FURTHER ENTANGLEMENTS.
"Mother," said Wenna that night, "what vexed you so this morning? Who
was the woman who went by?"
"Don't ask me, Wenna," the mother said rather uneasily. "It would do
you no good to know. And you must not speak of that woman: she is too
horrid a creature to be mentioned by a young girl, ever." Wenna
looked surprised, and then she said warmly, "And if she is so, mother,
how could you ask Mr. Trelyon to have anything to do with her? Why
should you send, for him? Why should he be spoken to about her?"
"Mr. Trelyon!" her mother said impatiently. "You seem to have no
thought now for anybody but Mr. Trelyon. Surely the young man can take
care of himself."
The reproof was just: the justice of it was its sting. She was indeed
thinking too much about the young man, and her mother was right in
saying so; but who was to understand the extreme anxiety that
possessed her to bring these dangerous relations to an end?
On the, following afternoon Wenna, sitting alone at the window, heard
Trelyon enter below. The young person who had charge of such matters
allowed him to go up stairs and announce himself as a matter of
course. He tapped at the door and came into the room. "Where's your
mother, Wenna? The girl said she was here. However, never mind: I've
brought you something that will astonish you. What do you think of
that?"
She scarcely looked at the ring, so great was her embarrassment. That
the present of one lover should be brought back to her by another was
an awkward, almost humiliating circumstance, Yet she was glad as well
as ashamed. "Oh, Mr. Trelyon, how can I thank you?" she said in a low
earnest voice. "All you seem to care for is to make other people
happy. And the trouble you have taken, too!"
She forgot to look at the ring, even when he pointed out how the
washing in the sea had made it bright. She never asked about the
dredging. Indeed, she was evidently disinclined to speak of this
matter in any way, and kept the finger with the ring on it out of
sight.
"Mr. Trelyon," she said then with equal steadiness of voice, "I am
going to ask something more from you; and I am sure you will not
refuse it."
"I know," said he hastily; "and let me have the first word. I have
been thinking over our position during this trip to Plymouth and back.
Well, I think I have become a nuisance to you--Wait a bit, let me say
my say in my own way. I can see that I only embarrass you when I call
on you, and that the permission you gave me is only leading to
awkwardness and discomfort. Mind, I don't think you are acting fairly
to yourself or to me in forbidding me to mention again what I told
you. I know you're wrong. You should let me show you what sort of a
life lies before you--But there! I promised to keep clear of that.
Well, I will do what you like; and if you'd rather have me stay away
altogether, I will do that. I don't want to be a nuisance to you. But
mind this, Wenna, I do it because you wish it: I don't do it because I
think any man is bound to respect an engagement which--which--which,
in fact, he doesn't respect."
His eloquence broke down, but his meaning was clear. He stood there
before her, ready to accept her decision with all meekness and
obedience, but giving her frankly to understand that he did not any
the more countenance or consider as a binding thing her engagement to
Mr. Roscorla.
"Mind you," he said, "I am not quite as indifferent about all this as
I look. It isn't the way of our family to put their hands in their
pockets and wait for orders. But I can't fight with you. Many a time I
wish there was a man in the case--then he and I might have it out--but
as it is, I suppose I have got to do what they say, Wenna, and that's
the long and short of it."
She did not hesitate. She went forward and offered him her hand, and
with her frank eyes looking him in the face she said, "You have said
what I wished to say, and I feared I had not the courage to say it.
Now you are acting bravely. Perhaps at some future time we may become
friends again--oh yes, and I do hope that--but in the mean time you
will treat me as if I were a stranger to you."
"That is quite impossible," said he decisively. "You ask too much of
me, Wenna." "Would not that be the simpler way?" she said, looking
at him again with the frank and earnest eyes; and he knew she was
right.
"And the length of time?" he said.
"Until Mr. Roscorla comes home again, at all events," she said.
She had touched an angry chord. "What has he to do with us?" the young
man said almost fiercely. "I refuse to have him come in as arbiter or
in any way whatever. Let him mind his own business; and I can tell
you, when he and I come to talk over this engagement of yours--"
"You promised not to speak of that," she said quietly, and he
instantly ceased.
"Well, Wenna," he said after a minute or two, "I think you ask too
much, but you must have it your own way. I won't annoy you and drive
you into a corner: you may depend on that, to be perfect strangers for
an indefinite time--Then you won't speak to me when I see you passing
to church?"
"Oh yes," she said, looking down: "I did not mean strangers like
that."
"And I thought," said he, with something more than disappointment in
his face, "that when I proposed to--to relieve you from my visits, you
would at least let us have one more afternoon together--only one--for
a drive, you know. It would be nothing to you: it would be 'something
for me to remember."
She would not recognize the fact, but for a brief moment his under lip
quivered; and somehow she seemed to know it, though she dared not look
up to his face.
"One afternoon, only one--to-morrow--next day, Wenna? Surely you
cannot refuse me that?" Then, looking at her with a great compassion
in his eyes, he suddenly altered his tone. "I think I ought to be
hanged," he said in a vexed way. "You are the only person in the world
I care for, and every time I see you I plunge you into trouble. Well,
this is the last time. Good-bye, Wenna." Almost involuntarily she put
out her hand, but it was with the least perceptible gesture, to bid
him remain. Then she went past him, and there were tears running down
her face. "If--if you will wait a moment," she said, "I will see if
mamma and I can go with you to-morrow afternoon."
She went out, and he was left alone. Each word that she had uttered
had pierced his heart; but which did he feel the more deeply--remorse
that he should have insisted on this slight and useless concession, or
bitter rage against the circumstances that environed them, and against
the man who was altogether responsible for these? There was now at
least one person in the world who greatly longed for the return of Mr.
Roscorla.