A DECISIVE STEP.
"I WANT a little talk with you myself to-day, Marigold," said Mrs.
Heavitree. "Narcissus is out with the children; and you can see her
by-and-by when she returns. Come into my boudoir now."
"I wanted to speak to you too, ma'am," said Marigold, following as
directed.
"Which first?" asked Mrs. Heavitree, smiling. "I suppose our subjects
are hardly the same. What is yours?"
"About mother's health, ma'am."
"Ah! I have suspected something to be wrong there."
"She never said a word till the other day,—when I got home from here. I
found her so bad, she couldn't keep up any longer,—and then she told."
Marigold gave particulars, adding,—"Mother don't want to see a doctor,
but father says she must; and he thought perhaps you'd advise us."
"She ought to do so without delay. I think I can help you. My brother,
Dr. Wilton—a London surgeon—is coming to me next week for a few days;
and he is particularly skilful in such matters. You must have seen him
once at the Vicarage. I have a visit from him occasionally. No? You
think not? Well, tell your father, but not Mrs. Plunkett. She would
only grow nervous beforehand. I will bring him in one day; and she will
like him, before she knows that he is a doctor. He has a most kind
manner. Then he shall look into her health, and tell us what he thinks."
"I'm sure I can't thank you enough, ma'am. And father will be so glad."
"You shall thank me by listening now to something else that I have to
say. Can you at all guess what it is about?"
Marigold shook her head; though the thought of Todd did come up, and
when his name was uttered by Mrs. Heavitree, she felt no surprise.
"It has been said lately—with how much truth you know—that you and Todd
are engaged to be married, or at least likely to be engaged."
"We're not engaged," said Marigold, flushing. "He's been in pretty
often at home lately."
"And your father approves of it?"
"Father likes James. Mother did say one day that he wouldn't like
that," added Marigold. "But I don't see how she knew."
"Probably your father had said so to her."
"I don't know, ma'am. I don't see why. He's always pleased to see
James."
"To see him as a friend. That may be. Todd is a pleasant young man, I
believe. But is he a good man?"
"I'm sure he wants to do right," said Marigold rather faintly.
"If he can do it, without trouble to himself."
"He does want to get work, ma'am."
"But he has had work offered to him again and again; and he keeps
to nothing. Marigold, I want you very much to look this matter in
the face bravely. I don't even ask whether Todd is a man of high
religious principle, because that unhappily I know he is not." Marigold
opened her lips, and shut them again. "I ask only—is he steady and
hard-working? Is he one who could be expected to make his wife happy?"
"I think he's steady," said Marigold, not so confidently as when she
had spoken to Narcissus.
"I'm afraid—not—always," said Mrs. Heavitree gently. "My husband has
twice come across him, lately, the worse for drink."
Marigold said nothing; but her downcast face showed what she felt.
"I know you too well to believe it possible that you could ever be
happy with a drunkard for a husband. Impossible that you should. Life
would be one long misery. And the habit is one which grows upon a man
fearfully, unless nipped in a very early stage."
"He says he'd do anything for me," faltered the girl.
"He would not give up drinking for you! He would not keep steadily to
hard work for you. He does neither now,—even for the hope of winning
you; and if once you were his wife, you would be powerless. He would
go his own way, and you would have to endure. Do you think I have not
seen it, scores of times? Every girl thinks she can reform the man whom
she wishes to marry; and it is only after marriage that she finds her
mistake. I want you to know it beforehand."
"But James isn't a drinking man—commonly," urged Marigold. "Those two
times he might have been overcome; but he don't commonly, ma'am. I've
never seen him so. And if he had a good wife, and a nice little home—"
"You are trusting to a rope of sand. If once a man has put his foot on
that steep slope, it takes far more to hold him back than wife or home.
God's grace alone can do it . . . Besides, what chance is there that
Todd can ever have a nice little home? Unless he were to work steadily,
such a home could not exist . . . Probably he would expect you to work:
and what sort of a home does that mean?
"An idle husband, and a toiling wife,—not to speak of neglected little
ones. A wife and mother cannot do everything. She cannot support the
household, make a comfortable home, and train her children, all at
once. I am speaking very plainly, because girls do not think or look
forward; and I want you to think; I want you to look forward. Marriage
is no light matter. You enter upon it for life,—''till death you do
part.'
"And it is not a question only as to yourself and Todd. You know as
well as I do what marriage will probably mean. No man or woman has a
right to marry, unless he and she have a reasonable prospect, not only
of keeping themselves in comfort, but of feeding, and clothing, and
rightly training, the helpless little ones, who may be given to them by
God,—given to bring up for HIM! No man, whether gentleman or working
man, has a right to marry unless such a prospect is his,—and no woman
has a right either. Mere boys and girls rush recklessly into marriage,
day after day, without a thought of the future,—yet by-and-by they will
have to answer, before the Throne of God Himself, for the manner in
which their children have turned out."
"I'm sure I never thought about all that," said Marigold in a subdued
tone.
"Girls do not think; and a kind of false delicacy often keeps people
from warning them in time. There is no step in life, about which one
ought so seriously to count the cost, so anxiously to weigh one's
responsibilities, as marriage,—just because it involves so much, and
because it can never be undone . . . Will you give your mind to what I
have said? Do not at least drift into a step which may spoil your whole
life, not to speak of other lives.
"And pray to be guided. Even if James Todd's character were in other
qualities all that one could desire,—I mean if he were entirely steady,
thoroughly hard-working,—even then I should still ask you to think how
far you, who try to serve God from the heart, could be happy with a
husband who professes no religion at all. But he falls short of even
such lower requirements. Think it over well, Marigold."
