly, ‘and I only wish the vicar
had been by to hear it. But now, let us have a talk together over this
affair. It seems that the only obstacle to an understanding between us
is your refusal to give up the name of the stranger who visited you
on that unfortunate evening. Now, is your objection to do this quite
insuperable? Will you not confide it to _me_?’
For a moment Paula was irresolute. Why should she not tell this kind
friend everything, and secure a woman’s sympathy and advice? But to
what end? She had lost her lover, and her situation (for without the
one she could never retain the other), and what good should she gain
by leaving her sad history behind her to serve food for Deepdale
gossip? So she stood there silently and shook her head.
‘It seems incomprehensible to me,’ continued the vicar’s wife in a
vexed tone, ‘that you should be so obstinate about it. I feel sure
there was nothing wrong in his visit; but why should you keep his name
and business such a mystery?’
‘I daresay it _does_ seem incomprehensible to you, madam,’ said Paula
sadly, ‘but perhaps your life has led to no necessity for concealments.’
‘No, indeed; but why should yours? Such a girl as you are too--’
‘Oh, I am not such a girl as you think me, and my past life has been
both unhappy and eventful. It is unnecessary you should know mine.
This man was connected with it, and to disclose his business with
me would be to tell a great deal that concerns myself alone. Is not
this sufficient,’ replied Paula, ‘and especially since I shall leave
Deepdale so soon and for ever?’
She had finished the sentence with difficulty, and at the close of
it she burst into tears. Mrs Measures was affected. She thought the
teacher had suffered some disappointment in love.
‘My poor child,’ she said affectionately, ‘you are unhappy, I can see
that, and I feel for you.’
Paula’s answer was to fling herself at the knees of the vicar’s wife.
‘Oh, madam, I _am_ unhappy--deeply, miserably so--though not from my
own fault so much as from that of others. Pity me if you will, but pray
do not condemn me. In a few days I shall be far away from Deepdale,
and I would like to think that you at least did not believe me to be
in the wrong. That man was connected with my past life. He brought me
a message from a person whom I never wished to hear from again--whom I
never shall see again. To disclose his name would be to give up a clue
to a past I am doing my utmost to forget. That is the sole reason of my
silence. Do you believe me?’
‘Yes, my dear, I do believe you, and I am very sorry for you. You were
born for better things than this. Edward and I always said so from the
beginning.’
‘Oh, no; I am obliged to work, for I have others dependent on me, and I
have been grateful for the peace and kindness I have met with here. But
now it is over. I must leave Deepdale, and the sooner I go the better.
How soon do you think that Mr Measures will set me free?’
Mrs Measures sighed.
‘I cannot say. What he will do without you I do not know. But it is
folly to throw away your legal notice and salary.’
‘I want neither. I have sufficient money to get back to my friends, and
I cannot stay a day longer than is necessary.’
‘_Where_ are your friends? _Who_ are they?’ demanded Mrs Measures.
‘My mother lives in Devonshire,’ replied Paula vaguely.
The vicar’s wife was not satisfied with the interview, and felt she had
signally failed in her mission. She knew no more than when she entered
the schoolhouse, and it was evident that Miss Stafford intended to
leave them. So she said, with rather less interest,--
‘Of course, we cannot keep you here against your will, my dear, but I
think you would be wise to reconsider your decision. Why not stay out
your month? There is no knowing what might happen in the interim. Let
me tell the vicar that you will do so much.’
‘No, no,’ cried Paula feverishly; ‘I feel that I must go without delay.
I shall be miserable till I am out of the place. There are other
reasons--’
‘_Other reasons?_’ repeated Mrs Measures inquisitively.
‘Yes--no. I hardly know what I am talking about. This business has
completely upset me,’ replied Paula. ‘Only--I must go home to my
mother. I must go at once. I cannot stay here a day longer.’
‘Very well,’ said her visitor, rising, ‘then I will tell Mr Measures
your decision. He will be very disappointed, I know; but, of course, we
cannot interfere with your private feelings. Good-bye, my dear. I am
sorry--_very_ sorry--but we must hope it is all for the best.’
