JACOB OGDEN FREE AGAIN.
Early in the month of February there came a black-edged letter to
Arkwright Lodge, with a French stamp upon it. The letter was from Philip
Stanburne, and it announced Alice Stedman's death.
Two days after the arrival of that letter another letter arrived at
Milend for Jacob Ogden. It bore the Whittlecup post-mark, and had an
exact outward resemblance to several other letters which had come from
the same place, but its contents were of a new character.
Miss Anison expressed her regret that in consequence of Mr. Jacob
Ogden's neglect, of his readiness to postpone his visits on the
slightest pretexts, of the rarity and coldness of his letters, she felt
compelled, from a due regard to her own happiness, to put an end to the
engagement which had existed between them.
The accusations in this letter were perfectly well founded, though it is
quite certain that they would never have been made if Philip Stanburne's
communication had been edged with silver instead of black. Margaret
Anison had remarked with secret satisfaction that Jacob Ogden's behavior
as a lover gave her good reasons for retreating from her engagement,
whenever she might determine on that decisive step; but in the mean
while she had never reproached him with it, had never appeared aware of
it when he _did_ come, but always received him in the same uniformly
gracious way, as if he had been the most assiduous of adorers. She had
kept this accusation of negligence to be used against him whenever it
might be convenient to throw the blame of a rupture upon _him_; but if
she had finally decided to marry him, this and all other faults would
have been affectionately overlooked. It had been highly convenient to
let him sink deeper and deeper in that sin of negligence, till at last,
from mere carelessness and an aversion to all letter-writing that was
not upon business, he had actually reached that depth in crime that he
no longer observed the common forms of society, and did not even write a
line of apology or excuse. Margaret never expected him to be attentive
to her as a husband: she intended to spend his money, and, so long as
that was forthcoming, cared little about Jacob Ogden's manners. But it
was charming to be able to back out of her engagement, now that Alice
was dead, and do it in a dignified and honorable manner. For of all sins
that a lover can commit, the chief is the sin of neglect; and in this
case any competent and just jury would have pronounced the verdict
"guilty."
To this letter Jacob Ogden made no reply. His feelings on receiving it
were, first, the most unfeigned astonishment (for he thought he had been
very attentive, and that "courtin'" had absorbed far too much of his
time); next, a paroxysm of indignation, with a sense of injury; and
then, when this subsided, a sense of relief so exquisite, so delicious,
and so complete, that nobody can have any idea of it unless at some
period of his existence a wearing and persistent anxiety has been
suddenly removed for ever. The love of Margaret Anison had been one of
those masterful passions which sometimes force the most prudent men to
folly. He had made his offer in the height of his temporary insanity,
but after the engagement had been entered upon, his old self had
gradually returned; and though he was fully determined to "go through
with it," as a business which had to be done, he by no means looked
forward to the conjugal state as an improvement upon his accustomed
life. It was like embarking on an unknown and perilous sea, in utter
ignorance of the art of navigation, and that sea might be a sea of
troubles. The complex details of married life, its endless little
duties, were perplexing to a man whose time and thoughts were already
taken up by the government of a heavy business, and the care of an
increasing estate. And now to escape from these new and unfamiliar
troubles--to remain in the old quiet life at Milend--to have full
control over his own expenditure, with no female criticism or
interference--to see his fortune growing and growing without sons to
establish or daughters to dower, or an expensive houseful of servants to
eat the bank-notes in his pocket-book like so many nattering mice,--ah!
it was sweet to him to think of this in his innermost and sincerest
self! He had loved his bachelor life well enough before, but he had
never felt the full luxury of its independence as he did now!
Jacob Ogden enjoyed a privilege highly favorable to happiness, but not
so favorable to moral or intellectual growth. He lived at peace with
himself, and looking back on his life, he approved of its whole course,
with the single exception of that hour of folly at Whittlecup. He felt
and believed that no man could be wiser or more perfect than he was.
When he humbly called his faculties "common-sense," he by no means
understood the word as meaning a sense which he had in common with
others, but rather a special faculty, to himself vouchsafed by the
bounteous gift of nature. He lived in absolute independence of the good
opinion of others, because his mind was at peace with itself--because he
always manfully did to-day what he was sure to approve to-morrow, or ten
years after to-morrow. Am I painting the portrait of a man of
pre-eminent virtues? Not exactly, but of a man who would have been
pre-eminently virtuous, or pre-eminently learned, if virtue or knowledge
had been his ideal. For he had a manly resolution, a steady unflinching
determination, to live up to the standard which he fixed for himself.
And the inward peace which he enjoyed was due to his obedience to the
laws of his own nature, which thus ever remained in harmony with itself
in serene strength and efficiency.