"I will indeed, ma'am," Marigold answered, and her eyes were full of
tears.
Nothing passed that day between Marigold and Narcissus on the subject
of Todd. Marigold did not refer to him, and Narcissus wisely held
her peace. Marigold was very thoughtful while at the Vicarage, and
still more on her way home. She was alone this time, having carefully
abstained from telling Todd of her little expedition. But half-way
back, to her surprise, he appeared as before, from behind a clump of
bushes, and walked forward with a confident air.
Then a swift thought came to Marigold that now was the time to make
a stand—to hold herself free. "I'm not to drift into it!" she told
herself resolutely, and she stopped short.
"Well, so here you are, eh?" said Todd. "Didn't let me know, but I
found out, you see!"
"I didn't tell, because I didn't mean to walk home with you," said
Marigold.
Todd laughed easily. "Can't help it now,—as I'm here!"
"I don't think it's right. Father would not be pleased."
"Rubbish!"
"It's not rubbish. I mean what I say."
"Rubbish!" repeated Todd. "Come along."
"No. It is not right. I would rather walk home alone."
"But I say—! What on earth—? Who's been setting you against me?"
Marigold was silent, questioning in her mind what to say next.
"Eh? Who's been talking against me?"
Marigold moved on, and James walked by her side. She stopped again.
[Illustration: "I've heard one thing," Marigold said slowly.]
"I'd rather go home alone, please."
"And I'd rather you wouldn't."
"Very well;" and Marigold quietly proceeded. "Then it isn't my fault.
You can do as you like, and I shall tell father,—and he can do as he
likes."
"You won't! You wouldn't be such a—"
"I've warned you!"
Todd did not believe her. He thought she was half in fun; and he kept
his place by her side resolutely.
Marigold quickened her pace, and answered his remarks only in
monosyllables; but he was not to be driven off.
Reaching the street in which she lived, he again asked: "I say, who's
been setting you against me?"
"I've heard one thing," Marigold said slowly. "And that is—that you've
been seen—taking too much."
"Oh, come now! You ain't so particular as all that! If I did take just
a drop more than I needed, once in a year, what then? A man can't
always be shilly-shallying. I vow it wasn't more than a drop,—and just
about once a year."
"Or once a month," said Marigold. Then she looked straight at him, and
said firmly,—"I'd sooner do anything in the world—I'd sooner die—than
marry a man who was on the way to become a drunkard."
"Now, Marigold! What nonsense you do talk!"
"I mean it," said Marigold. She had trembled a little at the beginning
of their talk, but now she trembled no longer. "I would sooner die."
"It's all the fault of them strait-laced folks up at the Vicarage,
meddling with what don't concern them."
"They are the best friends I ever had. It isn't meddling, and it does
concern them, because they want to see me happy."
"And don't I want you to be happy? You know I'd do anything in the
world for you! Don't you, now? I'd promise faithful never to touch a
drop of anything again, if that would make it all right."
"You wouldn't keep your promise?"
"I swear I would."
"James, you are not to speak so! And it's no use. You promised
me—faithfully—that you would stick to work, the next that came in your
way; and you threw it up the first thing."
"I'll stick to it yet,—as soon as I get something to do."
Suddenly Plunkett turned into the street, and crossed over a little way
in front of them. Marigold at once called,—
"Father!"
"You shut up!" said Todd, not too civilly.
"Father!" repeated Marigold, and he stopped.
"Eh; it's you, is it?" said Plunkett. He did not think much of seeing
the two together, merely supposing that they had just met, and Todd
remarked,—
"Fine day!"
"Father, James has walked with me all the way from the Common,—from
half over the Common. I did not want him. I've let him do it before,
and I was wrong; and I told him not to-day, and he would come."
"Well, why not?" said Todd sulkily.
Plunkett looked from the one to the other.
"I told him I would tell you, and now I have," said Marigold. Then she
went indoors, leaving the two together.
Plunkett presently followed, to find her alone in the little kitchen.
"What's all this?" he demanded.
"Father, I thought I ought to speak about it. Mother said once you
wouldn't be pleased . . . And I wouldn't listen . . . But Mrs.
Heavitree's been talking . . . And—I thought—I ought—" Marigold's voice
failed.
"An idle fellow like that! You've too much sense to care for him!"
Plunkett stared, as Marigold burst into tears.
"Eh? You don't mean for to say you like Todd?"
"He's been nice to me,—and I do like him," sobbed Marigold. "But Mrs.
Heavitree says—says he's not—"
"Not the sort to make a girl happy? No, I should think not. He's
smooth-spoken, and when you've said that, you've said all. I wouldn't
see you marry Todd,—not for anything you could name! I told him he'd
best make himself scarce, and he said it was all a mistake,—he'd no
notion of marrying nobody."
"Oh!" Marigold's cheeks flamed.
"That isn't how he's talked to you, oh?"
"I should think not! Father, I did think he was one that would speak
true."
"Well, the best thing you can do is to see no more of him," said
Plunkett decisively. "There's no sort o' dependence to be put on Todd.
He's not fit for you, and you're a deal too good for him. And what's
more, you'll never marry him with my will. So the sooner you can forget
him, the better. I've said enough to stop his looking in here, again,
in a hurry. And I'm sure you'd need be grateful to Mrs. Heavitree, for
the trouble she's taken."
Marigold's thoughts reverted to the beginning of her Vicarage
conversation. "There's something else too,—" she said, "something
you'll be glad of. Mrs. Heavitree said I'd best not speak to mother,
but I might to you." Then she told Plunkett about the doctor who was to
arrive at the Vicarage, and about Mrs. Heavitree's kind intentions.
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