And with this well-meant but unsatisfactory aphorism Mrs Measures took
her leave. She was sincerely hurt at the upshot of her visit, and her
faith in her _protégée_ was somewhat shaken. Paula’s impetuous words
had rendered the mystery still more mysterious. What could there be so
dreadful in her past that she feared the discovery of a clue to it? Her
half-explanation had made the matter worse instead of better, and Mrs
Measures determined to keep that part of their interview to herself.
As she was strolling thoughtfully towards the vicarage she encountered
Hal Rushton, wandering in an aimless way about the village, with a
couple of Irish setters at his heels. He had been gloomy and depressed
ever since the conversation with his stepmother at the breakfast table
that morning, wondering what he could do to stop the scandal concerning
Paula, or if he could make up his mind to see her again and warn her
of the detriment to her character. When he perceived the vicar’s wife,
he doffed his hat and slightly smiled. Everyone in Deepdale loved Mrs
Measures except the late Mrs Snaley.
‘Well, Mr Rushton,’ she commenced kindly, ‘and how are you getting
on? I have just come from seeing Miss Stafford at the schoolhouse. I
am sorry to say she holds to her decision, and is determined to leave
us. It is a great pity. It will leave a kind of blot upon her name for
ever. Now, _you_ are a friend of hers. I wonder if you could induce her
to think better of it.’
Hal began to stammer at once.
‘_I_, Mrs Measures. If _you_ have failed, it is hardly likely _I_
should succeed. But she will not get leave, I suppose, under a month?’
‘Indeed, she will. She is going at once, without notice or salary. I
found her already packing her trunks. She seems terribly upset, and
very unhappy. Poor girl, I fancy her life has not been a very bright
one.’
‘Did she tell you anything about it?’ inquired Hal.
‘Not in so many words, but she hinted a great deal. And vexed as I am
at her obstinacy in leaving Deepdale, I cannot help thinking of the
time she has passed with us with admiration. How faithfully she has
worked in the schoolroom, sparing neither time nor trouble. Mr Measures
will feel lost when she is gone. And all the time the poor child has
been toiling for others who are dependent on her, and with some carking
care or anxiety hidden in her breast. I am very sorry there should be
anything to conceal in her life, but I admire her beyond expression for
having battled against it as she appears to have done.’
‘And all the thanks she has got for it is having her character vilified
from one end of Deepdale to the other,’ exclaimed young Rushton
excitedly.
‘That is her own fault, Mr Rushton,’ replied Mrs Measures; ‘however
innocent she may be, where there is concealment, people _will_ suspect
there is something wrong. And her friends, even, do not seem to stand
up for her. She appears to be very much alone. She told me she was
going to her mother in Devonshire, but she did not tell me her name or
address.’
‘Her name, we must conclude, is Mrs Stafford,’ remarked Hal drily.
‘So I should have said yesterday, but I could not help observing this
evening that several of the articles of clothing strewn about the room
were marked with the initials P. B. Perhaps I am wrong to think that
“Stafford” may be only an assumed name; but where there has been one
deception, there may have been another. But she is evidently in great
distress, poor girl, and God forbid that I should judge her. I only
feel great pity, and great regret. But I mustn’t keep you any longer,
Mr Rushton. Only, if you should see Miss Stafford, and feel justified
in approaching the subject, _do_ try and make her see the sense of not
rushing off in such a hurry, which is sure to make the scandal about
her ten times worse.’
Hal’s heart began to beat rapidly as Mrs Measures left him. Paula going
to leave Deepdale so soon, and without giving him a chance perhaps of
speaking to her again. Upon the instant he began to view her conduct
on the last occasion of their meeting in a more favourable light. He
had been terribly hurt and disappointed by the disclosure she had made
to him--_so_ disappointed, indeed, that for the moment he had thought
she was not worthy that he should speak to her again. But he had been
miserable ever since. He had regretted his harsh words as soon as they
were uttered, and the idea that all intercourse between them was over
was torture to him. For, after all, had she done him so great an injury
by not telling him of her marriage before? Had he ever approached the
subject of her past life with her, or hinted that he intended to ask
her to share his future? And since there was a reason for concealing
she was a widow, what right had he to suppose that she would confide
to him--until the proper time came--what she had kept a secret from
everybody else? _When_ the moment arrived, when further concealment
would have been deception, she had told it to him frankly. And, in
return, instead of pitying, he had reviled her. What a brute she must
think him. Was there any chance she would forgive so great an affront?
