For a good quarter of an hour no word was spoken; then again taking one
of the unresisting hands in his, May's new courtier talked long and
earnestly, telling of how, with no ardent passion, but with the
chastened love of one who had known a bitter disappointment, he had long
watched her and waited.
"And now, at last, May, I ask you to be an old man's wife," he said.
"Yours shall be no life of slavery; but there, you have known me long,
and for some time past," he said tenderly; "I have not been without hope
that you loved me in return."
"Mr Brough," sobbed May, throwing herself on her knees at his feet, "I
do love you, I have loved you ever since I was a child--loved you as one
should love a dear father. Have I not often come to you with my girlish
troubles; but you surely never can mean this--you cannot wish what you
say? How can I be your wife, when you know how long--how long--O,
Frank, Frank, Frank!" she cried, with a wail of despair that seemed to
thrill through her suitor's heart, and raising her in his arms he kissed
her tenderly--as lovingly as might a father--and placed her on a sofa at
his side, drawing her nearer to him in spite of a slight resistance, as
he tried to whisper a few words in his endeavour to soothe the fierce
burst of despair that shook the poor girl's frame.
"There, May--my child," he said at last, "try and command yourself,"
when a thought seemed to strike him, and, though evidently troubled and
reluctant, he rose to go, tenderly taking leave of the weeping girl.
But before he could reach the door, May had him by the hand.
"Dear Mr Brough," she said beseechingly, "I cannot think that you would
wish to make me unhappy for life."
"Indeed, no," he said gently, as he held both her hands in his. "I
would devote my life to making you happy."
"But you know--for some time--Mr Frank Marr--"
Then the recollection of what she had heard and seen that morning seemed
to flash across her brain, scathing her as it passed, and with a wild
look she sought to withdraw her hands, but they were fist held.
"Nay, my child," said Mr Brough tenderly, "I love you too well to wish
to give you pain. I would sooner suffer myself than cause a pang to
your gentle little heart. Show me that Frank Marr is worthy of you--
that is, that your father's words which he told me were either untrue,
or that he had been deceived; tell me, in fact, that by waiving my
claims I can give you happiness, and I will do so, and at once, even
though--" His voice trembled as he spoke, and then he added hastily:
"But you are much agitated; I will go. Only one question before a
painful subject is buried for ever--Are you aware that Frank Marr was
with your father this morning?"
May bowed her head, for the words would not come.
"And you know of the offer made and accepted? Good God, what a brute I
am!" he exclaimed, as he had just time to catch May in his arms, and
save her from falling.
"That's just what you are!" exclaimed a harsh voice, and the visitor
became aware of the presence of Keziah Bay, who indignantly caught the
fainting girl from him, and apparently without much effort bore her from
the room.
It was with a quiet, thoughtful face that Tom Brough, the well-known
wealthy, charitable sugar-baker, made his way to one of the City
chop-houses, and sat down in a dark box to think for quite an hour, with
a newspaper before his face, a newspaper that the impatient waiter
swooped down at a good half-dozen times, but never asked for on account
of its being in the hands of so excellent a customer. But never a word
read Tom Brough; it was only a blind behind which he wished to think on
that eventful morning; and he thought till his countenance lightened,
for it seemed to him that his way ahead was very clear, and in that way
ahead he saw himself a happy man, cheered by May's smiles, in spite of
his years, and playing with her children; and at last, his own eyes dewy
and twinkling, his bright grey hair glistening, and the ruddy hues of
his open countenance ruddier than ever, he laid aside the paper just at
a moment when, unable to bear it any longer, the waiter was swooping
down with the fell intent of striking and bearing off the sheet. But
just as he stooped to seize it, the paper was dropped, and he was
standing face to face with the old and regular attendant at the place.
"Charles," said Mr Brough, "I think I'll take a chop."
"And hysters, sir?" said Charles.
"And oysters," said Tom Brough.
"Port _or_ sherry, sir?" said Charles respectfully.
"Pint of port--yellow seal," said Tom Brough with a sigh of content, and
then he leaned back and looked up at the dingy soot-darkened skylight,
till the hissing hot chop was brought, moistening his lips from time to
time with the glass of tawny astringent wine, seeing, though, no yellow
glass, no floating blacks, nothing but a bright future; and then he
ate--ate like a man who enjoyed it, finished his fifth glass of port,
and walked to his office, brisk, bustling, and happy.
"Gentleman been waiting to see you two hours, sir," said a clerk.
"Bless my soul, how tiresome!" he muttered. "I wanted to do as little
as possible to-day; and if news came that the sugar crops were a failure
to a cane, I believe I'm so selfish that I shouldn't care a--"
But, whatever might have been the proper finish of that sentence, it was
never uttered; for, bustling forward with an easy elastic step, the
pleasant countenance suddenly became grave as opening the door of his
inner office Tom Brough stood face to face with pale, stern-looking
Frank Marr.
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