OPEN CONFESSION
They had been very quiet for a long time as they sat in the rose
garden looking over the park. They could see the dappled deer under
the great oaks; the shadow of the fine old house lay behind. There was
something very soothing and peaceful about the picture. It was Ralph
who spoke presently; he had Mary's hand in his, and she did not draw
it away.
"It is a pity to lose this," he said, "to know that it has gone for
ever. Mary, you were better and braver far than you knew, when you
turned your back on Dashwood Hall."
"Was I?" Mary asked absently. "It will always be a sadness and a
sorrow to me, more from the knowledge of what I might have some day
made the place than anything else. But I need not dwell on that. I
have my living to get now."
"And I suppose I have mine," Ralph said. "Mary, you know what is on
the tip of my tongue. Could you share that lot with me? But I know
that you would; I know what your feelings are. You told me the night
you came back here; you said that my prophecy had come true; that you
had returned to ask my pardon on your knees. Do you regret that?"
"No," Mary said resolutely. "I do not regret it for a moment. Because
it was true then, and it is truer now. It was Connie who taught me
that lesson, I think. She pointed out to me what a good thing a man's
love was. And when I thought that I had lost you, why, then I knew
what my mind was. If I am worth the taking, Ralph----"
"My darling, you were always worth the taking," Ralph cried. "Even in
the days of your pride I had dreams of the sweet Mary that would like
you to love her, and behold, here she is! And you are prepared to
share the lot of a poor man without even a pedigree?"
Mary swayed towards her lover, and he caught her in his eager arms.
The next minute her face was hidden on his breast, happy tears rolling
down her cheeks.
"Don't," she whispered. "Oh, please don't remind me of that, Ralph.
From the bottom of my heart I love you; I must have loved you from the
very first. What does it matter what you are, so long as you are what
you are--a good man, with a kind heart for a foolish girl like me? I
am prepared to share your lot, and go where you like, Ralph; anywhere
you choose to take me. We shall be very poor, I suppose, but that does
not matter. I am glad, _glad_ that the day came when I had to leave
the Hall."
"And if you never return you will not regret it, Mary?"
"No, Ralph, not with you by my side. And as to poverty, why, it could
not be worse than what I have gone through lately. We shall be very
poor, Ralph."
"Not so very poor," Ralph smiled. There was nobody near to see them,
so the girl's head rested happily on Ralph's shoulder, his arm round
her waist. "Dearest, I have a confession to make to you. We are not
poor at all."
"But I thought that you had lost everything, Ralph. That Mr. Mayfield
had your money. But don't let us talk about him. It makes me hot and
cold all over. To think that at one time there was more than a
possibility that I should----"
"No, there was never the slightest possibility," said Ralph. "I have
had all the cards in the game from the very first. Mary, I am going to
tell you a little story; it is the history of a man who passed most of
his early life in America, where he did not see many people. He was
quite a well-born man, but his father had quarrelled with his
relatives, and so he had not all the advantages which were due to his
station. But he was well brought up, and prided himself that he had a
high sense of honour.
"Well, in time, he came to Europe, and then he met the one woman that
he needed. She was very lovely, very proud, and very distant. But that
young man could see what lay under her pride, and he determined to win
her for his wife. She liked him, but she refused him. And for two
years he did not meet her again. Then he came to England, and accident
brought those two together again. In the meantime, the girl's father
had come into possession of the family estates, and the girl was more
proud and distant than ever. And still that young man was not
dismayed.
"And now comes the strange part of my story. The young man, whose
father had died in the meantime, had come here to claim a title and a
property. He had not known anything of this till his father died, but
he came, and his grandmother recognized him at once. But that very
same property and title had passed to the girl's father. Now, the
young man might have told the girl this, and doubtless she would have
married him. But he was a romantic young man, and desired to be
married for his own sake. Then another claimant to the property turned
up, and the young man pretended to back this impostor's claim. He did
this, so that the girl should go out in the world, as he felt that she
would, and get her own living. And his estimate of the girl was
correct, for she did so."
"Go on," Mary whispered. "You can't tell how interested I am."
"Well, it was even as the young man had expected. The
carefully-planned plot succeeded beyond the most sanguine
expectations. The girl went out into the world, and almost at once her
better nature began to prevail. She saw the world through other eyes;
she learned what a wonderful and complex thing humanity is. And when
that young man saw the girl again he was astonished and delighted. He
did not regret his plot in the least. He knew now that here was the
real girl that he loved, deprived of her pride and hauteur,
palpitating with love and tender sympathy. . . . In your case would
you have forgiven that man, Mary?"
"Oh, yes, yes," Mary cried. "Oh, I can read between the lines of your
parable. I am the girl and you are the man who has brought me to my
senses. Ralph, it sounds like a fairy story. And so you took this
means of opening my eyes, and showing me how small and narrow my world
was. Forgive you? Could you ever forgive me? And to think that you are
the son of Ralph Dashwood come back after all these years. And to
think that Lady Dashwood should know and not tell me. Marvellous!"
"I bound her to secrecy," Ralph explained. "And, really, things fell
out wonderfully for me. There was the incident of the fire and that
matchbox, for instance; the incident that forced the impostor Speed to
declare himself. For, of course, you have guessed who the man who
called himself Sir Vincent Dashwood really was. I suppose we shall
never hear who it was who tried to set the Hall on fire."
Mary laughed happily through her tears.
"And you never found that out?" she said. "Why, I knew at once. And I
was horribly afraid lest the person should be found out and severely
punished. Do you recollect the night that those men took possession of
the Hall, the night when you tried to save me from Mayfield? Old
Patience was there. It was one of her lucid nights when she possessed
her full intelligence. And she kept on crying for somebody to smoke
the rats out, for somebody who had courage to put the match to the
faggot. I found her quite late, and took her to sleep for the night in
my dressing-room. And when you came to save me, Patience had vanished.
I never had the slightest doubt who set the Hall on fire, and I hope
that you will not mention this to anybody, Ralph. Patience has quite
forgotten it. I alluded to the subject only yesterday, and she
expressed her indignation."
"Well, that is the last of the mysteries cleared," Ralph said. "I
suppose the poor creature found that matchbox somewhere. The next
thing is to proclaim myself, and then, Mary, you can come back to the
Hall as mistress again."
"What happiness!" Mary whispered. "But a different kind of happiness
to the old. I shall hope a little later to see the old Hall a
different place to what it has ever been before. I should like to
build a charming house close by for the benefit of girls like my
friends Connie and Grace. I owe them more than I can ever repay;
indeed, I owe humanity in general a deep debt of gratitude. You will
let me have my own way over this, Ralph, for I have set my heart on
it."
"It shall be as you say, darling," Ralph whispered, as he kissed the
red lips tenderly. "For the honour of the house, for now and
evermore."
THE END.