This peace had for a while been lost to him, and he had felt a strange
change and diminution in the inward satisfactions. His communings with
himself had lost their old sweetness, and he no longer masticated the
cud of contentment in the fair pastures of reflection and imagination.
To go back to those happy pastures once more--to chew that sweet cud
again, after months of privation--what a deep, strengthening, cheering,
encouraging, replenishing delight it was!
Yet there was one drawback to the plenitude of Ogden's happiness, even
though he had escaped the misery of the wedding-day. That new mansion
had been begun, he had spent £400 upon it already, and spoilt a pretty
meadow, and he had spent some money on presents for Margaret--not very
much, for his ideas on the subject of gift-making were not very large
ideas, yet still enough to plague and torment him, for the loss of a
sovereign would do that. To be jilted did not trouble him much, but to
have been cheated into wasting his money! that thought would not let him
rest. It followed and harassed him wherever he went, and it was the
cause of the following letter, which was received by Mr. Joseph
Anison:--
"SIR,--I am instructed by my client, Mr. Jacob Ogden, to
lay before you the following statement of facts. Your
daughter, Miss Margaret Anison, by a letter bearing date
----, and which is in our possession, accepted his proposal
of marriage, and promised marriage; which promise she now,
by a letter bearing date ----, refuses to execute. In
consequence of her promise, and in conformity with her
desires, our client has been led into considerable
expense, especially in the erection of a mansion, of which
Miss Anison herself selected the site. The works were
immediately stopped when it became known to our client that
Miss Anison had determined upon a breach of promise, but a
heavy sum had been already expended, which, so far as our
client is concerned, is money utterly thrown away. We beg
to call your attention to the fact that our client and his
mother offered another most commodious and suitable
residence to Miss Anison, situated at Milend, and that she
declined this, and induced our client to commence the
erection of a new and costly mansion on a site which he
would never have selected for himself. We therefore claim
for our client damages to the amount of one thousand pounds
(£1,000), and beg to inform you, that unless this sum is
paid before the expiration of one calendar month from this
date, we shall institute a suit for breach of promise of
marriage, and claim damages on that score to a far heavier
amount. The present claim, we desire it to be understood,
is not made on the ground of breach of promise, but is
merely a claim for compensation on account of outlay which
our client has been induced to incur. Our client has no
desire to push matters to the extremity of a public
exposure, but will not shrink from doing so if his present
just claim is refused.
"I am, sir, your obedient servant,
"JONAS HANBY."
"You may decide for yourself, Margaret," said Mr. Anison, "whether you
prefer that I should pay this out of your fortune, or stand an action
for breach of promise. It is not usual to bring actions of this sort
against women, but Ogden is a most determined fellow, and he doesn't
care much for what people may say. He will bring his action if we don't
send him a cheque, and I don't think such an action would be very
pleasant to you. Considering circumstances, too, especially the building
of that new house, I am inclined to think that he would get rather
heavy damages, certainly at least as much as he is asking for. Such an
action would make a tremendous noise, and we should be in all the
newspapers. We must consider your sisters, too, who wouldn't be much
benefited by publicity of this kind. In short, my advice is to send the
cheque."
The cheque was accordingly sent to Mr. Hanby, and duly acknowledged. The
presents had been returned a few days before. These last had been
purchased of a jeweller in St. Ann's Square, Manchester, who took them
back in exchange for an excellent gentleman's watch and a big cameo
brooch. The watch went into Jacob Ogden's own fob, and the brooch
adorned his already sufficiently ornamented mother. All things
considered, Jacob Ogden now felt that he could look back upon the whole
business with a mind at ease. He had done his duty by himself. After
deducting the outlay on the house, and the outlay necessary for
restoring the field to its pristine verdure, he found that there
remained to him a clear surplus of four hundred and fifteen pounds seven
shillings and twopence, which he entered in the column of profits. "It's
been rather a good business for once, has this courtin'," said Jacob to
himself; "but it's devilish risky, and there's nobody'll catch me at it
again. If she'd nobbut stuck to me, she'd 'ave wenly ruined me."
So, when the walls of the mansion that was to have been were levelled
with the ground, and the foundations buried under the earth that they
might be no more seen, Jacob Ogden buried with them the thought and idea
of marriage; and the grass grew on the field that had been so torn, and
cut, and burdened, and disturbed by the masons and laborers who had been
there.
As the field grew level and green again just as it used to be, so
flourished the mind of Jacob Ogden in serene and productive life. But as
_beneath_ the field--beneath the waving of the rich grass--there still
lay the plan of the house that was to have been, traced out in stony
foundations, so in the mind of its owner there lay hidden a stony memory
of the plans of this strange year; and though the surface was perfectly
restored, there were hard places under his happiness that had not been
there before.