MORAL FORCE
It was some time before Mary spoke again. Ralph wondered if she had
any inkling of the real truth. He had perhaps said a little too much,
and perhaps, on the other hand, he had not said quite enough. Suppose
that Mary jumped to the immediate conclusion that he was the heir.
What then? She would ask him the question point blank, and he would be
compelled to speak the truth.
But Mary's perception was at fault for once. As her eyes sought
Ralph's face it was evident that she had not the remotest idea who he
was. And this was just as it should be, from Ralph's point of view.
For he was doing what the world would call a foolish and Quixotic
thing. He loved this girl with his whole heart and soul; he knew that
she was the one woman for him. But not yet; until that sinful pride
was humbled in the dust there would be no happiness for Mary. Her
character would have to be cleansed and purified in the fire of
adversity first. Ralph knew quite well what noble qualities lay under
that mask of pride and ice.
He could have called the girl his; he knew it. He had only to proclaim
his identity, and Mary Dashwood would have asked no better fate than
to become the wife of the head of the family; she might have given her
heart into the bargain.
But Ralph would have none of it that way. Mary should come to him and
sue for pardon; she should proclaim in all sincerity that love was
best of all. She should feel that there was something far better than
being mistress of Dashwood Hall. Then the truth might be told and the
old order of things re-established.
All this Ralph had worked out in his mind as a novelist works out a
plot. And Fate had played into his hands. A stern, hard time was
coming for Mary, but it would be the making of her in the end. Ralph
could see it all in his mind's eye as he stood by Mary's side and
looked into her troubled eyes.
"I don't understand," she said slowly. "I am afraid that I am not so
hard and resolute as I believed myself to be. And things have moved so
rapidly lately, that I am dazed. First comes the knowledge that my
father is--is----"
The girl hesitated and broke down. Ralph completed her sentence for
her. It sounded harsh and unkind, but the lesson had to be learned.
"Is not the man you took him for," Ralph said. "His family pride is
not a durable article. To play his part properly he should have coldly
and politely told Mayfield to do his worst, and ordered him out of the
house. That is the course one has a right to expect from the head of
the house of Dashwood. But, alas, for the weakness of poor human
nature! Your father knows Mayfield to be an abandoned scoundrel, and
yet he makes a compact with him. A bargain is arranged between them,
and you are the price to be paid, Mary. And, upon my word, your pride
seems to me to be as hollow a thing as that of your father."
"That is false," Mary cried passionately. "I am sacrificing everything
for the honour of the house."
"Not from my point of view. As I said before, you are committing a
great and deadly sin with your eyes open. At the altar you are
prepared to soil your lips with a horrible perjury. You are going to
promise to love, honour, and obey the man whose very presence makes
you shudder. But, fortunately, there is no need for that. To all
practical purposes you have ceased to be mistress of Dashwood, and
when Mayfield knows this, he will dismiss you as a mere incident in
his career. The new heir will take possession of the title and the
property."
"I am glad we have got back to him again," Mary said coldly. "Your
personal remarks are exceedingly distasteful to me. Who is the man you
speak of?"
"Vincent Dashwood. Did you not guess it before? Has it never occurred
to you that he had some powerful motive that kept him here all this
time? You must be aware how Lady Dashwood dislikes him----"
"Oh, yes, yes. Several times lately I have asked who the man was, but
I could not succeed in getting a satisfactory reply. I knew that Lady
Dashwood was afraid of the man. He is not a bit like a gentleman, but
seeing that he was a Dashwood, I have always been more or less civil
to him."
"He does not think so," Ralph said with a smile. "In fact, he thinks
that you have treated him very distantly and haughtily. He hinted to
me that he was going to make you pay for it later. Still, a most
objectionable creature."
"I seem to be surrounded with them lately," Mary said bitterly. "But
why all this mystery and secrecy? If the man is the person he claims
to be, why did he not make his identity known long ago? Oh, he is an
impostor, defrauding Lady Dashwood. So long as he can get money out of
her he will do nothing."
"Perhaps Lady Dashwood will enlighten us on that point," Ralph said.
"I may say that in California I knew the late Ralph Dashwood very
well. Had I not done so, I should not have been here on private
business today----"
"Then you know if the late heir to the property had a son?" Mary
interrupted.
"Certainly he did. And Vincent Dashwood claims to be Ralph's son. If
he can prove this, then he takes the estates and the title. I have
talked the matter over with him, and I gather that he is waiting for
one particular document before claiming the property. The document is
his mother's marriage certificate. You may say that that is easy to
obtain. Not so in California, where records of that class are not kept
so rigidly as they are here. Lady Dashwood will tell you that the
young man came with the strongest proofs of his identity, letters that
she had written to her son, and other papers of that kind. He knows
all the secrets of the House. Lady Dashwood never catches him
tripping."
"Very strange!" Mary said. "And yet he makes no claim!"
"For the reason that I told you. He led me to understand that he is
loth to disturb existing arrangements during the lifetime of her
ladyship. On the whole, I regard this as an exceedingly fortunate
business for you!"
"Fortunate?" Mary exclaimed. "An incident that renders my father and
myself penniless!"
"Yes. It prevents you becoming the wife of Horace Mayfield. Directly
he hears of this thing he will turn his back on you for ever. He is
too much a man of the world to waste time in idle regrets; he will
look out for another to take your place. On the whole, it seems to me
that Fate has been very kind to you."
"Indeed." Mary's voice was very cold, her face colder still. "You seem
to be glad."
"I _am_ glad. I am rejoiced to find that Providence is not going to
allow you to wreck your happiness and imperil your future in this way.
Nothing could please me better than to see you dependent upon your own
exertions for a living. You will be all the better for it; it will
cleanse and purify you. And then you will discover that the best thing
in the world for a good woman is a good man's love. It is my love for
you, Mary, that makes me take this view of things, that impels me to
rejoice in the fact that you are nearer to me tonight than you have
ever been before. And some day you will own it."
"Never!" Mary cried passionately. "Oh, you make me hate you, you make
me forget how much I owe you. I could never become your wife."
Ralph smiled. There was something very soothing in the sweetness of
the night. Many a time afterward that scene rose up before his mind.
"You _shall_ be my wife," he said in tones of quiet power. "The scales
will fall from your eyes and you will ask me to forgive you. Oh, my
dear, I know the beauty of your true nature better than you know it
yourself. I can see it all before me as clearly as if I were endowed
with the gift of prophecy. We all have our lesson to learn, and it is
no fault of yours that the lesson has come so late. And when my
confession has followed yours, we shall know the meaning of true
happiness, but not before."
As if he had said the final word, Ralph turned in the direction of the
house. A world of passionate scorn, defiance, anger trembled on Mary's
parted lips. How dare this man, how dare any man, talk to her like
this? And yet at the same time the girl was fully aware of the power
and masterful purpose behind Ralph's words. She was glad in her inmost
heart to know that he cared for her so much. After all, Mary had her
dreams of love and romance like other girls. She was dimly conscious
of the sweet and tender womanhood that underlay her pride and ice. And
she knew that no scorn or invective could turn Ralph from his purpose.
"Very well," she said resignedly. "You are a strong man, and I am a
weak woman. I daresay you imagine yourself to be paying me a
compliment. But I should put that dream aside if I were you, for it is
never likely to come true."
"It is no dream," Ralph smiled. "Nor is the happiness so very far off.
Now let me take you back to the house again, for it is getting late."
As Mary slipped her hand under the proffered arm, a gentle sigh
escaped her. She wondered why she could not be angry with this man,
why every word of his thrilled her and filled her with such happiness
as could not be expressed in words.