MR. STEDMAN RELENTS.
Philip Stanburne's life had not been settled or happy since the date of
his visit to Derbyshire. The old tranquil existence at the Peel had
become impossible for him now. It was intolerable to him to be cut off
from all direct communication with Miss Stedman, and one day he went
boldly to Chesnut Hill. He went there, not under cover of the darkness,
as cowardly lovers do, but in the broad openness of such daylight as is
ever to be seen in Sootythorn. I think, however, that it would have
needed still greater courage on his part to present himself there about
eight o'clock in the evening; for in the day-time Mr. Stedman was
usually at his factory, whereas about eight in the evening a friend
might count upon the pleasure of finding him at Chesnut Hill.
The servant-maid who opened the door to Philip showed him at once into
the drawing-room. "What name shall I say, sir?" she asked. Philip gave
his name, and waited. He had not inquired whether Miss Stedman was at
home--he felt a slight embarrassment in inquiring about Miss
Stedman--and the servant on her part had simply asked him to walk in.
He had waited about five minutes, when a heavy step became audible in
the passage, and the door of the room was opened. The Reverend Abel
Blunting stood before him.
"Pray sit down, sir," said the reverend gentleman; "I hope you are quite
well. I hope I see you well. Mr. Stedman is not at home--he is down at
the mill--but I am expecting him every minute."
Mr. Blunting's bland amiability ought no doubt to have awakened amiable
feelings in Mr. Stanburne's breast, but, unfortunately, it had just the
opposite effect. "I did not come here to see Mr. Stedman," he replied;
"I came to see his daughter."
Now Mr. Blunting was a powerful man, both physically and mentally, and a
man by no means disposed to yield when he considered firmness to be a
duty. In the present instance he _did_ consider it necessary to prevent
an interview between Alice and her lover, and he quietly resolved to do
so at all costs. "I am sorry," he said, "that you cannot see Miss
Stedman."
"Why cannot I see her? Is she not at home?"
"She is under this roof, sir."
"Then I will see her," Philip answered, and rose to his feet.
"Pray sit down, sir--pray sit down," said Mr. Blunting, without stirring
from the easy-chair in which he had ensconced himself. He made a gesture
with his hand at the same time, which said as plainly as it could, "Calm
yourself, young gentleman, and listen to me."
"Pray sit down. Miss Stedman is not very well to-day; indeed she has not
been really well, I am sorry to say, for some time past. She does not
rise until the afternoon, and of course you cannot go into her bedroom."
"Why not? Come with me if you like. The doctor may go there, I suppose?"
"The doctor goes there professionally, and so does Miss Stedman's
spiritual adviser."
"I could do her more good than either of you. How wretchedly lonely she
is!"
"My wife comes to sit with Miss Stedman every day."
"What _is_ the matter with her? Tell me the plain truth."
"Most willingly--most happy to reassure you, sir. There is really
nothing serious in Miss Stedman's case; the medical men are agreed upon
that. She merely suffers from debility, which has been neglected for
some time because she did not complain. Now that the ailment is known,
it will be combated in every way. Already there is a decided
improvement. But in her present state of weakness, agitation of any kind
might be most prejudicial--most prejudicial; and therefore I hope you
will easily see that I dare not accept the responsibility of permitting
an interview between you."
"I shall wait here till Mr. Stedman comes, and ask his permission."
"That is a very proper course to pursue, and I highly approve your
resolution. But from what we both know of Mr. Stedman's sentiments, it
seems scarcely probable that he will grant your request. You will do
well, however, to wait and see him. It is always the best, when there
are differences of opinion, that the contending parties should meet
personally."
Here there was a pause of a minute or two, after which Mr. Blunting
resumed, with great politeness of manner,--
"I fear you must need refreshment, sir, if you have come from a
distance. Your own residence, as I am informed, is at a considerable
distance from this place. In Mr. Stedman's absence, I may take upon
myself to offer you something. Would you like a sandwich and a glass of
wine? I cannot offer to drink wine with you, being myself a total
abstainer, but as I know that you use it in great moderation, it is not
against my conscience to ring for the decanters."
Philip Stanburne had eaten nothing since six in the morning, and
willingly accepted the clergyman's proposition. Perhaps he accepted it
the more willingly that he felt the need of all his courage for the
approaching interview with Mr. Stedman. When the decanters and the
sandwich came, the teetotal parson filled a wine-glass with formal
courtesy, and young Stanburne could not help feeling a certain liking,
and even admiration, for the man. In truth, without being a gentleman,
Mr. Blunting had many of the best qualities of a gentleman. He was as
brave as a man well could be, more learned than most members of his own
learned profession, and he had a feminine softness of manner.
Whilst Philip was engaged with his sandwiches and sherry, he heard the
hall-door open, and a manly step on the stone floor. Though by no means
a coward, either morally or physically, he had a sensitive constitution,
and his pulse was considerably accelerated by the knowledge that Mr.