Mrs Measures’ words had made him look upon it all so differently. The
poor girl, with her spirits and health broken from the unhappiness of
the past, working bravely at an uncongenial occupation for the sake of
her child and her mother--both, perhaps, dependent on her--and he had
been unkind to her, and added to her burden, when all the time it was
because he loved her with such a jealous passion that he could not bear
to think she had ever belonged to another man. But he would conquer all
such petty feelings; he would pour out his love upon her, freely and
unconditionally, if she would only forgive him for the past. With this
intention Hal Rushton began to walk rapidly towards the schoolhouse.
He was very much in love with Paula Stafford. It is doubtful, under
any circumstances, whether he could have borne their estrangement much
longer, but now his heart was burning to make the quarrel up again. As
he passed the latticed window, which was thrown open to the evening
air, he caught a glimpse of her figure, bent over one of her travelling
trunks, and his pulses beat faster at the sight of her. He went round
to the door. It was unlatched. He pushed it open, and stood upon the
threshold, with a face full of entreaty.
‘Paula,’ he murmured in a low voice, ‘Paula, forgive me!’
She turned at the sound, and flushed scarlet.
‘There is nothing to forgive,’ she answered sadly. ‘I was bound to tell
you the truth, and I am sorry that it wounded you. But it is better so.
You know now what I am. I could not have accepted your offer unless you
knew it.’
‘But I had no right to speak to you as I did. It was jealousy made
me do so--jealousy to think that any other man had ever claimed the
privileges I aspire to. I have been miserable ever since. I have been
unable to eat or drink for thinking of the happiness I have lost.
Paula, forgive me. Forget the words I said. They were not my true
sentiments. I cannot live without you, darling. Had you been married
twenty times, I would still say, “Come to me and, be my wife, and let
me try to make you forget the unhappiness of the past.”’
He pleaded so earnestly, and his words caused such a revulsion in her
feelings, that Paula sat down on the box she had been packing and
began to cry.
‘Oh, my miserable life,’ she moaned, ‘the fatal mistake that bound me
to that man--how the shadow of it has pursued me ever since. Even here,
where I thought I was so safe, it has settled down upon me, and broken
up the little peace and happiness that I possessed.’
‘No, no, Paula, don’t say that,’ exclaimed Hal Rushton, as he entered
the room and knelt beside her. ‘Don’t let it break it up. Take me back
to your heart again, unworthy as I am to ask it, and let us be to each
other as we were before.’
He pulled her hands down from before her face, and kissed her tears
away, and she had not the moral courage to prevent him.
‘But nothing is changed, Hal, remember,’ she said after a while. ‘I am
still that hateful thing to you--a woman who has been married--who has
borne a child--and nothing can ever undo it. You had better let me go,
and set your heart upon some fresh young girl instead.’
‘I don’t want any fresh young girl. I want only _you_,’ he answered
fondly. ‘I have been trying to argue the matter out with myself the two
last days, and I have utterly failed. You are the only woman in the
world that can make me happy, and I would marry you, whatever you had
done, and whatever you had been. Do you understand me plainly? It must
be you, and you only, or I will die a bachelor. Give me your promise
back again, Paula, and say that you will be my wife.’
‘I am afraid,’ she sighed, ‘you have frightened all my courage away.
Let me go home to my mother, and when I have talked the matter over
with her I will write you my decision.’
‘But you won’t go away _now_?’ he exclaimed eagerly. ‘You won’t rob me
of your presence just as it has become such a joy to me? Oh, Paula,
no! Stay with us, darling, a little while, and then you shall give
up this detestable occupation for ever. Mrs Measures met me as she
was returning home, and begged me to persuade you, if possible, to
relinquish your intention to leave Deepdale--at all events until this
scandal has somewhat blown over.’
Paula drew herself up rather proudly.
‘I am sorry I cannot comply with Mrs Measures’ request. I told her so
only just now. The scandal _is_ scandal, and I shall treat it with the
contempt it deserves, but I cannot remain here to be insulted either by
the churchwardens or my scholars. The school is in absolute revolt. I
can maintain no authority nor order amongst the children, therefore I
prefer to give up my salary and situation without further delay. I told
Mrs Measures that I should start to-morrow.’
‘_To-morrow?_’ echoed the young man in a voice of despair. ‘You will
leave me so soon? Oh, you are cruel, Paula!’
‘I think not, Hal. I think I am kind, instead. I want to give you time
to think this matter over quietly, and to be sure you know your own
mind. And I will think it over also, and decide if I shall be wise in
trusting my future happiness to such a jealous fellow as you are.’
But she smiled as she said the words, and Hal Rushton knew that their
difference was over.
‘I _am_ jealous,’ he sighed, ‘horribly and unreasonably jealous. I have
been so from a child. When my father married again, and brought Mrs
Snaley and her son into the house, Heaven only knows what I suffered.
But I can never be jealous again of you, Paula. I know the worst
now, and I feel that in yourself you will never give me cause for
experiencing such a feeling.’
Paula coloured, and began to busy herself with the box.
‘I shall never get my packing done in time if I chatter so much to
you,’ she said. ‘If you want to make yourself very useful, Hal, you
might find out what time the train for London leaves Haltham to-morrow
morning, and if Mr Waters can spare his tax-cart to take me and my
luggage into town in time to catch it.’
‘Mr Waters’ tax-cart will do no such thing,’ exclaimed her lover. ‘If
you are determined to go, _I_ shall drive you into Haltham myself.’
‘And leave another scandal on my name in Deepdale. Will that be wise,
Hal?’
‘I shall meet the scandal (if any) with the refutation that you are my
promised wife.’
‘No, Hal, you must not do that until we have met again. I am _not_ your
promised wife. I _was_ last Tuesday, but you threw back my promise in
my face, and I refuse to renew it so hastily. You must know my whole
history before we plight our troth again. You might hear something else
to trouble you. And so we will part good friends, I hope, but free as
air.’
‘And when are we to meet again?’ inquired Hal somewhat sulkily.
‘Very soon, I hope. I will go down to Grassdene, and have a little
rest and peace with my mother. I want rest, Hal, after the worry and
excitement of the last week. And when I have consulted her, I will
write to you, and if you are of the same mind--’
‘Well, what if I am of the same mind?’ he said interrogatively.
‘You shall come and fetch me, if you will,’ she answered in a low voice.
He caught her suddenly in his arms, and strained her to his breast.
‘If I will--if I will--’ he repeated joyously, as he kissed her soft
lips. ‘You know that I will--that I would fetch you away to-day if you
would only give your consent to it.’
‘That would be a little too soon,’ said Paula; ‘besides, I will not
promise anything more till you have seen my mother and poor little
Paul.’
‘Is that your child? But why do you call him “poor little Paul?”’ he
asked.
‘You will understand when you see him, Hal. Don’t talk of it more
to-night. But remember what I said on Tuesday evening I meant, and
however we may decide to act in the future, I shall be your true friend
as long as my life lasts.’
She gave him her hand as she spoke, and Hal Rushton raised it
reverently to his lips, and felt that, whatever the secrets of this
woman’s past might be, she was worthy in herself of all honour and
esteem. He lingered about her for a little while longer, hoping to
extract some fresh promise from her lips, but she was firm in her
resolve, and he bid her good-night with a lighter heart, indeed, but
still somewhat sobered by her decision. He was so fearful lest on
cool deliberation she should find that she could live without him.
She refused his escort into Haltham the next day, but she could not
prevent his being on the platform of the railway station to see her
off, nor providing her with every comfort he could think of to lessen
the fatigue of the journey. Mr and Mrs Measures were exceedingly sorry
to see her go, and the parishioners of Deepdale were indignant at her
taking the law into her own hands, but neither of them could prevent
her departure. The last thing Paula saw, as the train moved slowly
out of the station, was the handsome face of Hal Rushton smiling a
farewell, and she could not help wondering to herself if she should
ever see it again with such a confident, hopeful smile upon its
features.