Stedman had entered the house. The heavy steps passed the drawing-room
door, and became gradually less and less audible as they ascended the
stairs.
"Mr. Stedman is gone to see his daughter," said Mr. Blunting. "He always
goes straight to her room when he returns from the mill. He is a most
affectionate father."
"Where his prejudices are not concerned," added Philip Stanburne.
"Where his conscience is not involved, you ought to say. His objection
to your suit is strictly a conscientious objection. Personally, he likes
you, and your position would be an excellent one for Miss Alice; indeed
it is beyond what she might have hoped for. But Mr. Stedman--ah! he is
coming now."
Philip had somewhat hastily finished his sandwich, and resumed his first
seat. Mr. Stedman opened the door slowly, and walked in. He gave no sign
of astonishment on seeing Philip (who rose as he entered), but simply
bowed. Then turning to Mr. Blunting, he said, quietly, "I think Alice
would be glad to see you now," on which Mr. Blunting left the room.
There was an expression of deep sadness on John Stedman's face as he sat
down and looked fixedly at the table. His eyes looked in the direction
of the decanters, but he evidently did not see them. Suddenly recalling
himself to the things about him, he saw the decanters before any thing
else, and said,--
"Have you had a glass of wine? Take another. Take one with me."
Astonished at this reception, Philip Stanburne held his glass whilst
John Stedman filled it. A tremulous hope rose in his breast. What if
this man were relenting? what if the icy barrier were gradually thawing
away?
They drank the wine in silence, and Mr. Stedman sat down again. "Sit
down," he said, "sit down. You are come to talk to me about my daughter.
You are under my roof, and are my guest. I will listen to you patiently,
and I will answer you plainly. I can do no more than that, can I?"
Philip urged his suit with all the eloquence at his command. John
Stedman listened, as he had promised, patiently; and when his guest's
eloquence had exhausted itself, he spoke in this wise:--
"I explained my views to you on a former occasion, in Derbyshire. It is
no use going over all that ground again. But since we met then, the
position of matters has changed somewhat. My daughter is getting nearer
to her majority; at the same time, you and she have made an engagement
between yourselves without my sanction, and I have reason to suspect
that you have corresponded. Miss Margaret Anison has been here rather
too much lately, and I have politely informed Miss Margaret Anison that
she had better remain at Arkwright Lodge. But another thing has altered
matters still more--that is, my daughter's health. I'm very much grieved
to say that I haven't a great deal of confidence in her constitution.
She gets weaker every day."
"Mr. Blunting says she is getting stronger again now."
"Stronger? Well, momentarily she may, by the help of tonics and
stimulants, but it will not last. She was never really strong, but if
I'd not been so much absorbed in business, I might have taken her more
out, and given her more exercise. I am ready to give up business now.
I'd give up any thing for my Alice. Poor Alice, poor Alice!"
Philip Stanburne became inoculated with Mr. Stedman's openly expressed
alarm. "Are you seriously afraid, sir?" he asked, with intense anxiety.
Mr. Stedman looked at him fixedly and seemed absorbed in his own
thoughts. "You love my girl, young man, but you don't love her as I do.
Ever since I have got this fear into my heart and into my brain I can
neither eat nor sleep. I think sometimes I shall go out of my mind. A
man loves a daughter, Mr. Stanburne, differently from the way he loves a
son. If I'd had a son, I shouldn't have felt so anxious, for it seems
that a lad should bear illnesses and run risks; but a tender little
girl, Philip Stanburne--a tender little girl, and a great rough fellow
like me to take care of her!"
"Is there any change in your feelings towards me, sir?"
"No, none at all. I always liked you very well, and I like you very well
still. There isn't a young fellow anywhere who would suit me better, if
it weren't for your being such a Papist. I'll tell you what I'll do with
you, if you like. You give me an honest promise not to marry my daughter
before twelve months are out, and you shall see her every day if you
like. And if you can cheer her up and make her get her strength back
again, you shall have her and welcome, Papist or no Papist. I'd let her
marry the Pope of Rome before I'd see her as sad as she has been during
the last two or three months. Stop your dinner, will you? That sandwich
is nothing; our dinner-time's one o'clock, and it's just ten minutes to.
Alice 'll get up when she knows you're here, I'll warrant."
The reader will easily believe that Philip Stanburne heard this speech
with a joy that made him forget his anxiety about Alice. He would bring
gladness to her, and with gladness, health. How bright the long future
seemed for these two, true lovers always, till the end of their lives!
O golden hope, fair promise of happy years!
But the doctor, who had been at Chesnut Hill that morning, had heard a
little faint sound in his polished black stethoscope, which was as
terrible in its import as the noise of the loudest destroyers, as the
crack of close thunder, the roar of cannon, the hiss of the hurricane,
the explosion of a mine!